There have only ever been two things that felt easy in my life: one was science; the other was Will. Outside my normal circle, I’d never been very good with people. I had a tendency to overshare, and my verbal filter short-circuited ninety-eight percent of the time. But with Will—somehow—it didn’t matter. He found it endearing that I never seemed to shut up, and I never had to be anyone but Hanna with him. It’d always been easy.
But last night . . . I wasn’t sure where any of that came from. I knew Will didn’t love my unpredictable hours, but that was part of running a lab. I always thought that as a scientist himself, he understood that. Will wanted me to take on a teaching position, but that was something you did when your career was slowing down, not starting out. I wanted to do research and publish papers, contribute to our broader scientific knowledge. I wanted to make a difference. Wasn’t the entire beginning of our relationship based on his helping me learn to find balance? I’d done it then, so why was he so quick to doubt me now?
I unlocked the door and stepped into the dark room, the silence immediately pierced by the sound of crunching glass beneath my shoes.
It was just bright enough to see that a shelf near the door had collapsed from where it attached to the wall, its contents spilling out onto the one beneath it and across the floor just below.
“Of course,” I muttered, tossing my keys onto the counter and flipping on the light. I regretted it immediately. Glass and papers were strewn across the floor, some smaller shards scattered as far as the other side of the room. And because I was the only one here this early, it looked like president of the cleanup crew would be me.
A supply room just down the hall had a broom and dustpan, and a couple of garbage sacks for everything that would have to be taken out. It took longer than I expected to clean up, reorganize, and stack everything somewhere else, but it felt good to have something mindless to do to clear my head.
With everything done, I put the supplies back in the closet, took a seat at my desk, and powered up my computer. There were a few emails I needed to answer, some last-minute travel details to finalize, and a set of data I needed to check. There was even another interview request, which I filed away until I could look over my schedule and see where I could fit it in. I hadn’t yet mentioned this one to Will, and for just a second I hesitated, remembering our conversation from last night.
But it would be fine. I’d get through them all and we could talk about it when we had actual offers to discuss, rather than getting stressed over a bunch of hypothetical variables.
That settled, I went over to the hood to feed some cells and check some cultures, barely registering that I still hadn’t eaten breakfast or even had a cup of coffee. When I finally resurfaced again, it was to the sound of my stomach growling through the empty room. It was well past lunchtime, and when I looked around for the first time in what had to have been hours, I realized I was still alone. It took a moment to realize why that was: it was Sunday.
Everyone else had probably spent their morning eating brunch or watching mindless TV snuggled up to someone in their jammies—i.e., not here, trying to squint through a hangover at numbers that could easily be put off until Monday.
Dammit. So maybe Will had a point.
The apartment was quiet when I got home. And—I noted—clear of any leftover party debris. I frowned, feeling like a jerk for leaving the mess for him to clean up, and made a mental note to thank him later.
I let the door close softly behind me and peeked out into the living room. It still looked a lot like it had before Will moved in, bookcases and books everywhere, family photographs on every shelf, and my dad’s old desk in the corner. But now Will’s books blended with mine: my first real adult couch sat next to his leather chairs in front of the television we’d bought together—our first joint purchase as a couple. The photographs of my family still hung on the wall in the hallway, but his hung right alongside them, soon to be joined by the framed prints from our wedding.
Until we started packing for wherever I moved us, that is, and . . . I could barely bring myself to think about that right now. I’d ignored the growing stack of cardboard boxes that had been delivered and seemed to take up more and more of the spare room every day, but I knew I couldn’t avoid them for long. I was nearing the end of my interviews, which meant it was almost time to make a decision, but—ugh—I just wanted to be lost in Will for a few hours. To wipe my brain of everything but the way he felt and smelled and sounded . . .
A toilet flushed down the hall, followed by the sound of running water, then the door opening. Footsteps carried along the wooden floors and then Will was there, standing with wide eyes in the doorway.
“You’re home,” he said, not moving from where he stood.
I placed my keys on the table near the door and slipped out of my shoes. “Yeah, sorry.”
“Jesus Christ, Plum,” he said, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around me. “Where in the hell have you been?”