Adult Assembly Required, page 14
Lauren laughed. “Personally, I’ve always favored potato-headed men with cranky ex-wives and bitey children, but that’s me.” She looked around pleadingly. “Can we order food? All this chat about handsome men and casual sex is making me snackish.”
* * *
• • •
Later, after Leah and Lauren went home, Laura helped Nina tidy up. She’d been able to answer most of the human biology and science questions Nina had prepared, and ended up feeling pretty pleased with herself. She wasn’t good at the button pressing—particularly as Nina had a duck-quack buzzer that made her giggle every time—but Nina didn’t seem worried about that.
“So, you’re a neighborhood kid?” she asked Nina. “You grew up here?” She gazed around the room at all the pictures and artwork, the endless rows of books. There was a lot of color and pattern in the room, a lot of content. It wasn’t exactly restful, but it was comforting.
“Well, not literally here, but this side of town, anyway.” Nina shrugged. “My mom’s a photographer and traveled all the time, so I was raised by my nanny, Louise. She’s awesome. My mom would appear every so often, evaluate where we were living, and move us if she thought we needed more room. Then she’d leave again for months at a time.” Her tone was light, but Laura wondered how that had actually felt. Her own mother had been a constantly hovering cloud, which had felt largely oppressive . . . but also provided cover.
Nina got to her feet and pointed to a photograph on her wall of a young man showing a crowd of small children how to load film into a camera. “That’s one of hers,” she said proudly. She walked over to her tiny kitchenette and opened the fridge. “Do you want more beer? Or something else?” They’d ordered Chinese food, and as always, it had made her thirsty. She’d probably wake up with puffy eyes and a vague sense of regret . . . but the pork buns had been worth it.
“No, thanks,” said Laura, getting up to look at the picture. “Where’s your nanny now?”
“In Georgia, with her own kids and grandkids.”
Laura turned away from the photograph. “And your dad? Polly said something about your dad . . . ?” Laura couldn’t remember what it was.
Nina laughed. “That he’s dead?” She looked at Laura’s stricken expression. “Don’t worry, I never met him. I didn’t know he existed until he didn’t.” She sat down in her enormous armchair and examined Laura with curiosity. “What’s your family like?”
Laura shrugged and looked around for another chair. “Not very exciting. My parents are professors, my brothers are professors, I was supposed to be a professor.” No other chair; she sat on the floor and tucked her legs under her, crisscross applesauce, folding over to stretch her back. “I spent most of my life on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, with daily voyages downtown for school. New York is a big city, obviously, but the Upper West Side is a small world, especially the way my family does it.”
Nina look interested. “Ooh, academics. What do they teach?”
“Birds, largely. My dad is a professor in the biology department, studying the mechanics of flight, and my mom is a professor in the psychology department, studying the social lives of birds.” Laura smiled. “We had birds all over the place, literally and figuratively. The one part of my childhood that was like yours was that both of them went away every summer to do fieldwork, so we stayed with our grandmother, or rather, she stayed with us.”
Nina stared at her and said, “So . . . you know a lot about birds as well then?”
Laura grinned at her. “You’re extremely single-minded about the trivia, aren’t you?”
Nina nodded. “Yes, sorry. My boyfriend says it’s irritating, and refuses to join my team. He was on an opposing team when we met, but he says I take the trivial out of trivia, which ruins it.” She narrowed her eyes. “I really do like him a lot, but he’s not very competitive.”
Laura laughed. “Where is he tonight?”
Nina smiled. “Tom? He went bowling with his brother.” She paused. “He’ll come by later.” She looked down and picked at the rug, slightly sheepishly. “We don’t live together, but we see each other a lot.”
“You met him through trivia?”
Nina started to nod, but then shook her head. “Yes . . . no . . . kind of. We met because of trivia, certainly, but we . . . I don’t know. I wasn’t interested in him at first because I didn’t think he was a reader, which is kind of a deal breaker, but . . .” She paused, and blushed slightly. “I got over myself.” She brightened. “Did you know that if you bowl four strikes in a row, it’s called a hambone?”
