FROM: Olive-Smith@stanford.edu
TO: Tom-Benton@harvard.edu
SUBJECT: Re: Report on Pancreatic Cancer Study
Hi Tom,
Here is the report you asked for, with a detailed description of what I have done so far, as well as my thoughts on future directions and the resources I will need to expand. I’m excited to hear your thoughts on my work!
Sincerely, Olive
SATURDAY, 6:35 p.m.
FROM: Olive-Smith@stanford.edu
TO: Tom-Benton@harvard.edu
SUBJECT: Re: Report on Pancreatic Cancer Study
Hi Tom,
Oops, forgot the attachment.
Sincerely, Olive
Today, 3:20 p.m.
FROM: Tom-Benton@harvard.edu
TO: Olive-Smith@stanford.edu
SUBJECT: Re: Report on Pancreatic Cancer Study
Olive,
Done reading the report. Do you think you could come over to Adam’s to chat about it? Maybe tomorrow morning (Tue) at nine?
Adam and I will be leaving for Boston on Wed afternoon.
TB
Olive’s heart beat faster—whether at the idea of being in Adam’s home or at the thought of getting her answer from Tom, she wasn’t sure. She immediately texted Adam.
Olive: Tom just invited me to your place to talk about the report I sent him. Would it be okay if I came over?
Adam: Of course. When?
Olive: Tomorrow at 9 a.m. Will you be home?
Adam: Probably. There are no bike lanes to my house. Do you need a ride? I can pick you up.
She thought about it for a few moments and decided that she liked the idea a little too much.
Olive: My roommate can drive me, but thanks for offering. —
MALCOLM DROPPED HER off in front of a beautiful Spanish colonial house with stucco walls and arched windows and refused to back out of the driveway until Olive agreed to slide a can of pepper spray in her backpack. She walked over the brick-tile path and up to the entrance, marveling at the green of the yard and at the cozy atmosphere of the porch. She was about to ring the doorbell when she heard her name.
Adam was behind her, bathed in sweat and clearly just back from his morning run. He was wearing sunglasses, shorts, and a Princeton Undergrad Mathletes T-shirt that stuck to his chest. Out of the ensemble, the only
nonblack items were the AirPods in his ears, peeking through the damp waves of his hair. She felt her cheeks curve into a smile, trying to imagine what he was listening to. Probably Coil, or Kraftwerk. The Velvet Underground. A TED Talk on water-efficient landscaping. Whale noises.
She would have given a huge chunk of her salary in exchange for five minutes alone with his phone, just to mess with his playlist. Add Taylor Swift, Beyoncé, maybe some Ariana. Broaden his horizons. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark lenses, but she didn’t need to. His mouth had curved as soon as he’d noticed her, his smile slight but definitely there.
“You okay?” he asked.
Olive realized that she’d been staring. “Um, yeah. Sorry. You?”
He nodded. “Did you find the house all right?”
“Yes. I was just about to knock.”
“No need.” He passed her and opened the door for her, waiting until she’d stepped inside to close it after them. She caught a whiff of his scent— sweat and soap and something dark and good—and wondered anew at how familiar it had become to her. “Tom’s probably this way.”
Adam’s place was light, spacious, and simply furnished. “No taxidermied animals?” she asked under her breath.
He was clearly about to flip her off when they found Tom in the kitchen, typing on his laptop. He looked up at her and grinned—which, she hoped, was a good sign.
“Thanks for coming, Olive. I wasn’t sure I’d have time to go to campus before leaving. Sit down, please.” Adam disappeared from the room, probably to go shower, and Olive felt her heart pick up. Tom had made his decision. Her destiny was going to be defined by the next few minutes.
