BECHDEL TEST: FAILED
RUE
Early on Sunday I dragged myself out of bed after an unsettled night of tossing and turning. I showered, had a long, quiet, luxurious breakfast of oatmeal and berries, and went to work.
Going in on weekends wasn’t part of my normal routine. I’d done enough free labor during grad school and my pre-Florence internships, and liked to keep a semblance of work-life balance, even if my weekends tended to be spent underwhelmingly, doing very little either at home or at Tisha’s.
But Tisha was somewhere south of Austin at some grandaunt’s birthday party, and even though I had a standing invitation to all Fuli family things, I skipped the ones involving relatives I’d never met. So I went into work, staying until the sky turned dark and my stomach growled. In those nine hours, my phone buzzed with exactly two texts, but I was busy running flow cytometry on my samples. I only bothered to read them as I headed back to my car, and it was almost an accident—a misplaced tap when I pulled up the flashlight app, because the sensor lights outside of Kline were busted, and maintenance hadn’t yet gotten around to switching them out.
The texts were from an unknown Austin number. The first: Are you okay?
And, approximately one hour later: Rue, I need to know if you’re okay.
Eli had not deleted my number when I’d asked him to. Or maybe he’d found it in the Kline employee directory—who knew? And really, who cared? The sheer triviality of it all could have swept me away like a leaf in a storm. I tossed my phone in the passenger seat, not intending to reply. After starting the engine, I changed my mind.
So, we’d had sex, and it had been . . . It had been all that.
We’d agreed that mutually satisfying sexual activity would be the period terminating the sentence of our acquaintance. Not replying would just worry Eli, and tack on subordinate clauses we could both do without. And since he’d probably spent the day trying to convince one of Kline’s board members to hand him the tech that was the product of Florence’s blood, sweat, and tears, I did not want that. I did not want him in my life.
I’m fine. Been working all day. Have a great weekend.
It was Sunday night—little weekend left to be had greatly. I drove home, had dinner, and then tossed and turned until it was finally time to go back to Kline.
Eli did not text again.
Monday I was on duty with Matt, a chore that had me wistfully wishing that giving wedgies didn’t constitute an HR violation. Tuesday I spent holed up in the lab. Wednesday it was my office. For the first time in my life, my paperwork was complete well before its deadline. When Tisha visited, I had to get up and let her in.
“Did you lock yourself in your office? Were you like, masturbating over spandex porn?”
“I’m just sick of people dropping by.”
“Do that many people drop by? I thought your nicely frosty personality was enough of a deterrent.”
“I must be slipping.”
“Don’t worry, I still get ‘would not save ninety-nine percent of humanity in case of apocalypse’ vibes from you.”
“Phew.”
Tisha asked me to go for a walk at the nearby park, to accompany her to the vending machine, to visit Florence. “I’m drowning in reports,” I said, and maybe Tisha knew it was a half lie, but she was the kind of friend who gave me not only unconditional love, but also the space I needed.
Florence stopped by to check on the progress on my patent, and the guilt and shame I felt at seeing her smiling face nearly paralyzed me. “Any updates on Harkness?” I asked, without bothering to sound casual.
Florence rolled her eyes. “All that asshole licking they’ve been doing on Eric Sommers’s taint must have worked, because a board meeting was called. At least the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles of hostile takeovers haven’t been around.” I should have been disappointed that the person I’d gone to great lengths to avoid for the last three days hadn’t even been at Kline, but relief drowned all other emotions. Florence’s expression switched to concern. “Eli Killgore hasn’t been bothering you, has he?”
My stomach sank. I was unable to reply, and Florence could tell. “Rue, if he’s done anything to you, I swear to god—”
“No, he hasn’t. He . . . I haven’t seen him.”
Liar. Liar. Ungrateful, blatant liar.
“Okay, good.” She seemed relieved. “I can tell you’re worrying about me and Kline, Rue, but don’t, okay? Not worth your time. Just focus on the science.”
Her compassion and protectiveness intensified my guilt. I tried to imagine how I would feel if Florence slept with some guy who was trying to steal my patent, and the magnitude of the betrayal was staggering. I’d fucked up, knowingly. Selfishly. And I was going to have to deal with the shame of it, and the knowledge that being with Eli had been so . . .
It didn’t matter.
By Thursday I’d managed a decent night of sleep, and on Friday I was back on track. Kline’s blue hallways felt less like the open sea, full of ambushing, flesh-mangling sharks, and more like a tranquil pond in which the height of excitement was figuring out who’d started a fire in Lab D.
Then a heron dove in.
 |
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tisha asked at lunch, after I told her about the letter. “Your brother does not have his shit together enough to have a lawyer.”
“Apparently he does.” “Is he suing you?”
“No. It’s a letter of demand.” “What does it say?”