“No,” said Laura levelly, “I did not know that.” She smiled. “Are you trying to change the subject? I didn’t mean to be nosy.”
“It’s OK. It’s a new relationship, we’re still working things out.”
“Does he live close?”
“Pretty close, we’re both homebodies. He’s traveled more than I have, I haven’t even been to San Diego.” She pulled a cat toy out of a drawer and starting playing with Phil. “One time he and I were supposed to drive to Mexico, like this fun, spontaneous thing, right?”
“Yes,” said Laura, beginning to like Nina more and more. She might be small and cute, but there was no reason to get mad about it.
“Well, we made it as far south as Carlsbad, which is coincidentally the home of Legoland, and ended up spending the weekend there instead. It was pretty awesome.” She giggled.
Laura grinned. “You spent a romantic weekend building things out of Lego?”
“I don’t think anything was actually completed, but it was fun.” Nina looked at her phone. “It’s after nine, I guess we better call it a day.”
“Wait, you promised to work on your hand.”
“I did,” said Nina calmly. “I scooped ice cream earlier and read for an hour at a good clip, and I turned each page twice.”
Laura clicked her tongue. “Will you let me stretch your hand, at least? I learned how to do it for myself when I was recovering, and I promise it’ll feel good.”
Nina rolled her eyes but held out her hand. Laura shimmied over on the rug and took hold of it in both of hers, gently stretching and massaging. Inside her head she was listing the bones and muscles of this most elegant of small machines, visualizing the diagrams and charts she’d already spent hours looking at. The human body never failed to astound her; the intricate interdependence of structures hard and soft, the tension and torque of fascia and sinew.
Laura’s hair slid forward as she bent over Nina’s hand. “You don’t need to spend hours on it, you simply need to be consistent.” She interlaced her fingers with Nina’s and spread them apart. “You’ll be glad you did, I promise.”
Nina looked dubious. “My wrist feels fine, honestly.”
Laura looked up at her and went back to stretching. “Well, great, don’t you want it to stay that way?”
Nina regarded the other woman thoughtfully as she bent over her hand. Living in Los Angeles meant Nina—and everyone else—saw a lot of good-looking people. Beauty queens of every gender arrived to make their fame and fortune, and Angelenos developed an extremely warped sense of average. By Los Angeles standards Laura was pretty but not outstanding. Her features were even, her nose neither small enough for cute nor big enough for interesting, her mouth pleasant and often smiling. Her coloring was unusual: Her hair and skin were shades of caramel while her eyes were gray, her irises ringed with black. What was truly remarkable about her was a considerable physical presence, both in terms of height (Nina thought she had to be nearly six feet tall) and strength (her arms and shoulders were defined and muscular, her legs even more so). Admittedly, when Laura had burst into the bookstore office all tall, damp, and smoky, she’d startled the applesauce out of Nina, but now she could see Laura used her powers only for good. She wasn’t exactly . . . forthcoming about herself, but Nina could relate to that. She wasn’t a podcast of personal feelings herself.
“Alright,” said Laura, straightening up, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Nina flexed her hand. “I’ll be honest, that was amazing. I’m going to have to rethink massage completely.”
Laura frowned. “You don’t like massage?”
“No,” replied Nina, “too ticklish.”
Laura opened her mouth, but then closed it. If she herself won the lottery, she would 100 percent spend it all on massage, but to each his own. She got to her feet and brushed herself off. Clouds of cat hair tumbled and caught the light.
“Sorry about that,” said Nina, smiling ruefully, but Laura shook her head.
“I don’t mind. Fur is much easier to live with than feathers, which have an unfortunate tendency to stick into you when you least expect it.”
Nina opened her apartment door. “Thanks for joining our merry band,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “We’re going to pulverize the competition.”
