Page 105 of Chemistry: The Chemist

“Will you ever stop doing that?” I asked, planting my head in his shirt again.

“What’s that, baby?”

“All the right things.”

“I’ll try my hardest not to. I’ve gotten it wrong a hundred times before, Choc. This time is different and I just want to get it right. Over and over again.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. You deserve it.”

“You deserve it.”

I’d learned a few things about Chem and nothing bothered me more than his lack of entitlement as his life pertained to love and companionship. He found it difficult to accept as if he wasn’t worthy of either. He was wrong. All wrong. And with the little time we had, I’d show him.

“Not talking about me.”

“I am. And I want you to know you, too, deserve it. Okay?”

He paused, turning his body around to get a glimpse of me. In his arms was exactly where I wanted to spend the rest of my days. I stared up at those dark eyes.

“Okay?”

“Whatever you say, Choc.”

“Yes, Choc,” I corrected him.

“Yes, Choc.”

I stood on the tips of my toes and pecked his forehead, right cheek, left cheek, and then finally his lips. After lowering, I did as I’d been instructed and had a seat at the massive table that had the ability to sit at least twelve.

Chemistry joined me five minutes later with piping-hot quesadillas and a glass of water. His chiming phone reminded me to check mine for notifications. It was time for me to check in with my mother. Suffering through my absence while I was working cases was the bane of her existence. She despised each passing day we didn’t make contact.

However, completely disconnecting from my world was necessary to see things through and tap into my aliases. But, somehow, Chemistry made it difficult not to think of her, want to call her and hear her voice. Everything about this case was different from the others.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

I didn’t realize how long I’d been spaced out until he pulled me from my head where I’d tucked pieces of my reality. My quesadilla was halfway gone and the bottle of water was a few sips away from emptiness.

“Returning my mother’s call. I’ll do that when we make it back to th–”

“Do it now.”

“No, she won’t mind. I?—”

“Do it now, Eden. That wasn’t a suggestion.”

It was a demand.

“I–I don’t have my phone. It’s upst?—”

Before I could finish the sentence, he’d left me alone. In a flash, he was gone. With a shake of my head, I finished my meal and waited for the inevitable. Calls were prohibited in his presence. Chem made sure my phone was powered off or on airplane mode whenever he was around. He never answered or made calls either. However, being in Berkeley changed everything.

Only a minute had passed and he was back, in front of me, and seated with my phone on the table in front of me.

“If I could call my mother, I would. That’s a privilege I won’t let you or anyone else around me take for granted.”

The pain was evident in his voice, in his eyes, and in his posture.

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