Page 34 of Love Below Zero

34

CLEAN

JAMES

It’s raining in Oxford, which should come to no one’s surprise. The raindrops are entirely too loud for me, and I’m having a hard time concentrating on the campus tour. About a week after we got out of the dome, Oxford extended an invitation for an interview.

My hands shook as I hastily tapped out a reply, and then I immediately texted Rebecca. She was happy for me, and I wish we could have celebrated together, but she’s still in South Africa. Besides, it’s just an interview—they can still decide to go with someone else.

After the initial online interview, I was invited to campus for a tour of the labs. Being here gives me a weird sense of déjà vu. Oxford and Cambridge are similar in many aspects, and while there is some friendly competition amongst the students, it really doesn’t mean much once you get older. A dull ache still settles in my chest. If I had done things differently, I would still be at Cambridge. That’s where I met Jules and Eli, and where I experienced my first heartbreak. If I had stayed there, I never would have met Rebecca though.

It’s strange being on such a similar campus, but not having the ghosts of the past dragging me down.

Oxford will be good for me, I think.

The undergrad student showing me around ends our tour at Professor Bishop’s office. I enter, glad to be out of the wind and rain. I almost left the house this morning without an umbrella, a fatal mistake on my part. I’m still not used to going outside, or having to check the weather apps.

Matthew Bishop is a slender, greying man that reminds me of my grandfather. We got along well when he was my supervisor, and I regret losing contact with him after I left Cambridge.

Now it all seems so silly. Sara is the one who stole my work and ran away like a thief in the night, so why did I leave Cambridge like I was at fault?

“James, good to see you.” Bishop shakes my hand, gesturing for me to sit in one of the upholstered chairs by his desk. His office smells faintly of old books and cigar smoke. A large mahogany desk takes up most of the space, filled with papers and various bric-a-brac.

“And you, Professor. I cannot tell you how much your first email meant to me.”

He lowers himself into the chair behind the desk, waving me off.

“It’s nothing. I always keep an eye on former students. Now, tell me about the mission.”

I tell him as much as I’m able to. Our debrief is still forthcoming, and Rebecca is writing several pieces for various publications on our trip, and I’d rather have people read her work than hear from me. There is also the small matter of telling Frances that Rebecca and I fell in love during the mission.

I tossed and turned for almost a week, going back and forth on the decision to come clean. While it was never explicitly stated that we couldn’t fraternise on the mission, it would still be frowned upon. And while I don’t think it’ll have any serious impact on the data, we still have to disclose it.

We probably should have disclosed it sooner, now that I think about it. In the moment it seemed possible to get away with it, but doing the right thing weighs on me. I value my integrity as a scientist above everything, and if that means dealing with the possible consequences, like not getting this job, then so be it.

“I think it went well. Preliminary data looks good, and I’m eager to read the final report.”

Bishop nods. “Commander Jemison was kind enough to send me a letter of recommendation for you. She had nothing but nice things to say.”

Will she still have nice things to say after I speak to her?

“That’s very considerate of her. We worked well together.”

We make some further small talk, and he shows me some of the things they are working on. The pitter-patter of the rain against his window sounds like someone playing the drums in my ear canal, and I desperately want my noise-cancelling headphones. They arrived on my doorstep a few days after getting home, with a note from Rebecca.

It’s by far the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I try to muster up enough enthusiasm for the rest of this informal interview, but by the end, I’m exhausted. I bid goodbye to Professor Bishop, and he promises to let me know as soon as they make a decision. The smile melts off my face the minute I sink into my car.

I disassociate for most of the drive back to London, and only when I park in front of my townhouse do I realise I have no idea how I got home.

I fish my phone out of my pocket and hit dial on Rebecca’s number. We mostly text, but I desperately want to hear her voice.

“Hey,” she answers on the second ring.

“Hey,” I say back, my voice scratchy.

“How did it go?”

“Well, I think.”

She hums, and I hear the faint sounds of keyboard clacking. I sit up straighter.

“You’re writing?”

“I am. It’s going incredibly slow, but Joanna kicked my butt into gear.”

Relief washes through me. I had been moments away from getting on a plane when MacKenzie had told me Rebecca was still not writing. But she convinced me to take a different approach. I wasn’t the person Rebecca needed, and that was okay. Joanna would give her the tools to work through her dilemma. So I pulled all the strings I could to get Joanna to the farm, including one very taxing phone call with Rebecca’s mother, who doesn’t speak English well. But I persisted.

“I’m glad to hear that, love.”

“You sound tired,” she says, the keyboard going silent. She must have had me on speaker before, because her voice is closer now. Like she picked up the phone and pressed it to her ear.

“I want to tell Frances about us.” I tell Rebecca about the recommendation letter she wrote. “It feels like betraying her trust, and the integrity of the study.”

Rebecca is silent for a long time. “What if she withdraws her recommendation?”

I run a hand through my hair, tugging on it. “I’ll most likely lose out on the job.”

“James I’m ... I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“It’s really not, love. I wouldn’t change a single thing because you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I love our story, even if it’s a little messy.”

