Practically Ever After

by Isabel Bandeira

  “Tell me about it. The way my student loans look, I’m going to be in debt until my great grandkids go to college.” She reached up to fix my ponytail. “Feeling up to our study date, or do you want to, I don’t know, mope some more?”

  “Study.” I tried to return the favor and smooth the mess I’d made of her hair, but some of the shorter layers in the back refused to stay down. “At least that’s something I know I can control.”

  “Fine, then let’s get to the library before all the good study carrels are taken.” She stood and leaned down to plant a small kiss on my lips. “You are amazing and talented and I know how hard you worked to prepare for those tryouts. I’m still super proud of you, whether you made the team or not.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered, turning my head while I stood so she wouldn’t see the tiny bit of wetness that started tickling at my eyeballs. Leia knew me all too well.

  Chapter 5

  The house was so quiet at 4:30 a.m. that, like every morning for the past month, I’d tiptoed downstairs to do my homework in the study so I wouldn’t wake up my parents. The quiet was perfect for studying, but, combined with the squish of the overstuffed armchair I’d dropped into that morning, it was way too easy to imagine taking a nap, instead. My food sensitivities wouldn’t let me eat fistfuls of chocolate covered espresso beans to stay awake like Em and Phoebe always did, so, instead, I dug up Mom’s little essential oil diffuser and her “wake up” mix of oils filled the air in the study with the smell of grapefruit, peppermint, and pine.

  I yawned and took another sip of water before diving into the final paragraph of my essay on math in Lewis Carroll’s books. Phoebe had teased me about my chosen topic, but it had been so much more fun to work on this for my senior honors English essay rather than trying to figure out the symbolism of a blue door some dead author had written into his book a century ago. At least by talking about how Alice in Wonderland was a lesson on why, according to Carroll, geometry and classic math was better than the new, “modern” mathematics of his time, I’d gotten the chance to learn more about Euclidean geometry and the adoption of symbolic algebra. Like Dad always taught me, I’d looked for the thing I might love in a task I might not like, and ran with it.

  Just as I dropped that essay into my teacher’s digital homework folder, I heard the shower turn on upstairs and Mom’s pre-coffee heavy-footed steps coming down the stairs. 5:15. I still had plenty of time to finish the rest of my homework. I switched my focus to Calc, filling the little boxes of my green engineering pad with arcing integration swirls, numbers, and letters. There was something comforting in the way the neat grid made everything I wrote line up so cleanly, from calculations to doodled ideas. No theories or guesses necessary because there was always one right, logical answer in those crisp little rows of calculations. I dove in and got lost in switching between pencil, paper, and my TI-84, knocking out the homework at a speed I could never manage in the afternoons, what with all the texts and DMs and other things that always broke my train of thought.

  But, just as I got to the end of a calculation, Dad’s and Mom’s muffled voices came through the study’s open door and pulled me out of my homework bubble. I debated going up to my room, but one look at all my things laid out on the side table and floor and I decided to just slide the door shut and keep working for the half hour I had left. I tiptoed to the door and my hand paused on the handle as their voices drifted down the hallway, growing louder and unhappier with every new sentence.

  Mom’s voice was tight, far from her usual cheery tones. “Honestly, David, can’t we just have one family dinner together for once? You can’t make it tonight and now tomorrow night, too? You know I asked you to keep them both free.”

  “It’s Taiwan.” Dad said, clipping his words in the way he did every time he was annoyed with someone. “That’s the only time I can hold these conference calls. If you can’t understand how time zones work, I don’t know what to say to you.”

  “We had a deal. I’ve already invited Drina. Besides, very soon, Grace is going to be living hours away from us and you’re going to regret missing out on dinner with your daughter.” At the sound of my name, my stomach twisted as if I’d had eaten a bowlful of all of the foods I was sensitive to in one shot. Mom continued, the sound of water running making her words hard to hear. “Heavens know between your schedule and hers, we never eat together now, anyway.”

