Beginning, Section VII
Chapter Eighteen
Posted on March 14, 2009
Date: January 11, 2007
From: Rebecca Sharp (bexsharp@caltech.edu)
To: Elizabeth J. Bennet (eliza@caltech.edu)
Subject: !Who is that absolutely delicious creature I saw you chatting it up with at the NMR yesterday? Please say he's not seeing anybody.
BS
Date: January 11, 2007
From: Elizabeth J. Bennet (eliza@caltech.edu)
To: Rebecca Sharp (bexsharp@caltech.edu)
Subject: re: !His name is Frank Churchill and he's a new postdoc from Evelyn Waugh's group over at Princeton. And totally gone for Emma.
Liz
Date: January 11, 2007
From: Rebecca Sharp (bexsharp@caltech.edu)
To: Elizabeth J. Bennet (eliza@caltech.edu)
Subject: re: !Aren't they all? SO TOTALLY UNFAIR.
BS
The typical "winter" in Southern California started in January and ended two weeks later. It consisted of a deluge that poured from the sky without respite for the allotted time.
Emma hated it when it rained; rain anywhere else in the world meant very little. And on a cosmetic level, in the Austen lab, the only effects of the rain were the large stack of wet umbrellas that aggregated outside of each door. But rain in Southern California shortened tempers, and seemed to immerse its residents, even that hardy stock of Austen lab, in a general sense of lethargy and grumpiness.
Elinor was cranky, not having had her customary morning jog. Fran and Henry were sulking because they couldn't go cycling. Liz and Will argued at length over who had to brave the elements and run out to fetch more reagent-grade acetone. Trips to the Red Door or Broad were abandoned, and so, given no means of escape from each other, the members of the group got a bit...snippy. Emma, herself, had dealt with rain before; who hadn't? But rain at this time...well, she felt a little stressed out and frazzled.
And it wasn't just because she hadn't heard from or about Greg in three weeks.
Not, she supposed, that she had any right to want to hear from or of him. Seeing as they were broken up and all.
And not that she thought about it often. She was busy. Very busy.
It was just as well that she had come back from England early. She'd had a very productive Christmas, happy to work in the lab without the interruption of interviews. She'd been focused, without noisome labmates or...distracting boyfriends....around. She'd gotten good results. Results worth presenting at future job talks. Because now that January had come, well, the heavy hitters were going to start interviewing. Last week, she'd gotten the summons for Harvard and Stanford.
With another few weeks to go before these very important interviews, Emma was not about to slow down to think about things, or worry about them. She had things to do. And nobody, nothing was to get in her way.
Nobody, nothing was to disturb her.
So she was more than mildly miffed when she found the stranger in her lab bay, rifling through her drawers the Monday afternoon after her UC Santa Barbara interview.
She cleared her throat to catch his attention. "Can I help you?"
"Frank! There you are!" Elinor joined them.
Apparently just in time...Elinor mused. Emma's right eye was twitching.
"I was looking for a J. Young tube," Frank explained.
Elinor stepped in before bad first impressions were completely cemented, and Emma could apprise the man of the don't-touch-Emma's-stuff rule (her delivery, Elinor always found, lacked a bit of sympathy and patience): "Emma, this is Frank Churchill. He's a new postdoc and has just joined us from Evelyn Waugh's group over in Princeton," Elinor said quietly.
Emma assessed the newbie carefully. Tall, with the athletic build of a swimmer. His bronzy-brown hair was a bit shaggy, but she guessed that he liked it that way. He met her evaluation with amusement shining in his warm and friendly brown eyes, a smile revealing his very straight and clean teeth. And dimples. He didn't look like a chemist, but the name sounded familiar. "Frank Churchill...Heck reactions?"
"Yes," he gave a lop-sided, dimpled "aww shucks" smile.
She let the flirtatious charm float by unaddressed. "You're in good company, then. We're a palladium palace," she smiled politely.
"With the exception of you, Emma. You are Emma Woodhouse, right?" At her nod, he continued, "I read your recent aldol paper with Austen6 last year...incredible work. It made me want to join the group. I mean, I had wanted to before, but..." he smiled again.
Emma gave a small but distant smile in reply.
Elinor began carefully. "People don't usually borrow Emma's stuff. She's a bit...particular about the condition in which her glassware is kept..."
"Ah," Frank grinned sheepishly. "Deeply apologetic. I understand."
