Page 6 of Love Below Zero

6

SPECIAL EDITION

JAMES - 4 MONTHS AGO

My hands are shaking, even though I drank twice the prescribed amount of herbal calming tonics that Jules gave me. It was clear from the start that I do not belong at a romance convention. Large crowds of people—some dressed in costume—and tight spaces surprisingly did not help my social anxiety.

I’m used to giving one or two lectures to small groups of people, but speaking at a convention is entirely different. Still, it’s good practice, and I have to defend my honour. The video I made reviewing Rebecca Baxter’s books blew up in a way I did not anticipate. I have to stand my ground.

Though I will admit all of my critiques weren’t necessary (as Jules pointed out several times), the valid ones still required defending.

After Rebecca announced that she was handing her social media over to an assistant, I decided to stop uploading videos and figure out how to course correct. Aside from bringing in a torrent of new subscribers, the video’s popularity wasn’t a good thing .

One million people now subscribed to my channel. I had unintentionally created a platform where (mostly) men voiced their horrendous opinions on women in science-fiction. I had to turn the comments off on the video, not just because of my feud with Rebecca, but because of the pure vitriol she was getting.

That was never my intention. The channel was supposed to be about learning, not an outlet for misogynistic thoughts.

When I received the invite for the convention, I was hesitant to accept, but I had to try to make things right.

Why did my brain decide that talking to her in person in front of a large crowd of people was a better idea than an email?

I am determined to keep a calm, level head.

Which is hard to do, considering the object of my strife just vomited on my shoes. I probably deserved that.

A Black woman with bright pink hair comes rushing up to us, the same one I saw with Rebecca earlier.

“I’m so sorry, Doctor Reid,” she says, taking Rebecca by the shoulders. Rebecca still looks green, her normally shining brown eyes dull and unseeing. A few of the backstage crew are already in action, bringing over paper towels and water to clean up the spill. I take one of the offered wipes and clean my shoes as best I can.

Rebecca looks like she’s about to faint. I reach out automatically, wrapping an arm around her soft waist to keep her upright.

She isn’t what I expected. I’d seen photos, of course, but it’s different seeing someone in person. Tall, soft. Being close to her is like being in the eye of the storm, chaos and calm rolled together in one .

“That’s alright. Do you need help getting her back to your hotel?”

The pink-haired woman considers it for a moment. Rebecca sags against me, and I can feel the heat of her body through my clothes. Something clicks inside of me, a feeling I can’t quite place.

I’m rarely attracted to bodies. I don’t seem to have that sort of instant attraction to people that most feel. The best I can describe it as is apathy. I lack any kind of interest or enthusiasm for bodies, my own included sometimes. It’s one of those things about myself I just accepted. The sense of being other, of being broken somehow.

I feel far from apathy with Rebecca leaning against me. Despite earlier events, she smells nice. Like chocolate and vanilla. And I couldn’t help the tiny thrill that raced down my spine every time she matched wits with me on stage. She is brilliant and infuriating, and stirs up emotions I didn’t know I still had.

Emotions I would actually prefer not to have about a woman who I’ve been in an online feud with, met once, and who just threw up on my brand-new brogues.

“Sure, it’s not far. I’m MacKenzie, by the way, her assistant.” She cups Rebecca’s face, pushing her hair out of the way. “We’re going to the hotel, okay?”

Rebecca just nods and we slowly make our way to the exit. MacKenzie apologises to the backstage crew for the mess and they wave us off.

“What’s wrong with her?” I ask as MacKenzie leads us down a mostly empty corridor.

“Post dural headache. We should have cancelled today, but she’s a stubborn one.”

I look down at the woman in my arms, a little surprised .

“She just gave birth?”

“What?” MacKenzie looks over her shoulder as we came to a stop in front of an elevator. I recognise it as the one that goes up to the lobby of my hotel. It should have been obvious that we were staying in the same hotel, as this was the only one that connected to the convention centre. Easy to get in and out for a popular author like her. Less anxiety for me, because I don’t have to worry about parking or taking public transport.

“Post dural headaches are common side effects of epidurals,” I explain.