  A series of metallic thuds followed, as if someone put down the breakfast silverware with a little more force than usual. “There you go, exaggerating again. We have dinner together every other night. I can’t afford to lose my job or miss out on promotions because of a meal.”

  Another thud, this time as if someone had dropped a bowl down onto the table, followed by Mom saying, “So, you’d rather miss out on your family?”

  I could make out the refrigerator door slamming and the rattle of Mom’s glass butter dish being manhandled. I shouldn’t have kept listening, but, churning stomach or not, I couldn’t pull myself away from the door.

  “You’re blowing this out of proportion,” Dad said.

  “And you’re killing yourself and missing important family stuff, for what, a new corner office? Companies don’t put up tombstones or come to funerals for their employees, families do. Are you going to tell Grace that your work is more important than her?”

  “Inez—” Dad was using the same tone he used whenever I’d done something he didn’t approve of, and I quickly slid the door shut the rest of the way, muffling whatever he was about to say. I leaned against the door, trying to push away the nauseating feeling of guilt for eavesdropping on them.

  After a moment, I took a deep, resolute breath, straightened up my spine, and made a beeline back to the desk, turning to my planner and tomorrow’s carefully planned hourly layout. I couldn’t fix everything, but I could make something work. Mom had mentioned my missing family dinners, too, and maybe there was something I could change to help the situation.

  I had my meeting with Oliver until 4 and was supposed to help Leia and her best friend, Emily, with their volunteer program in the library garden from 4 to 6:30, but… I set my jaw against the extra wave of guilt that ran over me as I pulled out my corrector pen and cleared that slot. I’d help out next time. As long as nothing else came up, that meant I would be home in time for an early dinner, early enough for Dad to have his call right afterwards, and I could still make it to the National Honor Society’s induction ceremony for next year’s seniors at 8. If I ignored the glaringly bright edges of the correction tape all over my schedule, it looked like I’d planned everything out that way to begin with. Not only did everything fit perfectly together, but I’d gotten back almost an hour of study time in the process. I could feel the tension draining from my shoulders as I checked my planner one more time. There was something comforting about fitting everything into timeslots, like I was moving around time with just my pen and my planner.

  The study doors slid open and Mom popped her head inside, a cheery smile pasted on her face. “Hey, I thought I heard you in here. Are you planning on eating breakfast? I made a triple dose of quinoa porridge.”

  “Thanks. You know I can make my own stuff, right?” I started shoving all my things into my backpack and tugged at my pajama pants—I still needed to change before school, but at least all my stuff would be packed.

  “I was already making it for me and Dad, it really isn’t too much trouble.”

  “Oh, is Dad still here?” I asked, trying to sound as casual as I could.

  Mom shook her head, her expression not changing. “No, he had an early morning meeting.” Her voice was as carefully casual as mine, but I could hear the slight annoyance in her tone. “You know how it is. Time zones.”

  I nodded and turned off her diffuser before following Mom back to the kitchen. “Speaking of time, I was wondering if we could eat an early dinner tomorrow? Like, 5? Something got cancelled and I was able to move my schedule around.”

  Mom turne
d around halfway through spooning porridge into a bowl for me and scanned my face, which I tried to keep as neutral as possible. After another second, she turned back to the bowl. “That works perfectly. You don’t need to move things around for us if—”

  I cut her off as I took the bowl and spoon from her. “I didn’t. If we can eat then, it would be a huge help for me so I don’t feel like I’m running from one thing to another.”

  “5 it is.” She turned to the whiteboard schedule near the sink and scanned it for a minute. “That’ll give your Dad time to eat before his meeting, too. I’m meeting with Ana Martins at 4 to go over some of Trixie’s ideas for centerpiece options for the wedding but it should be done by then. And Drina doesn’t have classes tomorrow night because her school is competing Saturday—” She nodded again as she stared at the board, and said, a little under her breath, “Yes. I can definitely make it work.”