Because he actually looked sorry, Emma decided to forgive him. "That's all right. I think that Louisa's old glassware is around in one of the empty benches. You can use that or Elinor can give you the account number so that you can purchase some new tubes if the old are not to your liking," Emma offered generously.
"Thank you," Frank smiled as Elinor led him away. "Maybe we can get a coffee later and talk chemistry?"
Emma did not hear him, as she was busy getting glassware out of the oven in preparation for her next experiment.
"I think he likes you. I've never seen anyone so eager to discuss reaction conditions," Liz snickered amusedly.
Sure that they simply could not stand being cooped up in the lab for any longer, Annie, Liz, and Emma had braved the elements and ventured out to the happy, different locale of Peet's Coffee and Tea. Annie winced as she curled her toes into the soppy fabric of her flooded socks, but the discomfort wasn't anything her chai wouldn't make up for.
Liz was capitalizing on the opportunity to tease Emma about Frank Churchill's...intense curiosity about all things Emma, a curiosity he'd made no effort to hide from the group.
Annie made sure Emma was looking away as she glared at Liz. Liz glared back. The woman was too...honest sometimes, Annie frowned. While Annie was aware it was a trait that Emma enjoyed in the younger woman, Annie found it immensely annoying.
And was Greg Knightley to have no mourning period? What the hell was her friend thinking about?
Annie had come back from her Christmas in Vegas to find out from Elinor Dashwood that Emma and Greg were no longer seeing each other. That Emma had quietly informed Will Darcy of it one day, and had not alluded to it again. Whatever had happened, and why they broke up, was obviously to remain a mystery.
And what, exactly, did Annie have to do for Emma to express her support? Take her out for ice cream? Martinis? Apparently, what Emma most wanted was for Annie to pretend that the whole thing never existed. She was doing a good job of being her normal self. While Annie had made herself available for heartfelt confidences and crying jags, Emma had remained annoyingly tight-lipped about Greg, even more than she'd been back when she'd been "secretive" about their dating.
"Oh no," Emma groaned, sipping out of her coffee cup. "Surely he must be smarter than that."
"Come on, Em," Liz winked at Annie, "Frank Churchill's gorgeous. Half the girls in the department are already in love with him and they all hate you."
Annie sent another warning glare Liz's way, which the younger woman shook her head at with a set jaw. And Annie supposed, Liz had a point: if Emma was going to stand around and pretend nothing significant had happened, well...she deserved to have people like Liz tease her mercilessly over other would-be boyfriends.
Emma scowled into her coffee cup. "They weren't ever a problem before, but it's like some switch got flipped in the last year..." she muttered to herself disgustedly.
Liz raised a "See? At least she's talking about it now" brow to Annie. Annie maintained her silence.
"...anyway, he's a nice and attractive man. But. But, I'm just not interested in that stuff," Emma stated heavily. "And...and he hasn't been obvious in his interest."
Liz raised a brow.
Emma winced as she picked up an empty sugar packet and absently folded it into triangles. "All right, maybe he's hinted. But it'd be conceited of me to preempt anything."
"Now she worries about being humble," Liz laughed. "The woman who's being interviewed at Stanford, MIT, and Harvard next month."
"It's not the same thing, and you know it," Emma said. "And you don't see me swaggering around telling everybody about those interviews." After another moment, she elaborated. "Maybe I haven't patently discouraged Frank, but I have done my best to treat him the same as I would any labmate. He'll take the hint eventually, and he'll let it go. With any luck, he'll figure this all out without any real confrontation, so we won't have any awkwardness."
Annie kept her views on confrontations, awkwardness, Greg, and Emma to herself, and tapped at her empty paper cup impatiently. "I have NMR time in fifteen minutes...maybe we ought to get back?"
Emma turned to her friend, wide eyes conveying her surprise. Annie winced at how shrewish she sounded, but she couldn't help it now. It was Emma's business. It was Emma's life. And Annie was determined to let Emma make her own mistakes.
Emma quite unexpectedly found herself sitting across the table from Frank Churchill at Matsuri on Thursday night.
Annie was supposed to have also come to dinner, but regretfully had to bow out because of a misbehaving distillation. Emma had tried to find sanctuary in the company of other labmates, but most people already had dinner plans, reactions to work up, and an assortment of other excuses.
But she'd had dinner with male colleagues before, and she'd even gone with them alone.
This was and would be no different.
"So I was thinking that maybe it went through this transition state," he drew on a scrap sheet of paper he'd brought along.
Especially as Frank kept his eye on the science.
