Page 15 of Under Pressure

I can’t stand it, but she always turns her nose up when I suggest binge watchingThe OfficeorParks & Rec. I guess a bunch of catty ladies having manufactured fights is more interesting to her.

“When will dinner be ready?” she calls out from her spot on the couch.

I glance behind me at the timer. “The noodles will be finished in five minutes.”

“You didn’t put onions in the sauce, did you? I’m allergic to them.”

Allergic, my ass. She just doesn’t like the texture. “I’m aware of your aversion to them.”

I finish the dishes and serve up the spaghetti, paying more attention to playing an anagram word game on my phone than the two blondes on screen arguing about someone’s wedding.

I ignore Kelsey’s commentary and retreat to my room afterward, bringing up the shared Google Drive with the results we have so far from the study.

Tyler has created a spreadsheet much more organized than what I would have expected from him, every piece of data neatly in its place, the columns and rows filled with numbers. It all seems so overwhelming until I start isolating it into individual participant responses. No one’s name is on the spreadsheet, just a unique ID number, so I can’t match up a person with the readings, but overall things are looking good. There’s only a couple weeks’ worth of data, but everyone’s levels are stable or on a downward trend, particularly the physical activity group.

Looks like you picked the wrong topic. Tyler’s doing better.

It’s not a competition. Besides, I want us both to succeed.

Dr. Price will see how much better Tyler’s idea was and invite only him to continue working in the lab senior year.

It’ll take time for the participants to build up the necessary skills for biofeedback to truly help. Speaking of, I consciously release the tension in my shoulders, shaking my limbs out until I’m loose, and go back out to the kitchen, pulling out the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies.

Someone has to train Tyler right.

* * *

“Thanks, Brad, I’ll see you next week.”

“All right,” Tyler declares, folding his arms across his chest once the door shuts behind our last participant of the day. “What’s in there?” He nods toward my bag, where my red Tupperware full of cookies is peeking out.

“What’s in where?” I feign confusion.

“I’ve been good the whole time.” He makes like he’s going to reach into my bag and I slap his hand away.

“You’ve been neutral. I don’t think you’ve said two words to me.”

“That’s me being nice. Trust me.”

I pull out the cookies, opening the lid, and my mouth immediately starts to water. I take a single cookie out, holding it under my nose and inhale deeply. “Mmm.” I sigh as I bite into it, the chocolate melting on my tongue.

“I feel like I’m watching food porn,” he comments, looking longingly at the container in my hands.

Cookie crumbs spray out of my mouth and onto the floor as I choke a little bit, thumping on my chest so it’ll go down. “You can’t say stuff like that when I’m eating.”

“Guess you should have shared, then.”

I hold out the Tupperware to him and he gleefully grabs two. “Fuck, that’s delicious,” he says around a mouthful as he crams the first one in. “How’d you get to be such a good baker?”

I nibble on a second cookie, taking small bites in case he decides to say something ridiculous again. “I’ve been baking as long as I can remember. Everyone always likes dessert.”

“So you bake for others?”

I tilt my head, thinking about that for a moment. “Yeah, I guess so. I like sharing.”

He steps closer and grabs another cookie. “Do you do it so people will like you?”

I startle slightly. “What?”

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