THE MOST TRAGIC STORY
RUE
Perhaps it should have been irritating, the way Tisha’s questions to Nyota piled on top of each other, the sharp replies, the sisterly bickering.
Instead, I found the familiarity of it reassuring, anchoring in a way nothing else had managed to be since this morning’s call.
“I’m just saying that I don’t understand how a contract that has been
signed by both parties can be not valid—”
“And I am just saying that since I acknowledge my lack of expertise on the matter and don’t come telling you that pipettes should be shoved up your ass, you could face the reality that you did not go to law school and extend me the same courtesy—”
“Ooooh, but of course, if you’re such a legal hotshot, why did you only now realize that Florence’s contract wasn’t binding?”
“Because, and this is going to shock you, I am a professional bankruptcy lawyer whose primary source of income comes from charging rich people obscene amounts of money for very small amounts of my time, and not from looking over my shitty sister’s shitty childhood friend’s shitty contract. I will allow a few seconds for your mind to be blown.”
“Listen here, you shitty—”
“I had forgotten all about the contract and made room in my brain for, I don’t know, stuff I need to know to win court trials or something—until Rue
told me what Florence did to Harkness. That’s when I got suspicious—” “Was it my fault?” I asked softly. My office plummeted into silence.
Both sisters turned to me—Tisha, worried, and Nyota, uncharacteristically willing to forsake the usual roasting in favor of some heartfelt sympathy. “No,” she said firmly through FaceTime. “Well, yes. But you were a young academic, which often translates to ‘appallingly uneducated in anything that has real-life implications.’ You probably still are, to be honest. Uneducated, that is. Not young. You’re both decrepit—”
“Why are you taking this so well?” Tisha interrupted her, frowning at me. “Not that I expected histrionics or tears, but this is an exceptional amount of resilience, even for you.”
I made myself shrug. Saying Because she did the same to Eli and Minami felt too depressing.
“If it’s any consolation, since Florence knew she didn’t have the right to give you ownership of the tech, you could still sue her for whatever the company makes on the sale,” Nyota said quietly.
But I didn’t care about money, at least as much as it was possible to not care after having grown up without it. Even as a child I’d known that the reason I was unhappy, hungry, lonely, was not the lack of money. Money was the middleman, the broker between my miserable life and decent food, clothes, opportunities. Opportunities that would let me leave home and become someone else.
My project, though, had meant something. I’d cradled it and nurtured it, believing that it could make a difference for someone out there. But the contract wasn’t valid, because I’d trusted the wrong person.
Stupid. Just stupid.
Was this how Eli had felt all those years ago? This soulcrushing combination of shame, resentment, and resignation? “Is there any way— any legal way—for me to make this right?”
“Maybe?” Nyota rolled her lips. “Probably not, but I’m not the best person to advise you. I’m happy to help however I can, but I’m not a patent lawyer. I can ask my friend Liam—he’s way more knowledgeable—but he just had a baby and is on paternity leave.” She scratched her head, pensive. “I guess you could confront Florence, in the hope that it was an honest mistake. Maybe she truly genuinely forgot the final step in the contract, and she might be willing to rectify. But it’s also possible that by confronting her, you’d be alerting her that the patent is hers, which she could use to her own
advantage. We should think this through very carefully, because a misstep could . . . Rue? Where are you . . . Tish, where the hell is your weirdo friend going?”
Nyota’s and Tisha’s voices drifted out of earshot as I stepped out of my office and stalked down the hallway. I was rarely impulsive, but there was nothing well planned about the way I strode across Kline, or about the side of my fist as I knocked on Florence’s door.
“Not now,” Florence called from inside.
I opened the door anyway. And when I noticed the man sitting across from her, in the chair I had claimed years ago, my heart sank.
“Rue,” Florence was saying, “I’m in a meeting. Could you please—” “What are you doing here?” I asked. Not to Florence.
Eli’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “So lovely to see you, Dr. Siebert. I’m excellent, thanks for asking. You?”
“What are you doing here?” I repeated. “Just chatting with an old friend.”
My eyes flitted to Florence, who looked as collected as always—with the exception of her right hand. It was fisted around a pencil so tightly, I wondered if it was already snapped in two. “Eli, what are you doing—”
“Here? No need to concern yourself, since I’m leaving.” He stood. His smile to Florence was soulless, the opposite of the ones I’d been receiving from him in the last few days. “You should walk me out, Rue.”
“I need to speak with Florence.”
“Of course. After we catch up.” He cupped my elbow. “I’m sure Florence will be here all day, at your service.”
She frowned at both of us. As far as social situations went, this one was undecipherable. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” I murmured.
This time, Eli’s smile was more his kind, warm and teasing. Just for me. “Don’t worry,” he said gently. Then, turning to Florence: “Let me know before tonight.” He pushed me out of the office with a hand between my shoulder blades, and before I could ask more questions, he’d taken my hand and was guiding me into an empty conference room. Inside, he didn’t let go. His fingers skimmed up my wrist and closed around my upper arm. He stared at me, gulping me in, and my chest heated with a terrible weight.
“Rue,” he said urgently, “I need to know why you were going to meet Florence.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m asking you.”
“I . . .” I swallowed. Opened my mouth to tell him—and then a terrible tendril of distrust curled inside my belly. He’s with Harkness. They’re about to own Kline. They’re about to own your patent. “Why do you want to know?”
His eyes narrowed and he leaned in. “Because I’m on your side. That a good enough reason?”