"But that's impossible, Frank," she said, taking another sip of green tea. "You're forgetting the A1,3-strain between the two methyl groups," she took the pen out of his hand and circled the two groups. "And it doesn't explain the selectivity you get with the bulky substrate."
She'd always lamented that she couldn't talk over her research problems with Greg, not the way she did with her colleagues. She'd be stewing over them during lunch and he'd simply sit across from her, trying to take her mind off of it. He'd occasionally try to listen attentively as she struggled to word her problem in terms that he could understand. The man wasn't an idiot. But...
But Frank knew answers. He'd already helped her out countless times in the past couple of weeks. He'd even taken on some of the Harriet burden so that she could chem in peace when she needed to the most.
He was a stimulating intellectual companion and she had to say that dinner tonight, while initially seeming a bad idea, was actually going surprisingly well. He hadn't started on anything awkward and there was absolutely no mention of personal details, which was perfect.
"So if I consider the A1,3-strain, it comes out looking like this, right?"
Emma looked at the diagram carefully and nodded, "That would certainly explain the bulky substrate result."
And okay, so she definitely wasn't interested, but it was...well. Her vanity was happy. Honestly, which woman's wouldn't be, though? His winsome smile. The level, lovely cultured tone of his voice as it caressed each word that left his nicely formed lips, be it "fork" or "enantiotopic protons". His nicely formed ears.
So she was just a bit aware of the admirable aesthetics of Frank Churchill. There was nothing wrong with admiring how a man looked.
"That's great!" he smiled.
"Yeah, I think you have it!" she smiled at him.
"No, I think we have it," he grinned back.
Dinner was an easy affair; they talked of experimental difficulties and even managed to amuse each other with news of mutual acquaintances. It was smart and easy conversation. Comfortable conversation.
Emma was surprised to find that it was almost ten-thirty when they returned to lab; they'd spent over three hours at dinner! But it had been a good dinner, she conceded with a smile as she got to her desk and put down her keys. Just really really nice. After these past few draining weeks of work, it was good to share a moment of peace with someone who understood and knew what those weeks actually meant.
"We wanted completely opposite things," she said quietly, as she stepped towards her hood.
"Emma?"
Emma paused in the middle of putting on her nitrile gloves and turned to the door. "Yes, Fran, what's up?"
"It's Greg on the phone for you."
It was an evening for surprises. Her heart started pounding, her hands quivered. She smiled in an effort to hide her confusion from her colleague. Why would Greg be calling her? She hadn't heard from him since...well, since. She followed Fran to the phone outside in the hall and picked it up in confusion. "Hello?" she managed to utter in a light, friendly tone.
"Did I call at a bad time? Are you busy?" he asked.
The sound of his voice made her blush. "Oh, no. Not really. I'm between things," she said smoothly, trying to force herself back into equilibrium.
"Oh, that's good."
"And you? Uh, how are you?" she inquired.
"I'm good."
They were silent. And not in a good way.
"W-Where are you? What are you up to?" Emma asked, as she wound the phone cord around her wrist.
"It's 8:30 in the morning here in Cairo and we've been doing stunt work."
"Stunt work? You've started filming the Bond movie, then?"
"Yes, just last week."
"Oh, that's nice."
Again the silence. What had happened? Emma was surprised to admit that she missed the easy silences they'd previously had. Was this the distance that came with time? She was tempted to pick at the silence, pick at it until she could uncover that...but she didn't have a right to that anymore. She'd given it up, and well, when she'd made that decision, she'd known what she was doing. There were consequences.
He wasn't being very helpful, but he'd been the one to call, so maybe that exempted him from further effort. "Don't you have a double for stunts?" she asked stupidly.
"Yes, but only for the most intense moments. I'm still being filmed for the more minor things."
"Oh, well then. Uh, I hope you're careful."
"Of course I am."
Silence.
"How are interviews?" he asked. "Have you gotten back into the labs?"
"I-I had some more time during the holiday, so I did some labwork then, and I've been keeping it up. Chemistry's fine. I had an interview at UC Santa Barbara a week ago. And...and I have more interviews. Next month."
"Busy girl."
"Lucky girl," she corrected with a smile.
He laughed. "You sell yourself short."
"If I have my way, I hope I sold myself well," she corrected him.
"Ha! I bet you did that as well."
Silence.
"I miss you."
And there it was. She was surprised to hear it; it made sense, as...well, as she missed him. But to hear it said. She wished that he hadn't said it. She cleared her throat awkwardly.
Greg seemed sorry to have said it as well, for he quickly excused himself: "I think my break is over; Sherry, the director's assistant, is glaring at me."