I moved my penne around the plate. “That under Indiana law, if two parties are in disagreement, the court can order the sale of the property.”
“Is it true?”
“According to my lawyer, yes.” “Who’s your lawyer?”
“Google.”
“Bullshit. Nyota’s your lawyer. My bitchy sister will take care of your shitty brother. It’s like poetry, it rhymes.”
I smiled. “I don’t even know why I’m being so stubborn about this cabin.”
“I do.” Tisha leaned forward. “I don’t need a psych minor to know that now that your relationships with your mom and your brother have irreparably broken down, you want to connect with some part of your family, and the cabin is all that’s left of your dad.”
“I’m not usually this sentimental, though.” I tilted my head. “And you minored in computer science and French.”
“Exactly my point.”
Later in the afternoon, I was returning from a quality assurance meeting when I saw them.
Saw him.
Eli stood at the end of the hallway, wearing glasses once again, head hung low as he focused on what Minami Oka was saying, something private and exclusive about the way they bent toward each other. He raised one eyebrow in that manner that was imprinted in my brain, and Dr. Oka laughed and pretended to punch him on the arm, and—
I walked away, heat rising up my throat.
He was there, again. On Harkness business. Laughing, as though the terrible things they were doing to Kline, to us, were just a joke. I sat at my desk for several minutes as every moment, every second, every touch and hitched breath and heated look from last Saturday raked through me like nails down my back. I’d had him. Why did I still want him? What was I supposed to—
A knock on the doorframe. “Dr. Siebert? Hi.” Shit. “Hi.”
“I’m Minami. With Harkness. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Rue.” I stood and we shook hands over my desk, my mountains of Post-its, the weekly calendar Tisha had given me as a Christmas present.
Each page had a different selfie.
Of Tisha.
“Do you have a minute to talk?”
I wondered if it was going to be about Eli. Then whether I was losing my damn mind: we were two engineers in a professional setting—surely we could pass the Bechdel test. “Please, sit. How can I help you?”
“I was looking at your project, actually. A colleague told me about your microbial coating, because it aligns with the work I did during my PhD.”
Bechdel test: failed. “You worked on food conservation?” “For a bit. I ended up writing my dissertation on biofuels.”
“I see.” It explained why Harkness had been targeting Kline. If Minami was an expert, she must know the value of Florence’s research.
A curl of anger unfolded inside my stomach.
“I have some time before a meeting.” Minami sounded genuine. Nice. “I’d love to hear more about your work.”
“I turn in biweekly reports that are available for everyone to read. Do you have access to our science directory?”
“I do. But I’d love to hear from you—” “No,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.”
Minami’s eyes widened, but her smile was steady. “If you’re busy, we could—”
“That’s not it. I’m not trying to be rude, but I don’t want to waste your time. Florence Kline is one of my closest friends.”
Minami’s smile didn’t dim, but her eyes lost some brightness. “Well, this is disappointing, but I understand.” She pressed her lips together. “Listen, Rue, it might not be my place, but I think fair warnings are everyone’s right, and—”
Another soft knock interrupted her. “You ready? The board is here.”
It was Eli’s voice. My heart thudded so loud, I was sure he could hear it. His hands gripped each side of the door, and I focused on his long fingers to avoid meeting his eyes. It was only when Minami stood that I realized that he wasn’t there for me.
“I’ll make a restroom stop and meet you there, Eli.” “Sounds good.”
She waved her goodbyes at me, ducked under Eli’s arm, and left us. Alone.
I stared at the place where she’d disappeared, feeling out of sorts.
“Rue,” Eli said. I couldn’t do anything except tense all my muscles.
Hope that it’d keep me from shattering into tiny pieces.
“Rue,” he repeated, this time sounding entertained. Like he was laughing at me.
You have to answer him. You cannot ignore him. You have no reason to. I glanced up. “Sorry. I was distracted. Hi, Eli.”
Our eyes met, and all of a sudden I felt as though he were touching me. He was spooling grateful, filthy praises in my ear as I came uncontrollably. He was gripping the hair at the back of my neck and showing me what he liked.
Then the floodgates opened, for real this time, in hot, near painful flashes. His open mouth trailing down my rib cage. His obvious arousal against my hip. The way his eyes had rolled back when I’d first taken him in my mouth. And then, the absolute befuddlement of coming apart around his fingers.
I’d had sex before, good sex. But with him it had been just— “Rue.”
“Yes?”
His throat worked through a swallow. For a second he seemed—angry, maybe, or something else. For more than a second. But he quickly cycled through the emotion and emerged on the other side with one of his self- assured smiles. “Have a good day,” he said, maybe amused and maybe not. He pushed away from the doorframe and left, his determined steps ricocheting against the walls of the empty hallway, and it wasn’t until I couldn’t hear them anymore that I bent my head and managed to whisper, “You, too.”