Laura wished she shared Nina’s optimism. “Well, thanks for inviting me, and try to at least stretch your wrist and hand every day.” She walked carefully down the steps. “Your cat is on the gate again. Is he going to bite me?”
“Doubtful,” said Nina. “But he may give you venomous side-eye, it’s his specialty.”
Laura turned the corner toward the gate, disappearing from Nina’s view. Nina listened to Laura’s footsteps on the gravel, then a creak as the gate opened and closed. She could imagine Phil’s expression of concentration.
Laura’s voice floated back. “He hates me.”
Nina grinned. “He doesn’t. He takes his time to get to know people,” she called out. “Like me,” she muttered under her breath.
“I’m the same way,” replied Laura, more distantly. “Maybe he and I will become friends eventually.”
Nina smiled and went inside.
TWENTY
On Saturday it was hot before eight in the morning and Laura skipped her run for once, saving her energy for whatever heavy lifting was involved in gardening. She and Bob met up in the kitchen, and she hoped she’d dressed appropriately. She’d borrowed loose cotton pants from Polly and hoped they would keep her cool enough. Bob was wearing his usual jeans and a T-shirt from some gardening-related company. Laura wondered randomly if she would have to wear physical therapy–related T-shirts once she was working. Did such things even exist? She hadn’t forgotten the connection she and Bob had shared the other night, but she was trying to. No time for distractions this year. Or probably next year, either.
“So, where exactly are we going?” Laura looked at Bob, who was pouring coffee and tea into two to-go cups.
“Culver City,” he said. “It’s maybe half an hour away.” He hesitated. “Are you comfortable going in the truck? I got the side mirror fixed.”
Laura made a scornful noise and nodded. “Of course. I was only surprised the other day.” This wasn’t entirely true; she was feeling a little nauseated with anxiety about being on the road, actually, but she was in no way ready to show it. She’d spent ten minutes in the shower telling herself not to freak out, and was hoping she was going to take her own advice. You’re a tough cookie, she told herself over and over and over. This cookie is not for crumbling.
Bob looked at her, but she was bending down to pet Herbert the dog, who was waving his tail gently, stirring the air to get a better sniff at it. When she lifted her head, Bob smiled at her, relieved she was OK, his own nervousness about the day starting to fade away. Laura wasn’t like most of the women he met in Los Angeles. She was easier to be with, less . . . demanding. Everything about her was self-contained, and everything she said and did made it clear she valued her independence. He wondered what it took to get under her skin, and then he found himself wondering about her skin, and told himself to snap out of it.
They headed out of the house, and Laura took a deep breath before opening the truck and climbing in. I’m fine, it’s fine, everything is fine.
Bob turned on the engine, and looked at her. “OK?”
She nodded and gave him one of her big smiles. If he knew how scared she was, he would lose all respect for her, she was certain.
“I’m great, let’s go.”
Bob reversed out of the driveway and swung into the street. Laura’s tummy lurched, but she breathed deeply and threatened herself to calm it down.
Let’s talk about something else. “So, tell me about this teacher of yours. He sounds interesting.”
Bob paused, waiting for an opportunity to make a turn across traffic. Because he wasn’t looking at her, she let herself gaze at him. He had a little break in his nose, clearly very old, and a hole in his ear where he used to wear an earring. She felt tension pulling her ribs together, and decided to focus on the corners of his mouth instead. They lifted up, creating successfully distracting dimples.
He said, “You’ll like Edward, he’s great. He’s literally a world expert on soil, and his family is one of the largest horticultural dynasties in Europe.”
Laura laughed and hoped he didn’t notice the shake in her voice when she said, “Are there a lot of horticultural dynasties?”
Bob looked serious. “Yes. But the Bloem company has been dealing in flowers since before the Dutch tulip mania.”
“The what now?”
Bob shot her a glance, then explained. “In the seventeenth century, people in Holland became obsessed with tulips.”