After a pause, I nodded. It was true. Eli was on my side. He had been, over and over, a friend to me. Even if thinking of that specific word in relation to him felt at once banal and earth shattering.
But hadn’t Florence been my friend, too? I’d been wrong a lot recently. I clearly had a history of putting my trust in the wrong people.
“My project,” I said. “The microbial coating.” “Florence owns the patent.”
I blinked at him. “How do you know?” He held my eyes and didn’t reply, so I continued, “I . . . maybe she meant to have the board ratify the contract and forgot. It might have been an oversight. I’ll talk to her and—”
“Come on, Rue.” His fingers squeezed my arm gently, as if to coax me awake. “You know it wasn’t.”
I swallowed. “It’s my only choice, Eli. I have to ask Florence to fix it and hope that she will.”
“Listen to me carefully. Florence has been selling intellectual property to gather funds to buy back the loan. And she already has a buyer for your tech.”
My blood pounded in my throat. It was over, then. “I . . . I need to speak to Nyota.” I attempted to leave, but Eli didn’t let go.
“No, you need to listen to me.” His tone was serious, but gentle and reassuring. I felt myself panic anyway.
“I just—I have to do something.”
“Not right now. Right now, you need to let it be.” “Let it be?” I blinked at him in disbelief.
“I’m working on this, Rue, and I promise that I’m going to fix this for you. I’m going to make sure you keep your patent. In exchange, I need you to promise me that you won’t confront Florence yet and that you’ll lie low for a couple of days. I’m in the middle of negotiations, and it’s important that you trust me.”
My panic grew. “I . . . are you seriously asking me to just wait and do nothing while she might sell my work?”
“Yes. Because there is nothing you can do.” “But there’s something you can do?”
“That is correct.”
I took a step back, and his grip slid to my elbow. “Eli, you know how much this tech means to me.”
“I do. And you know how much the biofuel tech meant to me.”
I recoiled. “Is this what’s happening? You want me to go through what
you went through? Some—some messed-up cycle of thievery?”
“That’s not what I—” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m going to take care of you. I’m here to help you.”
But I felt dizzier than after a double toe loop. Things were happening too fast, and I couldn’t keep up. All I could parse was the fear that my work would be taken from me. “Harkness is the reason I’m in this situation to begin with,” I pointed out.
Eli’s face hardened. “Florence is the reason you’re in this situation. Harkness may have precipitated it, but I’m not talking to you on behalf of anyone but myself. You’re the scientist I could never be, and I respect you infinitely for this, but these kinds of deals are what I know. Let me negotiate one for you. Let me take care of you.”
My brain scrambled to consider the possibilities. This was Eli. I could trust him, right?
You trusted Florence.
“How—how do I know that you’re not just saying this because Harkness wants to own my patent, too?”
He seemed briefly on the brink of exasperation, but compassion flickered in his eyes. “I know how you feel. You’re wondering how the fuck you got yourself into this situation. Why you trusted the kind of person who would do this to you. You’re secondguessing every single thing you’ve done in the last few years and wondering if there is something wrong with you. You’re angry, because Florence was your friend, and you relied on her for more than just a salary or lab space. I get it. Believe me, I have been right fucking there.” He looked at me like we were on the edge of a cliff, and he was asking me to take his hand. “Rue, I need you to acknowledge that I’m not her.”
“Eli, I . . .” My throat choked up. I was confused. Overwhelmed. And he must have known, because his voice became even more gentle.
“Hey. You said it yourself—you and I, we’re not just fucking.” His smile was hopeful. Encouraging. “I’m here for you. You can trust me.”
But could I? Should I trust anyone? Had there ever been a time in my life when trust had not ended in disappointment? And why should Eli be different? “Why would you . . . why would you even do this for me?”
He finally let go of my arm, and for a split second I wondered if he was, at last, fed up. Done with me. But it was less than a heartbeat, and then he was close again, hands cradling my face, thumbs swiping my cheeks, eyes tethered to mine. “Why do you think, Rue?”
I blinked at him, letting his question float through my head, unable to grasp the answer that was right in front of me. He watched me patiently, waiting for a response, any response. And when none came, I saw something fade behind his eyes.
He leaned in, tipping his forehead against mine, and the closeness was heaven. “Would you like a story, Rue?”
I instantly nodded. I needed something—anything—that would help me understand.
“Hark and Minami broke up over ten years ago, but he never got over her. Never. I simply could not understand why he wouldn’t move on after she so clearly had. ‘Could not be me,’ I thought. I was so sure. And then, Rue, I met you. And you casually cracked my life into before and after you.” His lips curved. For a moment he looked genuinely happy. “Out of all the people I’ve met, the things I’ve wanted, the places I’ve been, none has ever felt as necessary as you do. Because I love you. I love you in a way I didn’t think I was capable of. I love you because you showed me how to fall in love. And I don’t regret it, Rue. I wouldn’t want it any other way. Even if you can never say it back. Even if you never think about me again after today. Even if you were right after all, and you’re not capable of love.”
He let go of me, and we were back to the cliff. Except that my hand had slipped from Eli’s, and I was free-falling. Already broken, or soon to be.
“Isn’t this the most tragic story you’ve ever heard?”
I couldn’t find my words, but it didn’t matter. He left the conference room with a single nod that felt like the deepest of farewells, and I stood still for a long, long time, trying to convince my body to remember how to breathe.
