RAPHE NUCLEI: HAPPINESS
“AMAZING.” GUY’S VOICE trembles slightly, a tinge of fear to his admiration.
Awe, I guess it’s called? All that matters is that it opens the floodgates for everyone else to speak up.
“Incredible.”
“—we have a working prototype—”
“—can’t believe there was such a simple solution—”
“—BLINK is basically done—”
“—such an elegant way of—”
“Fucking awesome,” Rocío declares, the loudest voice. Everyone looks at her, and that’s when the impressed whispers become more like a frat party. High fives, hugs, the occasional chant. I’m surprised a keg isn’t suddenly produced out of thin air.
Levi leans against a bench on the opposite side of the room, wearing last night’s Henley. This morning I offered him my stretchy tie-dye camisole, but he just glared at me. Ingrate. He notices I’m staring and we both look away, bashful to have been caught. Then our eyes lock again. This time, we share a smile.
“We should celebrate!” someone’s yelling. We ignore him and keep on smiling.
The first time Tim and I had sex, I was terrified he hadn’t enjoyed it. He didn’t call me for two days, which I spent wondering if I was shit in bed—
instead of focusing on how shitty he was. In the fight that ended our engagement, he accused me of pushing him to sleep with other women
because I was “a total starfish” during sex (I had to google what that even meant after he left). On reflection, our relationship was bookended by Tim making me feel terrible about myself. How poetic.
Maybe in the past years I’ve learned to give considerably fewer fucks about what dudes think of me, and that’s why I’ve spent zero seconds of the last twenty-four hours wondering whether Levi thinks I’m a shit lay. But maybe that’s not the only reason. Maybe it has to do with the way he looked at me this morning, when I woke up on top of him in my twin bed that he accused of being “an instrument of torture repurposed as a piece of furniture.” Maybe it was the quiet, sweetly bashful conversation we had about me being on birth control, and about the fact that we’ve both been living like ascetic monks for long enough that we’re sure to be clean. Maybe it’s the appalled face he made when he saw me guzzle unsweetened soy milk directly from the carton. Maybe it’s the swift, covert glances he’s been giving me all day long.
We haven’t talked much. Or—we’ve talked a lot. About circuits and high-frequency stimulation trains and Brodmann areas. The usual.
Today’s not usual, though.
“Looks like you got it.” Boris comes to stand beside me. He glances at his engineers—currently giving one another celebratory wedgies—with mild disapproval.
“We still need to tweak the neuro software. Then we’ll test the model on the first astronaut. Guy has volunteered.” A euphemism: Guy begged to be test subject number one. It’s nice knowing that someone else is so invested in BLINK.
“When’s that?”
“Next week.”
He nods. “I’m going to set up a demonstration for the end of next week, then.”
“A demonstration?”
“I’ll invite my bosses, your bosses. They’ll invite someone higher up still.”
I stare at him, alarmed. “That’s way too soon. We have weeks before the project deadline, and there’s lots to troubleshoot. Human subjects are involved—plenty of things could go wrong.”
“Yes.” He gives me a level look. “But you know what the stakes are, especially with MagTech so close to catching up. And you know the pushback against the project. We’ve got lots of eyes on us. Lots of people who know very little about science, and yet are very invested in BLINK.”
I hesitate. Ten days is much fewer than I’m comfortable with. On the other hand, I understand the pressure Boris is under. After all, he’s the one who got us approval to start. “Okay. We’ll do our best.” I push away from the bench. “I’ll tell Levi.”
“Wait.” I stop. “Bee, what are your plans when this is over?”
“My plans?”
“You want to keep working for Trevor?” I press my lips together to temporize, but Boris is no fool. “I’ve chatted with him a few times. He seems to be under the impression that we’re making suits?”
“Trevor is . . .” I sigh. “Yeah.”
He gives me a commiserating look. “If the prototype’s a success, NIH will likely promote you, maybe give you your own lab. You’ll have options. But if you don’t like those
options . . . come see me, please.”
I stare at him wide-eyed. “What?”
“I’ve been wanting to start a dedicated neuroscience team. This”—he points at the helmet—“is one of many things we can do. Our neuro unit is scattered and underutilized. I need someone who can actually lead it.” He smiles tiredly. “Anyway, I’ll go tell Levi about the demonstration. I’m partial to the way he scowls when I give him bad news.”
I stand there like an idiot, blinking into the distance. Was I just offered a job? At NASA? Leading a lab? Did I hallucinate? Is there a carbon monoxide leak in the building?
“You coming out to celebrate?” Guy asks, startling me.
I shake my head. Celebration seems premature. “But you guys have fun.”
“Sure will.” His eyes lift to a spot above my head. “And you?”
I turn around. Levi is right behind me. “Another time.”