“The flowers?”
“Yes. Different varieties, different colors. It was a national obsession, then a problem, as people bought and traded bulbs and flowers at vastly inflated prices. Eventually the market collapsed, and people lost fortunes. The Bloem company managed to keep going, and still does.”
“Huh,” said Laura, not sure what else to say. “How weird.”
Bob shrugged. “I find it easier to understand getting obsessed with plants than cars, or the latest phone. People are weird.” He looked across at Laura.
“I guess.” She fell silent, and then, as she became aware of the sound of the road under their wheels, said, “And you don’t mind helping him out with this kind of thing?”
“Not at all,” he replied, noticing her voice seemed a little tight. He tapped the brakes gently. “First of all, I like doing it. I’m much happier outside, I’ve never been good at being indoors.”
“Me neither,” said Laura, “but I haven’t done much gardening.”
“No problem,” said Bob easily. “I’ll tell you what to do.” He paused. “I mean, you know, I’ll let you know . . .” Nooo, his brain said, stop talking before it’s too late. “Not, like, you know, a boss, but . . .”
She looked over at him and laughed, feeling her tension abating a little. “It’s cool, I know what you meant. I’m here to help, right?” She spotted another potential topic. “Hey, what’s that crazy tree?”
He looked. “That is a weeping bottlebrush tree, for obvious reasons.”
Laura said, “You mean because of those bright red things that look exactly like bottlebrushes?” The tree had long, bright red blooms with hundreds of tiny hairlike stamens. They reminded her of something Dr. Seuss might draw. “Los Angeles is far more colorful than I expected.”
“You came at a good time.” Bob pointed at a huge purple tree. “There are still a few late-blooming jacarandas around, and orchid trees everywhere. We had a good wet winter, so this summer has been amazing.” He shot her a look. “Sorry. Talking about the weather.”
She shrugged. “I’m into weather. My whole family spent a lot of time outside, peering at various flora and fauna.” She made a face. “Although I was the one running around while everyone else oohed and aahed over leaves and birds.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I was good at taking notes and holding things for them. Other than that I was a massive disappointment to them, I’m afraid.”
He looked at her very briefly. “You’re kidding.”
She reddened, and shook her head. “They don’t understand why I don’t want to be a scientist.” She looked out of the window. “Professionally, I mean.”
“Aren’t you going to be kind of a doctor? Isn’t that science-y?”
“I guess, sort of.” She fell silent.
He paused, and redirected the conversation a little. “So was your house full of animals, growing up?”
“Not really,” she replied, her voice still soft, “unless cockroaches count. Our apartment was pretty small, it was already a source of controversy that I had my own room while my brothers had to share; there really wasn’t space for pets. But we had pigeons on the roof, and often had injured animals in boxes around the place.” She thought back. “We had a juvenile squirrel one winter, but we weren’t allowed to keep it.” She remembered that scene very clearly, her begging her parents to let her keep Nutty, and her mother’s disdain for the idea. It’s a wild animal, Laura, it has a place, a contribution to make, we have no right to stop it from being who it is. Strangely, when she’d made a similar argument about her own career choice, her mother had mocked her: People don’t make a contribution, they’re an infestation that threatens the whole system. But to be fair, her mother wasn’t a complete misanthrope. Laura could think of three other scientists her mom liked, one of whom was still alive. Her lips twitched; worrying about her family’s opinion was fruitless.
Bob looked over at her, catching the corner of her smile as she looked away. Her skin reminded him of the underside of petals, luminously soft. She was wearing tiny butterfly earrings that for some reason touched him. Laura was a strong woman, but the earrings showed the sweetness she wouldn’t show everyone. He wanted to see that side of her. He wanted to look through the bathroom door when he was getting undressed for the night, and glimpse her taking her earrings out before coming to bed. Oh my god, I have lost my mind. I have skipped straight from dirty dreams to sharing a bathroom . . . although we do share a bathroom.
