Page 4 of To Have and to Stalk
For Olly and Eames, researchers in early-universe physics, Jenna Fowler’s lab was a dream job. While Utah didn’t have a dedicated lab for my field of interest, therewasa natural harmonious overlap between those studying the age of the universe and those like me trying to decipher thewhatandwhyof dark matter. Because you couldn’t map the universe without dark matter.
“Listen, my love, you need us,” my sister said. “You got your doctorate in, like, the universe?—”
“Exploring viable dark matter candidates beyond the standard model,” I corrected, reaching for a slice of pizza.
The cheesy triangles looked a little at odds on my grandmother’s floral antique china—the only silverware and plates my sister allowed us to use, because“Of course I’m going to use it. What, should I put it in storage until I die and continue the sisterhood of traveling china that never gets used?”
“Right, you got your doctorate inthat, and I got mine in dick.”
Ashilariousas my sister was, she’d actually gotten her doctorate in criminal psychology. She was as much of a nerd, if not more so, than I. Three days a week, she lived out in the Utah desert, working at a supermax prison, trying to understand and rehabilitate the world’s worst criminals. Mass murderers. Terrorists. Serial rapists. Mafia kingpins.
“I did my undergrad in that,” Eames mused.
“We need to do something about your profile,” my sister continued. “You’re not even in the photo. It’s just…” My sister leaned over my shoulder, squinting. “A dot?”
“That’s not a dot,” I said, mildly indignant, “that’s theBullet Cluster.” They all shared a look. Despite the fact that I was certain they knew what it was, I felt the need to explain. “It’s proof dark matter exists.”
“Honey,” Eames said, face pinched.
Insecurity crept hot up my spine. I had no idea what I was doing. The number of times I’d started a bio, deleted it, and started it again had to be measured with scientific notation. I didn’t know how to be sexy. All my photos were with my sister’s cat or random things like sunsets and weird-looking bugs.
I had planned on keeping this new development to myself, but then I made the mistake of telling them after one too many cocktails. Now here we were.
“This was a mistake,” I said. “I can’t even go on a date. I…I…” I looked for an excuse. “I need to shave,” I ended, somewhat weakly.
My sister made a face. “Is it going to take more than a day to shave?”
“Maybe,” I snapped defensively. “There’s a bush situation, like 2008 White House.”
Eames whistled low. “That’s a bad bush.”
“Why not that photo of you in Mexico?” Olly asked, changing the subject. “The one in your skimpy pink polka-dot bikini.”
“You mean when Grahamproposedto me?” I asked. “That feels blasphemous.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not like you’re still together.”
“Oh, I know,” Eames said. “Do the one of you at the pole class Lithie taught.”
Because in addition to being a brilliant psychologist, my sister moonlit as an exotic dancer for a high-end members-only club.
Lithie was the opposite of me in every way. I was short and soft, she was tall and lithe. I was reserved, she was outgoing.I’d had one sexual experience, she’d had them all. I inherited our father’s honey-blond hair, she inherited our mother’s dark brown. We’d both inherited our mother’s wild, curly hair and brown eyes. My eyes leaned toward dark chocolate, while hers were brighter, like citrine.
“I can’t do that one,” I said to Eames.
My first impression couldn’t be me upside down on a pole, one leg in the air.
People might think that I had experience.
They might getexpectations.
“I’ll find you something,” Lithie said, and grabbed my phone, smacking me away when I reached to grab it back. “I won’t post anything without approval.”
A loud, staccato synth of a Britney Spears song sounded—“Oops!…I Did It Again.”Eames’s alarm, because he used Britney for everything and didn’t get the memo it was 2026—not 2006, when custom ringtones and alarms were still a thing.
“More food!” Eames stood up.
Olly and Eames lived in an apartment across from my sister and me, which was great, because our oven was used as storage, either for clothing, books, or Lithie’s condoms.
