Rocket Science

by Emily Mayer

  I leaned up against the door trying to mirror his causal pose. I neglected to take into account the fact that he was leaning against a solid, unmoving wall, whereas I was leaning against a partially open door—a door that was now opening rapidly beneath my weight, sending me tumbling after it. I frantically tried to right myself, but somehow the toes of my right foot managed to get trapped under the heel of my left. Foiled by gravity again.

  In a move showcasing an athletic grace that was completely foreign to me, Sebastian grabbed my arm while his other hand stopped the door from slamming into the wall. The warmth of his hand on my arm did nothing to help me regain my balance. I blinked up at him, more stunned by the contact than by the fact that I had almost plummeted to the ground.

  “You okay?” he asked, looking down at me. The tiny wrinkles in the corners of his eyes told me that he was amused even though he was clearly working not to let it show.

  I nodded. My brain was screaming at me to end yet another slightly humiliating encounter, but my stupid mouth had a mind of its own. “Did you… um… did you want to come in?”

  This time his entire face lit up with a grin that hit me like a punch to the gut. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He breezed into my shoebox of an apartment like he owned the place, head swiveling to take it all in. I cringed the moment his gaze landed on the smorgasbord of Chinese food spread out on my counter.

  “Am I interrupting?” he asked, sounding a little sheepish.

  “Interrupting?” I parroted back, because my brain cells were still tangled up with my feet.

  He inclined his head in the general direction of the food. “Are you expecting company?”

  I finally shut the door and walked to the counter. I proceed to shuffle the containers around like it was my life’s work.

  “Oh no, this is all for me. I was really hungry when I ordered, so everything on the menu sounded good. I couldn’t decide what to get.” I shrugged. “I thought I would just get a bunch of stuff and have a little of everything.”

  Sebastian was watching me with a thoughtful expression. “Good idea.”

  I shrugged again. “This happens a lot.”

  I dared a peek at him, watching as he made his way to my side. I reminded myself to breathe as I felt the heat from his body invade my space.

  “Does it?” He picked up an open container of lo mein and peered inside. “It’s been ages since I’ve had Chinese food. I try to stay away from the stuff, but this smells amazing.”

  “Do you want some?” I asked, not wanting to deprive this poor man of the chance to enjoy fried, MSG-coated heaven.

  He looked genuinely conflicted for a minute before he gave me a smile that made me momentarily forget my own name. “Yeah, I was going to see if you wanted to grab dinner, but this looks too good. I’ll put in a few extra miles tomorrow.”

  A few extra miles? A few extra miles? Who said things like that? Professional athletes, that’s who. Sebastian was a professional athlete who probably treated his body like a temple, while I pretty much treated my body like the garbage can Oscar the Grouch lived in. I added that to the growing list of things we did not have in common.

  Wordlessly I opened a cabinet and handed him an IKEA plate before grabbing one for myself. I scooped forks and spoons out of a drawer and set them on the counter. All the while, I silently chanted “This is fine, be normal.” I honestly had no idea what I was heaping onto my plate. I was just blindly piling until every inch of white was covered by food.

  “I usually just eat on the couch,” I said, feeling little tendrils of shame wrapping around me at the admission. “There’s not really room for a table.”

  “Couch is perfect. I rarely sit at my table to eat. It feels weird sitting alone at a big table, you know?” He cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “I don’t know if I’ve ever eaten a meal at that table.”

  I made my way to the couch and settled as far as possible away from the other occupant. I did my best to look like this was all a perfectly normal situation but was basically doing a great impression of a statue, “Nervous Girl with a Plate.” Sebastian was clearly not having the same issue. He was shoveling forkfuls of food into his mouth at a rate that was both alarming and impressive.

  “What are you watching?” he asked, nodding his head at the TV.

  I stopped pushing the Mongolian beef around on my plate to stare at the TV in horror. Red crept up from my chest and spread through my face.

  I swallowed. “Erm… just something Netflix recommended. I’m not that attached, though, if you want to watch something else.”