“I thought you hated messy.”

“Not if it’s you, my little bundle of chaos.”

She laughs, and I drink the sound in, letting it calm me. As long as I have her, everything else will be alright. Losing the job will be devastating, but this matters more.

“When is your call with her? Do you need me to join?”

“Later tonight, and no, I should do this on my own. You should write.”

My phone buzzes and I look at it. She’s asking to switch to a video call. Her face pops up on the screen, and it’s like all the tension melts out of my body. Her hair is messy, and she has a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her mouth pulls up into that devastatingly beautiful lopsided smile of hers when I turn my camera on.

“I like your tie.”

I look down, not remembering what I put on this morning. It’s a black tie, covered in pink roses. It’s strange wearing a tie again after spending months without one.

“I miss you. Have you written me a new death scene yet?”

She shakes her head. “I think I’m done writing death scenes for you. Can’t say the same for your ex though.” Her smile turns deadly. “Let’s just say I was not nice to her.”

“I can’t wait to read it.”

Several emotions flash across her face, and she looks a little green at the idea of me reading her work.

“Just reading it. No videos, love, I promise.”

“It’s not that. Okay, maybe it’s a little bit that. What if you don’t like it?”

“I’m sure I will love it, but in the unlikely event that I don’t, it won’t change the way I feel about you.”

It seems like that’s what she wants to hear, but it’s also the truth. I’ve always been honest with her, and I’m not going to stop now. Even if she writes the most factually inaccurate book, I’ll still love her. She is more than her writing, more than her career. I’ll keep reminding her of that.

“Okay, babe, I better get back to it. Call me after you’ve spoken to Frances, please?”

I promise I will, and then we hang up. I sit in the car for several more minutes, prolonging my return to reality. Seeing her face isn’t enough. I need to feel her next to me, have her within arm’s reach. There’s a physical ache in my chest and she’s the only one who can ease it.

I pull out my phone again, texting Jules. There’s something I need to do.

Frances stares at me through my computer monitor. I’ve just finished confessing all my sins to her, and now I’m awaiting her judgement.

“You two are ridiculous.” Her southern accent is especially prominent when she’s angry. That can’t be a good sign. “Acting like I haven’t known about your tomfoolery this whole time. Those walls were paper thin and neither of you are as subtle as you think.”

“If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?” Why didn’t she stop us?

She gives me an exasperated look. “You’re an adult, James. I’m not about to police your actions. Besides, what you did in your private time remains private.”

Before signing on for Operation Below Zero, we went through literal mountains of paperwork. The Institutional Review Board had to sign off on all the experiments we conducted and took part in. Being a human test subject is not easy. In order to protect our privacy and bodily autonomy, there are certain rules and safeguards that the study has to adhere to.

Astronauts put their bodies on the line for science all the time, usually at great personal cost to their privacy. Because there are so few of them, and they’re often in the spotlight, it wouldn’t be difficult to match data sets to the right person. Sensitive issues like anxiety or depression could become public knowledge, violating the privacy of the astronaut.

That’s why there are rigorous guidelines in place to protect us. NASA and the ESA can’t use our data unless we consent to it.

“Surely there are implications on the study? Variables that need to be considered.”

She nods. “And I’ve considered them. Any shenanigans you two idiots took part in happened during private time and are not the concerns of NASA or the ESA. You filled in all of the mood surveys to the best of your ability, correct?”

I did, and so did Rebecca. While we didn’t explicitly state we were sleeping together, we did indicate that we were spending more time together. Frances is right. Just because we signed on for various experiments doesn’t give them blanket permission to examine every aspect of our lives.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then I appreciate you telling me what I already knew. And I’ll assure you that the data hasn’t been compromised. We can discuss it further during the debrief, if you still have concerns.”

I’m sure a few will still pop up between then and now, and I’ll write them down as they come up.

“I understand if you’d like to withdraw the recommendation letter you sent to Professor Bishop.”

Frances throws up her hands. “Lord help me with these fools.” She presses closer to the camera, almost as if she wants to reach through it and shake me. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she finds a way to make that happen. “I’m not taking anything back. You both did your duties admirably. I’m not punishing you for falling in love along the way. As much as it probably pains you, you are human, James Reid. Humans do stupid shit all the time. We fall in love when we’re not supposed to. Do you think if we send people to Mars that they’re not going to fall in love? Don’t answer that—I don’t have time for your delusions. Where is Rebecca?”

I sit in stunned silence for a minute before my brain registers that she asked me a question. She has a point though. One that I also missed in the beginning. Space without the love and light of human connection and innovation is just a cold, dark abyss. I tend to look at space and only see its laws, governed by the harsh reality of the physics we barely understand. But people like Rebecca look at space and see wonder, opportunity, a place where humans persevere and become the best versions of themselves. It’s the exact thing she was trying to tell me at the convention all those months ago.

“She’s in South Africa. We decided that some time apart would be good for us.”

Frances looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm.

“You’re children, all of you. Must I think for you as well? Go get her! Life’s too short for all these worries.”

I’m beginning to understand that.

“Yes, ma’am. Right away.”