Page 60 of Conspiracies and Chemistry

She blinked. “Of course. Reese’s Pieces were my favorite candy for years after.”

I let that nonsensical statement slide. “Could we watch it together, and you can give me the, um, context?”

“You want me to be your Gen X whisperer?” She grinned. “Okay. Help me get the chicken in the oven. We’ll do the low and slow version.”

I washed my hands and got to work. I chopped vegetables and staged them for roasting while she put the chicken in the oven. Then I showed her how to use Tessa’s television, and we found the movie.

By the time it ended, I understood a little more about the woman I’d fallen for. And I needed a tissue.

26

Wild Type

Wild type:The most commonly occurring form of a gene or allele in a natural population.

OLIVER

When the chicken was done, Savannah convinced me she should be the one to tap on Tessa’s door to see if she was interested in joining us for dinner. I’d hardly had time to wipe down the countertops when Savannah’s slipper scuffed on the tile, followed by the slap of Tessa’s bare feet.

Her hair stuck up on one side, and she had a pillow crease across that cheek. She wasn’t as pale as she’d been that afternoon, and her cheeks reddened when she saw me.

“You’re still here.” She combed her fingers through her hair and winced when they snagged on a tangle.

I wrung the dishcloth to keep myself from going to her and touching her feral mane. “I promised I would be.”

She hummed and glanced at the third place setting on her table.

“Do you want me to go?” I thought we’d grown closer over the last few weeks, that my plan to woo her was working. Had I misread the signals again?

“No,” Savannah answered for her. “Of course not.”

“Do you want me to leave, Tessa?” I repeated.

Her gaze flicked to me, then to the table. After a moment, she said, “Stay.”

It was something people said to dogs, but I didn’t mind. After I’d burst into her home uninvited, after I’d seen her struggle with her pain, all I wanted was to remain a little longer to see that she was okay. Fine, and also watch her eat food I’d helped prepare. Some long-dormant hunter-gatherer part of my DNA had switched on.

When I pulled out her chair, she rolled her eyes. “Are you going to toss your cloak over a mud puddle? Write me a sonnet?”

“Come on now.” Savannah set a plate of food in front of her. “It’s only a chair.”

“I thought shit like that died out with the boomers,” Tessa grumbled. “Our guest is a millennial. Like your kids.”

I pulled out Savannah’s chair, and she patted my hand before she sat. “How old do you think I am? My kids are Gen Z. And aren’t you the one always telling me age is just a number?”

I was listening so hard for Tessa’s response that when I reached for the remaining two plates in the oven, I missed and touched the hot metal rack. I stifled a yelp.

“One hundred percent,” Tessa said. “When we’re talking about you.”

Eyes watering, I stuck my thumb in my mouth to cool the burn, then more carefully grabbed the plates and carried them to the table.

“You two are both millennials,” Savannah said. “The generation started in 1981.”

Tessa glanced at me as I set her plate in front of her. “Officially, I’m an elder millennial,” she said, “but I identify as Gen X. I’m a hardened skeptic.”

“Well, I’m fully Gen X. And speaking of birthdays,” Savannah said, “I’ve decided I want a party for mine. I never used to make a big deal about my birthdays, but now”—she breathed in deep, then let it out—“I want a big deal.”

“Good for you,” Tessa said. “You deserve a party.”

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