Page 5 of Love Below Zero

5

UNDIAGNOSED

BECKY - 4 MONTHS AGO

My hands are sweating, my body shaking. It’s not from nerves. I have no problems with public speaking, and this isn’t my first convention panel. Usually I just feel a small flutter in my stomach before taking the stage, but this is different. Mac is eyeing me dubiously.

“You shouldn’t be on your feet,” she says, grabbing my elbow and leading me to one of the backstage couches. The unspoken you shouldn’t even be here is loud and clear. She’s right, as usual. I shouldn’t even be upright at this moment. The headache at the base of my skull agrees.

“Can you get me a cup of coffee, please? Lots of milk, no sugar.” I don’t drink coffee. It tastes like dirt and the caffeine makes me sleepy. But the doctor said coffee would help heal the wound from the lumbar puncture, the one that’s currently leaking spinal fluid and causing one motherfucker of a headache.

“Fine. Just sit down, please.”

I plop down on one of the ratty purple couches they probably hauled out of someone’s basement. I lean back, trying to take some of the pressure off my brain.

My panel starts in a few minutes. I should have cancelled, but I am not about to let James Reid win. I didn’t anticipate needing a lumbar puncture to test for autoimmune diseases and being diagnosed with pre-diabetes two weeks before I was set to discuss my books with the man who hated them the most. Life’s a bitch sometimes.

I don’t know how long I’m on the couch, my eyes closed and counting my breaths, before Mac returns. I can smell the coffee in her hand and force myself upright to accept it.

“Do you want another painkiller? It’s probably too early for one, but I’m willing to take that risk.” Her hand comes up, wiping away a bead of sweat on my forehead.

Post dural headaches are common after lumbar punctures. The wound from the needle isn’t properly healed yet, so spinal fluid is still leaking out. That means my brain doesn’t have enough juice to swim in, so it sorta sinks down like a dead goldfish when I’m upright. It’s not as bad as it was a few days ago, and I can stay upright for longer periods of time now, but it still feels like someone is jamming an ice-pick into the back of my head.

“I’m okay,” I breathe, taking a sip of the coffee. It tastes like feet, but I force it down. I need it to fix me, fast. Mac is still eyeing me, but she doesn’t say anything.

I’m not used to being cared for. I’ve been on my own for so long, moved to a new country with zero friends, and I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like.

“Ms Baxter?” A tall, lanky man dressed in black and holding a clipboard stands in front of us. “We’re ready for you.” He gives me a small, encouraging smile, which bolsters my confidence a bit.

I hand Mac my coffee before following the tech to the stage. Another man is waiting for us, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched. His dirty blond hair is poking up in every direction, giving him the air of someone who stuck their finger in a power socket.

Seeing someone on screen and seeing someone in real life is vastly different. For one thing, James Reid is taller than I gave him credit for. He’s a few inches taller than I am, and at six feet myself, that’s an achievement.

“Rebecca?” It’s both a greeting and a question, and he doesn’t meet my eyes while speaking. The least he can do is look at me and face what he’s done. My irritation, and my headache, increases. I cross my arms over my chest.

“Reid.”

“It’s ‘Doctor,’ actually,” he corrects almost immediately. His voice is smooth, his British accent clipped.

“Forgive me, Doctor .” I heap as much sarcasm as I can on that last word. Nothing about this interaction would have bothered me were he anyone else. But the way he says it, like I’m so beneath him, makes steam come out of my ears. “I didn’t know they gave PhDs for being a dick,” I mumble under my breath as he turns away from me with a dismissive snort.

The tech that walked me over looks like he’s enjoying himself immensely.

“Five minutes,” he says, checking his clipboard. “Rebecca will be introduced first. Good luck out there.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me alone with Doctor Reid.

The silence stretches between us, but I refuse to look at his face. The rest of him looks annoyingly nerdy. He’s wearing slacks and a button-up with a plain black tie. His sleeves are neatly rolled up and cuffed. His forearms are defined, but not too muscular. He’s tall.