Emma laughed breathily. "Irritated glare or 'you pitiful waste of my time and skills' glare?"
"Still the former, but soon to evolve into the latter."
"Well, I think you ought to get going, then."
"Indeed. I'm sorry I have to cut this short."
"It's all right. You have things to do. I have to finish up for the evening."
"We'll talk some other time? When you and I aren't busy?"
"Sure." She was aware even as she said it that he wasn't going to call again. And that she wasn't going to call him. Not when moments like this could happen again.
"Great."
"Goodbye, Greg."
"Later, Emma."
Relief was transient; disappointment and nerves had her sinking back into her stool, leaning back against the wall in confusion. And this was it. This was how they were going to be from now on.
"Emma? I have that Waugh reference I mentioned back during dinner."
Emma smiled at Frank, welcoming his interruption of her thoughts. "Ah, yes. Thanks a lot, Frank."
Why hadn't he told her?
Emma stuffed a pair of jeans viciously into the washer.
He had every right not to, of course. But they'd been on the phone last night, and surely it might have crossed his mind to mention...
...unless he didn't think it was a big deal.
An Oscar nomination is a very, very big deal. Any normal, sane human being would have called up everybody he knew, and gloated, bragged.
Emma slammed the door of the machine close as she started the cycle.
Did he think that she didn't care? Did he think that she wouldn't be happy for him?
Emma grabbed her empty laundry basket as she walked out of the laundry room and back to the apartment.
She wasn't a movie fan, but surely, he understood that she knew and understood the significance of an Oscar nod.
Maybe he'd meant to tell her and just didn't. But for what reason? Why wouldn't he simply drop the information? It wasn't controversial news. In fact, the news wasn't even all that surprising.
Unless he was waiting for her to mention it first.
Sure, it'd been announced a week ago, but she was oblivious to those kinds of things. And nobody had told her. None of her labmates. Why hadn't they told her?
She'd been on the phone with him, and blithely, stupidly stood there, not congratulating him on his success. And he still hadn't told her.
She didn't know what was more wrong; her failure to notice and acknowledge, or his obvious reluctance to share the news with her when it was clear that she didn't know.
Finding out from a television commercial. In fact, if she had been able to sleep last night, and not been desperate for distraction, she'd never have found out...
Which was likely why nobody thought she cared.
But she did! And she was happy for him! Emma slammed the door shut behind her as she entered the apartment.
Granted, Emma wasn't very good at discerning such things, but she'd been convinced that Greg's performance in Feynman had been quite good; he was dynamic, interesting, charming, and did justice to the memory of Feynman, a detail that, if it'd not been important to the academy, had at least been important to her. It was absolutely wonderful that there were other people in the world ready to acknowledge the tremendous effort Greg had put into his performance.
Emma marched through the living room back into her bedroom, where she continued to sort the piles of dirty clothes. She was beyond irritated. So irritated she couldn't focus on the funding applications she'd been trying to put together.
So they weren't dating anymore, but his role as Feynman had been a very large part of Greg's life back when they'd been involved. Surely she was still entitled to...
She acknowledged how foolish she sounded even as the thought struck her. No, personal notice on his accomplishments wasn't her entitlement. Greg had as little reason to call her and tell her about the Oscar nomination as he had with any of his other ex-girlfriends.
But it was more than relationships, though. Helping him out had meant something to her. Watching his performance had meant something to her. Perhaps she hadn't conveyed to him how wonderful she'd thought his performance was. Or how...well, so he made her proud. His performance had been impressive. The man had been universally acclaimed for his role, had he not? Surely he understood, even while she hadn't said much...
She should have told him.
Emma sighed in disgust. This was the reason why their relationship hadn't been good for her. Obsessing over whether or not he'd felt appreciated. Hurt feelings.
Wasted time.
Placing the laundry basket by the door, she reseated herself on the couch, taking up the latest JACS Communication from the Fitzgerald group. She sat back in the cushions, stared at the first scheme. Blinked. Settled back further in the cushions, kicking off her flipflops and curling her feet under her.
She was thirsty; she should not have sat down without a cup of coffee. She would make some now.
Moving into the kitchen, she dumped out the morning's brew from the pot, as well as the used filter and grounds.
Surely, even if she'd never told him, he knew.
The chirp of the phone was a welcome interruption to her reverie.
Moving through the living room, she snatched the phone from the charger and checked the caller ID. And smiled. "Hey Frank, what's going on?"