  For the first time that morning, I felt the weight lift off my chest enough to let me breathe. “Awesome, thanks.”

  Chapter 6

  I flipped between my notebook and tablet, rotating the paper or screen as needed to get my idea across to my one-person audience. The library was fairly empty at this hour, but I kept my voice low, anyway.

  “So, thoughts?” Through the window behind Oliver, I could just barely see Leia outside working with the kids and I had push down the guilt that bubbled up in my throat. I hadn’t even said hi before heading inside because I didn’t want to distract her while she was working—it was bad enough I had bailed on her last minute. I forced my attention back to my screen and said, “Does it make sense?”

  Oliver had been nodding throughout my whole explanation, but now he looked up and his dark brown eyes met mine, his broad face scrunched into a grin. “You know, I’m majoring in mechanical engineering with a focus on biomedical and biomechanical, so you’ve definitely been assigned to the right mentor.” His words were tinged with a faint Irish accent Phoebe would have loved. Knowing her, she would have spent the whole time asking him to say lines from her favorite book series, but for me and Alec, his home country was just a cool discussion point with him whenever we needed a break from project work.

  Well, at least for me. Alec seemed way more interested in the video game work Oliver had done before switching over to biomedical engineering.

  “Considering Grace’s last two projects in class had to do with fixing body parts, it’s not a huge surprise Dr. Aubrey and Mr. Newton put her with you,” Alec said without looking up from the glove he had slipped on his hand.

  I hadn’t even realized that, but he was right. Each of the other projects I’d done, though, just seemed to be fun ideas at the time, a way to improve everyday things because I could see how I could make them better. I still needed to see if I could commission Trixie to work some sewing magic on the knee brace I’d designed for my first semester project. Dr. Aubrey had even called my design “innovative” the first time she’d seen it.

  Oliver grinned at me. “You’re thinking of doing something in medical?”

  I shook my head and flipped to the next page, where I’d detailed out some thoughts on materials I could use in the design. “No, I’m going for Petroleum Engineering.”

  “Highest median salary,” Alec said behind a fake cough.

  I side-eyed him and Alec threw me an innocent look. He was right, of course, but I didn’t need to give him the pleasure of knowing it. “No, I just like the challenge.”

  Oliver looked up at the ceiling and spread his hands in a ‘Lord grant me patience’ way, but a little smile snuck through, anyway. He flipped open his laptop and logged into his CAD program, a familiar modeling environment filling the screen. “Do you guys do any 3-D solid modeling?” He clicked away as we spoke, sliding shapes across the screen and assembling components into what looked like linkages.

  “Yeah,” I said, and cringed a little at the duh in my tone. Widening my eyes and trying to sound less snotty, I added, “That’s part of this class, and I’ve been taking engineering drawing and design classes since freshman year. And Alec is a modeling and graphics genius.”

  “Okay, good. So, what I’m doing right now is making an assembly of some components I modeled earlier today.”

  Oliver made one of the parts on the screen move and suddenly, it looked familiar. “That looks a little like a finger,” I said.

  “Good catch. I’m working on the exoskeleton glove I showed your class during the tour. The glove offers support and acts like extra muscles for paralyzed or weaker patients so they can do things like pick up a mouse.” He waved his mouse around as an example.

  “You explained that last time,” Alec pointed out.

  “What do you think are the challenges with lots of current robotic gloves, then?” He asked casually. He still didn’t look at us, just kept assembling components together on the screen.

  Alec looked over at me and shrugged, but I flexed my hand open and closed, focusing on the feel of each individual finger bending.

  “They’re still pretty big and don’t really talk to the patient’s brain like most people’s hands and muscles do? And…” I thought about how my cell phone ran out of battery if I just looked at it the wrong way, “battery power?”

