Page 16 of Love in the Lab (Delaneys in Love #2)

“When we were in classes together, he would always rub it in my face if he scored higher than me on exams. When we’re in the lab, he interrupts my work, and now, our PI is making me do fieldwork with him, and he’s making it as difficult as possible for me.”

I realize that though I’m reciting the same complaints I’ve had about Jonathan from the start, I don’t feel the same conviction about them I used to.

Also, the charges aren’t exactly true. He’s not making fieldwork difficult for me.

In fact, he’s been super accommodating and thoughtful, going out of his way to make the work easier.

Other than that first awful day when I fell in the bayou, I’ve actually been enjoying myself on our weekly trips to collect water samples.

“Maybe he likes you,” Mom teases. “Like a little boy on the playground who pulls the pigtails of the little girl he has a crush on.”

“Okay, no,” I protest, shaking my head emphatically. “First of all, it’s harmful to women to suggest that men harass us because they like us. It teaches girls to equate abuse with love—”

“Abuse is a pretty strong word in this case, isn’t it?” she interrupts.

“And second of all, Jonathan does not like me,” I fume.

She raises her hands in surrender. “Okay, I’m sorry. I just like the effect he’s having on you. Trying new foods, having new experiences. It’s good for you.”

Inwardly, I groan. Not her, too. First Dr. Gantt tells me to get out of my comfort zone, and now my own mother, who arguably knows me better than anyone, says new experiences are good for me? She should know they’re not.

“Mom…” I warn.

“Okay. All I’m saying is that playing it too safe can get in the way of living, and I want you to experience all the good things in life—”

Before she can continue, Dad is back, laying our food out on the table. As we eat, the conversation shifts to their travel plans and their eagerness to meet Nicole’s boyfriend.

Still, my mom’s words run on repeat in my brain, not only her warning about playing it safe, but also her suggestion that Jonathan may like me as more than a coworker or potential friend.

If he does, which I doubt, it’s only because he doesn’t know me well enough yet.

So why does the idea send a jolt of anticipation through my chest?

My parents spend the rest of the weekend coddling me.

We go to the grocery store so they can stock my pantry.

My dad and I hang the photo frames, and he shows me how to stop my toilet from running.

Meanwhile, my mom puts together half a dozen freezer meals and labels them with reheating instructions before stashing them in my freezer.

They both help me tidy up—dusting, sweeping, reorganizing—and I think my mom even sneaks downstairs to wash a load of my dirty laundry.

It’s simultaneously embarrassing and comforting.

They helped me with tasks like these all the time when I was growing up.

When I was seven and eight years old, getting dressed in the morning before school felt like such a burden some days, literally more intimidating than climbing a mountain.

They would help me, even though I was far too old to need help putting on clothes.

When I was in middle school, they helped me keep track of my school assignments and deadlines.

They didn’t do it for me, but they sat down with me after school every day to review my agenda.

They guided me on how to prioritize: yes, the science assignment is more fun, but the social studies project is due sooner.

Why don’t you work on the social studies project first?

In high school, they reminded me to take my medication and spent hours in the car with me while I was learning to drive.

It took me a lot of practice to acclimate to all the variables I had to pay attention to at once while driving a car: monitor the mirrors, watch the road ahead, steer, press the appropriate pedals.

And now, they’re helping me organize my adult life, too.

It’s the kind of support I don’t have regularly anymore.

On the one hand, that’s a relief, because I’m an adult and don’t want to burden someone I love with taking care of me.

On the other hand, taking care of myself all by myself is exhausting.

I remember when I was really young and would melt down from overwhelm and not know how to communicate my feelings except by knocking everything from the table onto the floor.

I remember how frustrated they would get when I would not, could not get in the shower because it just felt really hard to do.

I remember taking time and attention away from my younger sisters because I just needed so much.

I know I could be a lot to deal with. I am a lot to deal with.

My parents and sisters understand. They’re family. They know me; they know what to expect. They love me and so don’t mind when I need extra support, or forget to call again, or neglect to clean up after myself.

That’s another reason I value my work at the lab so much.

It’s a mutualistic relationship. The lab benefits through my time and efforts that can lead to breakthroughs in our research.

I benefit through satisfaction, fulfilment, and, you know, a paycheck.

But with a romantic partner, I can’t see what I have to contribute.

The relationship is bound to be parasitic—like the codependent way copepods cling to the skin and gills of sharks, feeding on them—where I get all the benefits and he is only harmed.