You can’t be attracted to a man just because he’s tall.

Hey now, whoa. Where the hell did that come from? I am not attracted to Doctor James Reid. I blame my slush puppy of a brain.

“Rebecca.” His voice pulls my attention to his face. I note the stubble, like he forgot to shave this morning. Aside from his hair and stubble, the rest of him is annoyingly tidy. There are smile lines around his mouth and eyes, though he isn’t smiling now. His eyes are the colour of an underground lagoon, hidden behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses.

Fuck, I’m staring at him like a complete weirdo. This is the second time he’s used my full name.

He gestures toward the stage. “You’re up.”

Cool. I was so lost in him that I didn’t hear the announcer. I’m not doing a good job of convincing Doctor Reid that I am not an imbecile.

I take a deep breath, willing both my headache and insecurities away before stepping onto the stage.

The lights are blinding, and for a moment I can’t see the audience at all. Doctor Reid comes on next, and we take a seat on the couch centre stage.

Our moderator is a short Black woman I recognise from my reader’s group, and I’m happy to have a familiar face on stage. We’re each given a microphone and a bottle of water, and then Tandi kicks off the panel.

“As we’re all aware, today’s panel discussion is about the importance of research in science fiction and fantasy novels. We’re joined by Rebecca Baxter, author of the Traverse Galaxy series, and Doctor James Reid, astronomer at the University College London. Now these two have a bit of a history, and we’ll get to that in a moment, but first, Becky, tell us about your research process.”

“Well, I had to do a lot of research for the first two Traverse books. For the newbies in the audience, the Traverse Galaxy series is set in a different galaxy to our own. Humanity abandoned Earth after destroying it, and travelled through a wormhole to a new galaxy. My research involved watching lectures and videos about wormholes and quantum physics. But I also read a lot of romance novels as well.”

I can feel Doctor Reid shifting next to me, as if he’s gearing up to say something condescending.

“I also read a lot of Doctor Reid’s research,” I say innocently. I feel him stiffen beside me and can’t help but smile. Bet he didn’t see that one coming. He’s not the only one who can make comments on writing.

“Well,” he says, “my research process involves a lot more than just watching videos and reading romance novels.”

There’s a slight chuckle from the audience. I hate how that validates him.

“Tell us about your process, Doctor Reid,” Tandi says, though her face is slightly pinched. I’m guessing she didn’t like the subtle dig at romance either.

“I’m afraid it’s not very glamorous. It mostly involves looking at computer data gathered by large telescopes. I rarely look at actual stars, but when I do, it’s always a highlight.”

“You’re right, that does sound boring,” I can’t help but quip. “Wouldn’t you agree that romance novels would spice things up?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, but his grip on his mic tightens. Maybe teasing him isn’t the right way to go about this, but I am nothing if not persistent.

“I agree, if they are good romance books.” His eyes meet mine, the implication clear in his voice. I can hear his video playing in the back of my mind.

Derivative.

Unoriginal.

My headache is making it hard to think, plus the infuriating presence of a man hell-bent on dunking on my romance books is not doing my verbal filter any favours.

“Art is subjective. If we were all reading the books you deemed ‘good enough,’ we’d all be pretty bored.”

“But science isn’t subjective—it has rules. Rules that even silly romance books should follow.”

Perfect. Another adjective to add to the parade of adjectives Doctor Reid uses to describe my work.

“Alright, folks, let’s keep it civil,” Tandi jumps in. “There has been some tension between the two of you since Doctor Reid’s video came out. Let’s chat about that. What were you hoping to achieve with the video, Doctor?”

“The purpose of the video was to educate. Science fiction is a great medium through which to teach people about complex science, if done right. If not, we’re all just repeating the same wrong information.”

“And my book contains the wrong information?” I can’t help but ask.

“Regarding wormholes and how they work, yes.”

“Enlighten us then.”

I must have watched his video twenty times by now. I researched his arguments inside and out. I’m prepared. At least, I thought I was. I didn’t count on my head feeling like a Pringles can at the bottom of the ocean .