  Two things occurred to me almost simultaneously. First, I had just admitted that Netflix recommended I watch a teen romance based on my previous viewing choices. Not awesome. Second, I’d just invited Sebastian to hang out for longer than it would take to finish the mound of food he was inhaling. Very not awesome.

  “I don’t mind if you want to keep watching it. I can appreciate a good rom-com. Just catch me up,” he said around a mouthful. He must have misinterpreted the look of horror on my face because he added, “Two sisters. I was outnumbered.”

  I grabbed the remote and switched back to the home screen. “Really, I don’t mind. I’m always looking for new recommendations anyway.”

  “Have you watched any Stranger Things? I’m trying to binge-watch it.” He shot me a guilty smile that kind of made me feel like vomiting. This man had a pretty devastating effect on my internal organs.

  I shook my head. “I haven’t seen it yet. I keep meaning to watch it. What do you mean by ‘trying’ to binge-watch it?”

  “It’s hard to do a proper binge during the season with practices and games and all that.”

  My brain caught on the word ‘proper’ and the way his accent was nothing like Colin Firth’s but was somehow impossibly hotter. Mr. Darcy was swoon-worthy, but not “my panties spontaneously burst into flames every time you open your mouth”-worthy. Sebastian’s accent definitely fell into the second category.

  “Let’s start over. You need to get the whole experience.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to slow you down,” I asked, still unconvinced.

  “I’m sure. You introduced me to arguably the best graphic novel ever made, so I owe you one.” He smiled, settling further into the couch, like he planned to stay for a while.

  I turned my attention away from the mystery seated on my couch and tried to watch the show. It was actually pretty good, though I think I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I hadn’t been a gigantic ball of nerves. Instead, my attention was divided between the thoughts racing through my head and the Chinese food I was storing in my cheeks like a demented chipmunk because I was too occupied by said thoughts to chew and swallow. It was asking too much of even my exceptional brain to perform all those tasks at once.

  My laptop lit up with an incoming email and I saw Sebastian’s eyes flick to the screen, which prominently displayed an entire screen filled with cat glamour shots. One of those perfect eyebrows raised in question.

  “What’s all this?”

  I frantically tried to chew all the food crammed into my mouth. “Wut? Dis? Uh, is cats?”

  If it were possible die from embarrassment, I would be the deadest of dead. I prayed I would choke on a piece of beef and be put out of my misery.

  “I can see that, but why are you looking at…” He leaned forward to see the screen better. “Cat Cottage’s website?”

  I swallowed the last bit of food and cleared my throat. “I was thinking about adopting a cat.”

  Or twelve. But I thought I would leave out the part about starting my crazy cat lady future by adopting all the cats I could reasonably fit inside my apartment. I mentally added lint roller to the list of things I’d need to purchase before I picked them up.

  “A cat, huh? I’m more of a dog person but adopting is great. Any contenders?” He turned to look at me with a serious expression on his face that was completely disproportionate to the si
tuation.

  I shrugged, tearing my eyes from his to look at the screen. “Not really. I think you have to meet them in person. Feel each other out, you know? I want to make sure our personalities are a good match. I don’t really know a lot about cats, but a cat seemed like the best pet for my lifestyle right now. Cats are very independent. I mean, I would love a dog, but I don’t have a lot of space and going up and down the stairs every time it has to go to the bathroom would be rough. I don’t like stairs.”

  Somewhere an alarm was going off in my head alerting me that this was way too much information in response to a simple question, but Sebastian didn’t seem the least bit bothered by it. He listened intently, his serious expression turning into a softer one.

  “I would love a dog too, but I’m gone way too much to get one. It wouldn’t be fair. I really wanted one as a kid, but my parents were too busy. Always thought they were full of it, but I get it now.”

  I gave him a smile and small head shake, which seemed to be enough to satisfy him. By some unspoken agreement, we both turned our attention back to the show. Well, I turned half my attention back to the show. The other half was busy trying to steal glances at Sebastian.

