Page 16 of See Me After Class

"Are you kidding me?" Leon scoffed. "That's one of the best things about courting a woman!"

"You make yourself far too available," I parried back.

"Yes, yes. I'm a man-whore and you're a saint." He smirked, pretending to be offended.

"I'm saying that you may need to try a different tactic with this one. But I have no doubt you'll get what you want. Go on, now. Go be a lech somewhere else. I have work to do."

He gave me a middle finger salute and sauntered away, curiously composed in a way I vaguely wished I could replicate but knew I was incapable of.

Leon would always be the most popular ladies' man in whatever room he was in, and if he wanted to have that girl with the strange gray eyes, then undoubtedly, he would succeed in the end.

I stepped into my lab. It was my world, but as I stood there, I couldn't shake off a growing sense of emptiness. I'd been at the institute for six years, leading cancer research. My work was my life, yet outside my lab, I couldn't remember a single personal connection that mattered. I tried smiling in the glass reflection. It was awkward, forced. Maybe it was my lack of social grace.

Leon said I couldn't even read a woman's signals.

But that girl with the gray eyes, she had asked about my work, then about me. I almost let my guard down. Her image lingered in my thoughts. Leon would probably charm her soon, and that would be that. But something nagged at me, an anomaly in my ordered life. Her name, her purpose, why she talked to me.

I shook my head. Distractions, they'd come and go. I'd handle it like I'd handled my parents. Like I'd handled all people, really. Because around people, the only persistent thing was lingering rejection. Even in the tenderest of relationships, theparamount constant was one person rejecting something about the other and attempting their hardest to change them.

No. My life was fine. I returned to my slides.

The new girl wasn't a problem yet. But if she became one, I'd do what I always did.

I'd find a way to get rid of her.

6

Dessie

Amonth before Oswald's Passing

"You know, Dessie, life is a fleeting thing. It's the impermanence that gives it meaning."

Amid the sprawling Connecticut countryside ablaze with the fiery blanket of autumn, Oswald perched on a rustic wooden chair on the porch of our home. I stood, leaning against the wall. Oswald's eyes were closed. He looked tired. There were new lines on his forehead.

Occasionally, he would open his eyes and stare at the wall or the floor, not really focusing on anything specific. In my time in the profession, I'd learned to read some cues. As Oswald rested, his hands fidgeted with the hem of his jacket, tugged a loose thread, then retreated into his spacious pockets, only to emerge again. There was something going on, but I didn't know what.

"What's going on, Oswald? Spill it, will you?" I prodded, cradling the steaming cup in my hands. I took a slow, deliberate sip, feeling the warmth seep through my fingers. "Or, wait untilI read your cues," I added, drawing the cup closer and letting the ginger-infused vapors tickle my nose.

"Take a guess," Oswald challenged me, a slow smile slipping onto his lips. "What does Dr. Gardner think?"

"You're shuffling your feet on the carpeted floor, which is a habit you singularly despise," I relayed, beginning to count his cues on my fingers. "A minute ago, a gust of wind sent a cascade of amber and gold leaves swirling out in the yard. You have an unobstructed view. On any other day, you'd be telling me to admire it. Today, you just flinched."

I paused to take a breath and another sip.

Bless him, Oswald had mastered the art of my tea preferences. He stashed away Assam roast tins just for me. I savored the robust blend, mixed with a precise spoonful of sugar, the ginger zing finely crushed, and a generous double-dollop of creamer. It was a stark contrast to my coffee habits—unadorned, starkly bitter, reflective of my less-indulgent side.

"Cut to the chase, won't you?" Oswald groaned and leaned back into his chair.

"I like studying you," I remarked, setting the cup down on the tabletop beside me. "And based on what I've just read, would you say you are A-going through a senior-life crisis, or B-planning to pull a Bilbo Baggins and go prancing on an adventure without telling me, or C-exhausted and in need of a nap?"

Oswald's smile grew bigger. "Well, I guess you could say it's a bit of everything. I've been wondering a lot about endings?"

I frowned. "But what if someone could change that? What if someone invented a drug that could make people immortal?"

Oswald chuckled, his sound carrying all the wisdom of the world. "Immortality? That would be a curse, not a blessing. Imagine living while everything around you changes and fades away. No, the beauty of life lies in its transience, in knowing that it is a temporary gift."

I refused to consider it. Oswald could get very annoying during these conversations because it all ended with him declaring that one day, he would up and vanish. "Wouldn't it be tempting, though? To hold on, to see what the future holds for humanity?"

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