“Oh, no. She had a lumbar puncture, and it’s taking some time to heal.”

Relief floods through me. Not because I’m opposed to the idea of her having a child, but because I’m opposed to the idea of her having a partner. It’s a silly thing to be worried about, considering I don’t know her.

“Is she alright?” People don’t get lumbar punctures for fun. They are typically used to diagnose a multitude of autoimmune diseases. My brain flashes through several diagnoses, each one worse than the last.

MacKenzie swipes her hotel keycard and the elevator doors ping open. I tighten my grip slightly on Rebecca, and she leans against me for support. I gently guide her inside the elevator.

The small space makes me very aware of my hand resting on her waist. I haven’t been physically this close to someone in years. Despite the circumstances, it feels nice.

“Didn’t know you cared,” Rebecca mumbles as MacKenzie hits the button for their floor. It’s one above mine.

“She’ll be fine,” MacKenzie says, but her eyes are full of worry. It sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself of that fact.

“They don’t ... know what’s wrong with me yet,” Rebecca breathes. It isn’t good news, but it means she didn’t test positive for any serious autoimmune disorders, like multiple sclerosis, as that would show up on the test results. Before I can stop myself, I give her waist a reassuring squeeze. I want to tell her she’s not alone, which is preposterous since she definitely doesn’t need reassurances from me.

The elevator doors slide open and MacKenzie leads us to one of the rooms nearby. She fumbles with the keycard for a minute before opening the door.

I lead Rebecca inside. The room is messy, bed unmade and clothes strewn about. The layout is similar to my own. A large bed, a closet, and a small desk and chair. A stack of books sits on the bedside table, various romance and sci-fi titles. Her laptop and a notebook are propped open on the desk.

I set her down on the bed and she immediately flops over, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Thank god,” she moans, and my brain short circuits. “Mac, do me a favour and suffocate me please.” She pulls a pillow over her face, burrowing into the covers.

“I’ll get you some water and painkillers instead,” MacKenzie says, stepping into the bathroom.

“Thank you,” she mumbles into the pillow. I assume she’s talking to MacKenzie, but then she adds, “For your help, Doctor Reid.” Her lack of sarcasm when using my title makes my body heat up.

I reach for the pillow, pulling it down to reveal Rebecca’s face. She already looks better, colour returning to her cheeks .

“You’re welcome, darling. And I won’t bill you for the shoes.”

With Rebecca settled and safely in her room, I say goodbye to MacKenzie and make my way back down to the convention. I promised Jules I would get her a few books, and my flight back to the UK is later tonight, so now is the time.

I wander through the general hall, glancing at my phone every now and then to look at the list Jules gave me. The convention is winding down, which means the crowds are a bit thinner.

I try my best not to think about Rebecca too much, but her face is on one of the large billboards and I’m finding it difficult to concentrate on my task. I can still feel the heat of her against me, still smell her soft perfume. I don’t have a sweet tooth, but she smells like freshly baked brownies and it makes my mouth water.

It also makes me think of Sara. It’s been a while, almost two years at this point, and I wonder if I will ever get rid of the ache in my chest.

I’ve known for a while now that I’m different. When all of my classmates started talking about girls and their bodies, I was more bothered with planetary bodies than anything else. I was indifferent when someone brought a dirty magazine to school, and even more indifferent when a girl tried to kiss me during a game of truth or dare.

It happened in Year Nine, at the first house party I was allowed to go to. Of course, I hadn’t asked to go to a house party before then, but my friends were all going, and I recognised that this was supposed to be something I wanted to do.

So I asked my parents, who almost never said no to me, and took the Tube to Emma Cartwright’s house in South Kensington.

I immediately disliked it. The loud music, the smell of alcohol and tobacco. It was overwhelming, yet I stuck it out. It seemed like my friends were having the time of their lives, drinking and dancing like there was no tomorrow. Some had girlfriends at this point, and I watched in rapt fascination as they danced too close, hands wandering places they probably shouldn’t have.