  Oliver stopped clicking, leaving his thin metal version of what looked like a hand skeleton sit on the screen while he reached into his backpack. Pulling his exoskeleton glove out of the bag, he gestured for my hand and slipped it on. A little pack with a joystick was attached to it by a few thin wires. “Yes. Now, this is just a rough prototype and not as good as the one you saw the other day, but it should give you a pretty good idea of what they’re like.”

  “Cool.” I rotated my hand and stared at all the little servos and motors built into the “joints.”

  Oliver flipped a switch on the side of the joystick box and placed it near my other hand, gesturing for me to play around with it. “You were right about the bulk and the battery. First, we need to make sure the device has enough power. Second, we need to think about the patient’s limitations and how they’d be able to control it. There are a few out there that work with sensors and even fewer with really rough neural interfaces, but many of them assume you have some use of your hand or another hand.” He watched me poke at the glove and play with it for a little bit before asking, “What’s one thing I need to think about if I want to slim this down?”

  My brain ran through all the different possibilities. Getting really tiny gears and servos were probably two problems, but as I flexed my finger and felt the plastic of the frame flex a little too much so it made a not-so-good creaky sound, I said, “Making it strong enough to do everything it needs to do even after it’s been thinned down? If it’s too thin, it might not handle the stress.”

  “Good answer,” Oliver said. “That applies to any of the gears or mechanisms for the joints, too. Any ideas on what you’d do for that?”

  “It sounds like you’re trying to con us into doing your work for you,” Alec said, but flashed us both a wide grin to show he was just joking.

  I was too deep in thought to really pay attention to Alec. I studied the glove and the screen, squinting as if it would help me focus. “I’m going to have to guess you’ve got some good materials to make that,” I gestured at the super-thin image on the screen, “possible.”

  “We do,” Oliver shrugged sheepishly, “or, at least, I hope we do. I need to run a finite element analysis on this to see if it’s even worth building another prototype, which can get expensive even if school is paying for it.” He took back the glove and I cringed as he tossed the delicate prototype back in his bag. “Good answers. Engineering is all about problem solving, no matter what you’re designing or improving. We’ll make an engineer out of you, after all.”

  My whole body was vibrating with excitement and ideas both for his glove and for my own project. It took everything in me to keep from asking every question on the planet. What came out of my mouth wasn’t the smart question ab
out motors I’d planned, though. “Why medical stuff? I mean, with a mechanical engineering major, you could do power or automotive or anything like that.”

  Oliver cast a grin my way before turning back to his computer. “I don’t know. I mean, part of it is just because it’s an awesome challenge. The human body is this incredible machine and I really want to help figure out how it works and how we can fix it.”

  I’d never thought of it that way. I curled and flexed my fingers, looking at them in a new light. Thoughts of everything that had to happen to make my hands move the way they did swirled around my brain, waking up more questions and ideas, like a biological rabbit hole.

  “Plus, it’s not just about the mechanics.” Oliver continued, rotating the assembly on his screen. “There’s real art to product design that you don’t find in things like thermodynamics or pure math.”

  I thought about the satisfying feeling of knowing I’d nailed a calculation with neat, precise rows of symbols, letters, and numbers filling a page. “A good calculation is really beautiful,” I shot back, feeling my cheeks warm as I realized how nerdy that had to sound.

  “Yeesh, you really are cut out to be an engineer, aren’t you?” Alec said, reaching out, hesitating over the mouse until Oliver nodded an okay, to check out the model tree of the assembly on his laptop and rotate the model. “I’m surrounded by nerds.”

  I poked him lightly in the arm. “Oh, hush. You know you love this stuff, too.”

  Alec didn’t even bother to take his eyes off the screen. “If I ever call a calculation ‘beautiful,’ take me straight to the ER.”

  I made a pfft sound. “You’re a sciencelete. You can’t talk.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the one who wants to make a career out of it,” Alec shot back.

  Oliver snorted and pulled back control of his laptop, opening it to a document that looked like some sort of questionnaire. “So, you’re both at the beginning of your final projects. Have you done any voice of customer work for them?”