“Let’s start at the beginning.” Reid leans forward, his entire demeanour changing. I can picture him at the front of a classroom, hands covered in chalk as he explains some complex theorem. Eager to share his knowledge. If he was my professor, I definitely would have paid attention in class. “Humans find a naturally occurring wormhole through which they can travel. As a premise, this is flawed. Naturally occurring wormholes haven’t been proven and are likely not possible.”

“Theoretically they are, according to string theory,” I add.

“A theory that also hasn’t been proven.”

“But not disproven either. A scientist such as yourself shouldn’t discount that possibility.”

“An author such as yourself should have done more research.”

I am suddenly acutely aware of how close we are sitting. We must have drifted nearer to each other as we talked. His leg brushes against mine, and I can smell the clean and slightly sweet scent of his aftershave. I feel lightheaded, and not because of the headache.

“I’m sorry my fictional wormholes aren’t up to your standards,” I snap. “And you’re missing the point of the novel entirely.”

“So you said in your comments.” His voice is annoyingly calm, but I can tell by the way he clenches his jaw that I’m getting to him. He probably thought this entire convention was beneath him. Now that I think about it, I’m surprised he said yes to this in the first place. “I would argue that you’re the one missing the point of the genre.”

“Which is? ”

“To make science accessible and understandable. Otherwise, why set it in space?”

I’m seconds away from closing the gap between us and throttling him. The stage lights are too bright, and I can feel a bead of sweat running down my back. I am so tired of defending myself as a sci-fi author. I’ve fought back hordes of sci-fi bros and L. Ron Hubbard stans to be here, but in reality, I’ve made little progress. Because here is yet another man, telling me how to write.

“It’s not just about space. It’s about humans. Love. Survival. Family. You’ve not even touched those subjects in your review. Are they not quantifiable enough for you? What do you know about love anyway?”

I didn’t mean for that last part to slip out. His brow furrows, pain flashing behind his eyes for a second before it’s gone. I feel like I kicked a baby Sheldon Cooper.

“I might not know all those colourful words to describe male appendages, but I do know space.” The audience laughs again, and I can tell they are enraptured by this discussion. I was going to be civil, but he makes it so damn hard. He leans in, enough for me to see the flecks of gold sprinkled in his eyes. “What do you know about science anyway, Rebecca?”

I jerk back like he slapped me, which he might as well could have. He can’t have known about my own failures as a scientist. I barely scraped through my physics degree (maths was never my strong suit), opting to pursue creative writing instead after no physics post-grad would accept me. And yet, he seems to sense all of that. Maybe he has some kind of superpower that detects all of your biggest failures. Those stupid eyes can see right through me .

“Maybe we can all learn something from each other today,” Tandi says, rescuing me from having to answer.

I don’t say too much for the rest of the panel. We talk, or rather, mostly Reid talks about research techniques and how he would approach science fiction writing. I throw in a few chirps here and there, but my heart isn’t in it. I shouldn’t feel bad for defending myself against him, and yet I do. My headache grows worse by the minute. Tandi must have seen me looking a little too pale, because she mercifully wraps up the discussion.

As soon as we’re finished, I bolt upright, practically running off the stage. Before I can make it back to the couch though, a warm hand wraps around my arm, stopping me from sinking face-first into old Cheeto dust and oblivion.

“That was uncalled for,” Reid says, his eyes hard. Clearly he can’t see the state I’m in, or he wouldn’t have stopped me.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Doctor.” I know what he means, but my brain is leaking out of my nose.

“The love comment,” he says, letting go of my arm to cross his over his chest.

“I meant it,” I say, rubbing my forehead as if that will stop the pain. His edges start to blur, my heart pounding loudly in my ears. “You want to question my ability to write sci-fi, I sure as hell get to question your ability to judge romance.”

“That’s not—” But I don’t let him finish his sentence. The world tilts, and I bend over and puke on his shoes.