It should have been things I wanted as well. Emma stuck close by me the whole night. At first I thought it was because she knew I was uncomfortable. We talked at school, but I wouldn’t call her a friend. Later I realised it was probably because she liked me, and she was hoping I would make a move.

Someone suggested a game of truth or dare, and that’s how I ended up in a closet with Emma. Objectively she was very pretty. Blond hair, blue eyes, sharp features. I knew from the other boys that she had a good body, but these things simply didn’t register for me. She was tired of my indifference though, so she took charge. She grabbed me by the shoulders, pulled me close, and kissed me.

It was my first kiss, and also my last kiss before I met Sara. I didn’t feel any type of way about it. I registered that her lips were soft and she tasted faintly of vodka. I waited for something to happen. A flip in my stomach, a twitch in my core, but nothing came.

And then I met Sara while I was doing my post-doc, and suddenly everything made sense. I finally knew what people meant when they talked about attraction. I wanted her, in a way I’ve never wanted anyone else. It was terrifying but also exhilarating. My heart pumped faster when I was near her, my palms would sweat. Other areas of my body would react too, after I got to know her better.

At first I thought I was dying. I called Jules in a panic, who laughed and told me that this was what falling in love felt like. She had long suspected I was asexual, but falling for Sara made me realise I was demisexual. I needed a deep intellectual connection with someone before feeling sexually attracted to them.

And Sara was brilliant. An astrophysicist studying black holes. We’d talk for hours about the mysteries of the universe, how we would solve the three-body problem or prove the existence of dark matter. We would read each other’s papers before submitting for publication, we’d share field notes and observations. I helped her build a simulation that showed what would happen if two supermassive black holes collided. It was like both my mind and soul were on fire when I was with her.

I thought we would burn, long and hot like a red dwarf star. Instead we crashed and burned like a meteorite.

I should have seen it coming.

Someone brushes past me, snapping me out of my thoughts. I blink, taking in my surroundings. I had wandered into the sci-fi area and stopped right in front of a large booth with Rebecca Baxter’s face on it. I frown, yet my feet move toward it on their own accord.

The three books in the Traverse series currently available are lined up on tables, bookmarks, character art, and other merchandise strewn all over. The stand is busy—people seem to be queuing for a special edition hardcover with new artwork on the front. A large sign announces that it is a limited edition print run, only available today.

I join the queue.

“Hi there.” One of the booth attendants smiles at me as I reach the front. “What can I get you?” She’s tall with bright blue hair, a Midwestern accent, and a pin stuck to her T-shirt that reads I love alien d*ck .

“Uhm ... could I get two sets of the special editions?” Jules will absolutely murder me if I don’t get her a set as well. “Are they signed?”

She grabs two sets of books, bagging them up while I get my card ready.

“Unfortunately not. Becky was supposed to be here today to sign them, but the poor dear is sick. You can give me your email address so we can reach out and send you some signed bookplates later.”

I enter my email address into the iPad she hands me, then pay for the books. I don’t know what possessed me to get a set for myself. I already have her books on my e-reader. It’s supposed to be a five-book series, with book four coming out later this year. Jules has been pushing for me to review books two and three, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Not after all the ridiculous comments I received. Besides, we have a research trip coming up and I need to focus on that.

“Thanks a lot,” I say to the woman as she hands me my books. She waves cheerfully before moving on to the next person in line.

I wander around the convention for a while, making sure to get each book on Jules’ list. Afterwards I return to the hotel, my mind wandering back to Rebecca. Is she doing okay? I’m almost tempted to go by her room, since I know where it is now, but I stop myself. She probably does not want to see me after throwing up on my shoes. It’s best if I just make my exit.

A short while later I’m at the airport, four hours before my flight leaves, as is customary. I already found the gate and made myself comfortable in one of the plastic chairs. I pull Rebecca’s book out of my carry-on bag and flip it open.

To everyone who’s ever felt lost. Your crew is out there. Don’t lose hope.

I stare at the dedication. I can’t remember reading it the first time. Did I skip over it, or did she add a new dedication for the special editions? A lump forms in my throat, but it also gives me a strange sense of comfort. I move past it to the first page and start to read.