  One and a half episodes later, my back was aching from sitting so straight for sixty-seven continuous minutes, and my eye muscles were begging me to pick one object to focus on at a time. Sebastian was not suffering from the same level of discomfort. He had gone back for two more helpings of food before placing his dishes in the dishwasher and was currently sprawled on my couch. His arm was stretched across the back of it, bringing his fingers inches away from my shoulder. Did I miss half of what was happening with the Upside Down? Yes. Did I miss a single twitch of those long, strangely attractive fingers? Nope.

  My spine breathed a sigh of relief when Sebastian finally stood up and stretched. I carefully avoided looking at him until the hem of his shirt was safely reunited with the waistline of his pants. I really didn’t think my fried nerves could handle seeing even a tiny fraction of his abdomen. I was already feeling lightheaded from pretty much skipping dinner. The few bites of food I had squirreled down hadn’t done much to curb my hunger, and Sebastian’s presence in my apartment presented a choking hazard too great to risk another attempt.

  Sebastian eyed the door. “I should get going.” He sounded almost reluctant. I stood up and followed him to the door.

  “Well…” I started, suddenly unsure about the goodbye protocol. I made the mistake of looking directly into his eyes. I swallowed. “Thanks for stopping by and eating me… er… eating with me. And introducing me to Chinese Things. I mean Stranger Things, to Stranger Things.”

  I blinked slowly hoping he would be gone by the time I opened my eyes. When he was still standing there with his hands in his pockets and a half grin painting his disconcertingly handsome face, I considered opening the door and shoving him out.

  “Thanks for letting me stay, even though I wasn’t egg rolls,” he responded, his voice sounding a little tired.

  I watched, filled with panic, as he slowly withdrew his hands from his pockets like we were meeting at the O.K. Corral at high noon for a shootout, but instead of guns, there might be hugs or a peck on the cheek. Either of those options could prove to be just as fatal as a gunshot wound. I did the only thing possible in the situation: I stuck out my hand for a good old-fashioned handshake. Sebastian looked momentarily stunned before he slid his hand into mine. My hand was enveloped in his much larger one and he gave it a gentle squeeze, sending warmth up my arm and throughout my body, before he released it.

  “Goodnight, Lennon.”

  “Goodnight, Sebastian,” I replied, opening the door for him.

  He gave me one more smile as he stepped into the hallway. I shut the door behind him, wondering if I had accidentally wandered into the Upside Down.

  14.

  Two weeks after Chinagate, I was developing a weird form of Stockholm syndrome. Sebastian was finishing up an “away series,” which meant I hadn’t seen him since we shared dinner on my couch. However, he was still texting me. Every day. Every. Single. Day. I still couldn’t understand what his motivation was, but I had to get him credit for his persistence. The real problem was that I looked forward to getting those messages now. The first thing I did in the morning was look for a message, and I found myself checking my phone with obscene frequency just in case I’d missed the ding. And then, every time my phone did ding, my poor, confused heart would race with anticipation. It was like Pavlov’s dogs. If he didn’t send me a text until later in the day, I would find myself starting to make excuses for him—he was three hours behind my time where he was at, or he must have an early practice, or maybe he broke both hands wrestling a bear. All totally reasonable possibilities.

  Our messages weren’t anything life-altering really. He would ask me how my day was going or send me a picture of something random he’d found. One time he sent me a picture of him reading The Watchmen in a hotel room. I may have smiled like a lunatic when I opened that message. I wasn’t proud of that fact, but there it was. The first day he was gone I asked him a question about soccer, so he made sure to send me a rule of the game or a soccer fact every day. For example, in every other country, soccer is actually football and the field is called the pitch.

  I decided that instead of spending the entire weekend staring at my phone I would head over to Cat Cottage to officially start my cat collection. My trunk was jam-packed with all the essentials: food, dishes, litter box, toys, a little palace thing. I was ready to adopt!

