Page 187 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

“Thanks.” I prop my knee between us on the bench sideways to face him. “It’s hard to forget Mrs. Whipple.”

“True. I’ve tried many times, but that’s another story.” He’s cute when he’s a bit perplexed. More importantly, why does he seem puzzled?

“If that story is being left for another day, then what’s this story?”

He says, “Jacobs.” I sit up a little straighter, hearing my name. “Juni Jacobs.”

“Okay, yeah?”

I’m used to seeing this kind of intensity in his eyes when he’s at work, but out of the office, it makes me wonder if I need to be concerned. “Your parents were Daisy and Chris Jacobs?”

“Daisy and Chris Jacobs.”

Though we say it at the same time, neither of us claims victory with a jinx. I nod again like I’m in on his revelation.

He says, “You’re kidding, right?”

“Why would I kid about my parents?”

“Juni, my science fair submission that year was how sap and water move through the Tracheids at different speeds.”

“That’s my parents’ theory, the one my mom started in college when she beat my dad in that competition. It was also the subject of their first published paper together, their first grant, and the reason they made their first trip to the Amazon. That was the basis of their relationship.” He doesn’t answer the question I’m sure I buried in there, so I’m more direct, and ask, “Using my parents’ theorem, you won the science fair?”

“Water moves quicker, though the sap is to a plant like blood is to us. Jacobs’ Tracheid Theorem.”

They had other, and far greater, discoveries during their careers, but that one put them on the map. “They never had to beg for grant money again until a bioscience periodical did an article about them. It said they cared more about the fame than the planet they preached to want to save.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“They’d drop everything, including me, to go on a research trip. Obsession comes in more forms than the obvious. To most, they’re just plants. To my parents, they were an insight into another universe. They believed plants could be utilized to save civilization. Not in a nutty way, but if specific plants could be packaged in a certain way, there was potential for them to be replanted on another planet. We could have farms on Mars or fields of wheat on the moon. It was longshot stuff that included a lot of chemistry in reorganizing the plant cells to maintain the benefits of their genus while being able to adapt to the different environments in outer space.”

“Those are lofty goals. They sound like geniuses.”

I release a heavy breath from my chest, surprised I remember so much. It’s taken up so much space in my life that, like the breath did, it feels good to release it. “The space station currently houses twenty varieties of plants packaged based on my parents’ research. I wish they could see their goals brought to fruition.”

He pulls me into a hug and rubs my back. “They were ahead of their time.”

I nod against his shoulder, not sure why I’m tearing up. I’m usually much better at handling my emotions. When I look up, he cups my cheeks and gently runs the pads of his thumbs under my eyes. “My parents were supposed to be at my competition the day they died.” When I struggle to hold his gaze, I drop my head to his shoulder. He places several kisses on my head. “They promised. They’d missed almost all the others, but this one was for state. The winner would get a $20,000 grant and a full-ride scholarship to any New York public university. The prize I wanted to win even more was the chance to study in the Amazon with the great Jacobs that summer.”

Leaning back, his hands still hold my face, but confusion now fills his. “You entered to win a chance to spend time with your parents?”

“I did.” I laugh humorlessly. “It was a two-month study program. If I didn’t win, I wouldn’t be there. I’d be in New York missing them like always. So I took their research and dived deeper to discover that the veins in certain genus can expand to allow the sap to flow better. They contract when water is sensed. How crazy is that?”

“It is amazing.” It’s not like he’d feel pride or anything, but he sure is looking at me like he does when tenderness shapes his expression. “You’re amazing.” Confusion still enters his eyes right after, but I get it. This isn’t usually a topic discussed at the dinner table. He asks, “What happened?”

“They came to me just before midnight the night before the event to tell me they’d gotten a call. They didn’t have to say more after that. I knew how it would play out. It was the same every time. They were gone before I woke up in the morning. My grandmother came and picked me up from the Brooklyn house and drove me to the competition like she had done every other time when I wasn’t living with her.”

I sense his discomfort in the way he shifts and glances at the ocean. It’s never easy for me to share, but he has me wanting to make him feel better. The truth. That’s what I owe him, so he’ll understand more of what he’s dealing with when it comes to me. But then he lifts me and holds me on his lap, his arms secure around me, and asks, “Are you okay? You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

Why is the option to shut down so appealing? With Gil in my head, pushing me forward, and Drew wriggling his way into my heart, I say, “It was my turn. I stepped into the spotlight on the stage, ready to present my findings, but that’s when I heard a sudden murmuring rush through the audience. A few gasps. I heard them and tried to figure out what was going on.

That’s when my best friend, my boyfriend, who was competing there that day, came out and whispered in my ear.” Digging into my hip he holds me closer. I say, “Your parents . . . the Amazon . . . the plane . . .”

Turning to find the comfort I desperately need from him, tears roll down my cheeks, and I push myself to continue, “They couldn’t get to the crash site for five days. For five days, I waited to have confirmed what I already felt inside.” For those five days I was numb. I cried and felt so lost.Alone.Betrayal didn’t come until later.That was all on Karl. Because as the murmurs had quieted and I’d been led from the hall, he presented my paper as if it was his own.Claimed it as his own.

This time, I don’t hide my eyes. This time, I find the peace I need in the soulful warmth of his admiring browns. “I’m sorry, Juni.”

My tears dry as a little water glistens in his. And somehow, a little piece of my soul begins to heal. I’m not sure why or how, but solace is found in sharing my story with someone after all these years. Maybe because for the first time, there isn’t the withdrawal of the microphone or phone, saying the information wanted was gained. Maybe because this time, there is someone to hold me while I grieve.

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