Not in Love

RUE

“It wasn’t what you think,” I said later that night, spearing a green bean and dropping it onto the edge of the plate so abruptly, the clink echoed throughout the living room. My monthly dinners with Florence and Tisha were something I usually looked forward to, and fun, and pleasantly compatible with my onslaught of dysfunctions surrounding food and social situations.

Except that tonight I wasn’t having much fun.

“It wasn’t anything at all.” I made my tone even, to avoid sounding like a five-year-old who’d wet the mattress after assuring her mom that no, she did not need to go potty before bed.

“What I heard is”—Tisha wagged a crab rangoon at me—“that you and Eli Killgore were engaged in a passionate, child-making embrace on the floor of the humidity chamber lab.”

Jay. And his nosy, gossipy mouth. Even the guy who came to refill the vending machines once a week had undoubtedly been apprised of today’s events. The Kline WhatsApp group that I’d never bothered joining had probably already commissioned the fan art.

“There were no embraces.”

“Child-making without embraces.” Tisha stroked her chin. “The plot thickens.”

“No child-making, either. We were looking for a pipette tip.”

She deflated. “Sadly, the plot thins.”Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“You’re a fully grown adult, Rue.” Florence’s voice was warm with understanding, but I could hear an edge of displeasure that she wasn’t quite able to hide. “You don’t have to justify yourself.”

“Aside from the fact it took place in a lab and therefore consisted of highly unprofessional behavior that would prompt HR to put you through years of additional sexual harassment training.” Tisha took a relishing bite, and I pointed my fork at her.

“Last year you dated that guy from legal, and had sex with him in at least three conference rooms.”

“Man, this is good,” she said around a mouthful of tofu.

“It would be best for me not to know about the abundance of fornication that goes on in my labs.” Florence sounded pained. “Really, Rue, I wouldn’t dream to tell you who to…You can do whatever you like.” It was still there, that tinge of hurt and worry in her tone. “But.”

“It could be your Mata Hari moment, Rue,” Tisha added.

“My what?”

“That hot spy in World War One? Or Two? Or the Sack of Rome—I don’t know history. What I mean is, you could sleep with Eli in exchange for information.”

“Deeply unethical.” Florence shook her head, amused. I was ready to let the matter drop, but she added, “You should be careful, Rue. Because of the kind of person he is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well.” She took a sip of her bubble tea, collecting her thoughts. “Eli and his friends are Harkness, and you know what Harkness is doing to Kline. I simply think that anyone who feels free to take what’s others’ without consent in one context might just be willing to do the same in another.”

My eyes widened at the implications. Would Eli really—

“Why did he seek you out? Did he want to know anything in particular?” Florence asked.

“Just an overview of my project. Generic info on Kline that he could have found online, or by asking literally anyone else.” But he’d come to me. And hours later I still felt him buzzing in my skull, as if my brain wanted to hold on to precious fragments of him.

The way he pulled at the hem of his shirt to wipe his glasses clean.

His large hand around mine.

The acquisitiveness in his eyes.

And then Florence’s interruption. She’d looked so surprised and hurt to see us together, and Eli had made things worse by staring defiantly at her until she’d averted her eyes. Retreating was such an un-Florence-like behavior, I couldn’t make sense of it, nor could I understand why Harkness seemed to be treating Kline like their own personal playground.

And earlier today I’d decided to find out.

After work I’d opened the dating app and scrolled through men’s profiles in search of someone who wasn’t Eli—and then I’d given up without messaging anyone. It had felt wrong on some base, instinctive level, like a nagging prickle that I was forgetting something, like starting a new book before finishing the one already checked out from the library—something truncated that wouldn’t allow me to move on yet.

So I’d moved on to do what I really wanted: to figure out Eli Killgore’s deal. And the research had proven fruitful.

“Did you guys know that Minami Oka has a doctorate in chemical engineering from Cornell?” I asked. “She was at UT at some point, too.”

Tisha gasped. “No shit.”

“Did Eli tell you?” Florence asked, sounding a little alarmed. Maybe at the thought of us exchanging small talk. Or perhaps at the prospect of being invited, three months down the line, to a barefoot, lakeside ceremony in which I’d wed the guy who’d pilfered her life’s work.

She might even be asked to officiate.

“No. I looked it all up online.”

“Was Minami there when we were there?” Tisha asked.

“I’m not sure. UT is listed as a past institution on her profile, but it doesn’t give years.” I glanced at Florence. “Did she overlap with your faculty time there?”

She gave it a good think. “I can’t remember. But it’s a large department, and it’s been years. If she was an undergrad…there are so many of them.”

“Too many,” Tisha muttered darkly, clearly flashing back to her TA years.

“Eli seems to know his way around a lab,” I added. Despite having majored in finance at St. Cloud State University. He didn’t list an MBA, which I thought odd. Then again, what did I know about the credentials necessary to start a Pac-Man company whose only purpose was to eat other, yellow-pebbled companies?

“For real?” Tisha was curious.

“More than some of the engineering undergrads I dealt with at UT, for sure.”

“Well. Bars and lows and all that.”

“Rue,” Florence interjected, changing the topic, “anything new on the coating patent front?”

“Still on track to file the application next week.” I gave Florence a small smile. “The agent suggested that I collect a couple new humidity data points. Other than that, we’re doing great.”

Florence’s smile was much brighter. “Let me know if there’s anything you need from me.”

“What about what I need from you?” Tisha asked.

Florence’s eyes widened in concern. “If there’s anything—”

“Nutter Butter in the vending machines. It’s been ages and I’m still waiting.”

I nibbled on my green bean, and while Tish and Florence bickered over the worthiness of various types of snacks, I forced myself to enjoy the rest of the evening.