  Walking into the rescue felt like I was walking into a preview of my future. Cats filled the small space. They came out of corners, over counters, and onto chairs. It would have been like a scene out of a horror movie if it were anywhere else but a cat shelter. Okay, it was still kind of creepy.

  “Hi there, welcome to Cat Cottage! What can I help you with today?” a lady asked, rounding a corner with a disgruntled feline yowling in her hands. “All right, there you go, Felix.”

  She released the cat onto a chair in the waiting room and he proceeded to immediately jump off the chair and run behind the counter.

  “Hello. I’m interested in adopting,” I responded almost at a yell, trying to make myself heard over all the meowing.

  “Wonderful! Have you ever adopted with Cat Cottage before?” She sounded genuinely excited as she walked to the computer behind the counter where Felix had fled moments earlier.

  “No. I’ve never owned a cat actually. This will be my first cat. But don’t worry, I’ve done a lot of research into feline care, and I’ve purchased everything I should need for him. Or her.”

  “I’m so glad you’ve decided to adopt. It’s a wonderful option, a fresh start for you both! I’m Helen, by the way. I’ll go through the adoption process once we’ve found a good match for you,” Helen said, her voice still vibrating with enthusiasm. “Now, did you have any idea what kind of cat you were interested in adding to your family?”

  I didn’t think she was looking for “a live one,” so I wasn’t really sure how to respond. Helen must have seen the confusion on my face, because she took mercy on me in the form of several follow-up questions.

  “Was there a particular breed you are interested in? Male or female?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m not looking for anything specific. I’m more interested in personality than breed or sex.”

  “Okay, I can work with that. What is the most important personality trait to you?” She asked, removing a small black cat from the keyboard.

  “Ideally, a friendly cat who is a good balance between independent and affectionate.” I answered confidently. I had given the subject a lot of thought. I sometimes worked long hours so having an independent streak was important, but I also wanted a cat who cared if I was still breathing and maybe wanted a good snuggle every once in a while.

  Helen hmmed thoughtfully. “I have a couple cats in mind. Why don’t we put you in one of our meet-and-greet rooms? I’ll br
ing you in some of the contenders and you can get to know each other.”

  I followed Helen down the hall until we came to a stop outside a windowed room. Helen opened the door and flipped on the light.

  “Here we are.” She gestured for me to step into the room. “Now, the door doesn’t lock but we keep it shut when we’re doing the interviews so no one escapes. If you want to make yourself comfortable in here, I’ll go round up the cats.”

  I stood in the middle of the room and took in my surroundings. There was an armchair in one corner of the room and a small box overflowing with a variety of cat toys. A cat climbing contraption was stationed in the corner diagonally across the room. I didn’t really know what to do with myself, so I took a seat in the chair to wait. My right leg bounced nervously. Why I was nervous to meet cats was beyond me, but I did feel a bit like I was waiting for a job interview to start.

  Over the next forty-five minutes or so, the room slowly filled with cats of every size and color. Some of them were super sweet and playful, while some were shyer and took their time feeling me out. I liked some of them—I liked most of them, really—but something was missing. I didn’t know what I was expecting—a spotlight to shine down from the heavens and illuminate the right cat for me?

  “How’s it going in here?” Helen asked, poking her head into the room.

  “Good. They’re all really great.” I stroked a grey cat who had crawled onto my lap. He was sweet, but not mine. “I don’t know how to choose one.”

  As Helen stepped into the room, an orange blur snuck in behind her and proceeded to leap onto my lap, scaring away the grey cat. I looked down to see the most unfortunate-looking creature I had ever seen staring up at me. Its tail—well, the part still attached—twitched back and forth.

  “Boomer!” Helen lunged forward to retrieve the cat, who was now in the process of trying to crawl up the front of my shirt.

  “It’s fine,” I reassured Helen while prying Boomer off my front. I held him at arm’s length, taking him in. In addition to half a tail, he was missing part of his left ear and a considerable number of whiskers. Bald spots littered his back. He let loose a throaty meow and attempted to reattach himself to my shirt. “What happened to this guy?’