Page 53 of Pucking My Grumpy Roommate
KATE
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!” I whispered, staring at the data readout like it might vanish if I blinked. The bacterial culture I’d been battling for weeks had finally revealed its secret—a vulnerability to a novel enzyme combination I’d developed.
My hands shook as I documented the results, scribbling notes so quickly my handwriting deteriorated into something that resembled a seismograph reading during an earthquake. This wasn’t just promising—it was potentially groundbreaking.
“Kate? You planning to live here tonight?” Dr. Barnes’s voice startled me from my scientific trance.
I glanced up, suddenly aware that the lab had emptied out. The windows showed darkness outside—how long had I been hunched over my microscope?
“Sorry, I lost track of time,” I said, gesturing at my results. “The ZR-47 compound is showing significant inhibition of the plasmid transfer! Look at these numbers—97% reduction in antibiotic resistance acquisition!”
Dr. Barnes raised an eyebrow but stepped closer to examine my data. Her typical clinical detachment slipped for just a moment as she reviewed my findings.
“This is...quite remarkable,” she admitted, her tone shifting from dismissive to interested. “How reproducible is it?”
“I’ve run it three times with identical results,” I said, trying to contain my excitement and failing miserably. “And it’s showing minimal impact on beneficial bacteria. The specificity is unlike anything we’ve seen before.”
She nodded slowly. “Email me your data tonight. I want to review it before our department meeting tomorrow.” She paused, then added something I never thought I’d hear: “Excellent work, Dr. Ellis.”
I practically floated out of the lab, clutching my laptop and research notes to my chest like precious cargo. The compound might not solve the entire antibiotic resistance crisis, but it was a significant step forward—and it was mine. My discovery. My contribution to science.
I was so consumed with mental calculations and potential applications that I barely noticed the taxi ride home. My fingers itched to continue working, to explore every possible angle of this breakthrough.
By the time I unlocked Austin’s apartment door, I’d already formulated six new hypotheses to test. I kicked off my shoes in their designated spot (a small victory), dropped my bag, and spread my materials across the living room floor, creating what probably looked like a crime scene investigation to anyone but me.
I didn’t bother turning on all the lights, working by the glow of my laptop screen as I cross-referenced enzyme structures and created preliminary models. Time became abstract as Ilost myself in the work, occasionally muttering aloud as I puzzled through complex molecular interactions.
“Increase the substrate concentration? No, that would destabilize the tertiary structure...unless...” I tapped my pen against my lower lip, completely unaware of my surroundings until a deep voice cut through my concentration.
“Should I be concerned that you’re talking to yourself in the dark?”
I startled so violently that papers scattered around me. Austin stood in the entrance to the living room, his expression caught between amusement and concern.
“Jesus! How long have you been standing there?” I pressed a hand to my racing heart.
“Long enough to hear you debate yourself about tertiary structures and decide the conversation was above my pay grade.” He flipped on a lamp, illuminating the disaster zone I’d created in his previously immaculate living room. “It’s almost midnight, you know.”
“What? That’s impossible.” I glanced at my laptop clock. 11:47 p.m. “Oh.”
I expected his usual irritation at my chaos, bracing for a lecture about respect for shared spaces. Instead, Austin disappeared into the kitchen. I heard cabinets opening, the microwave humming, and a few minutes later, he returned with a plate of reheated pasta and a large mug of coffee.
“You probably haven’t eaten,” he said, setting both items on the coffee table beside me. “And based on your muttering, you’re not done working.”
The unexpected thoughtfulness hit me square in the chest. “You’re not mad about...” I gestured to the explosion of papers around me.
Austin shrugged, lowering himself to sit on the couch behind me. “You look like you’re curing cancer or something. Hard to be mad about that.”
“Not cancer. Superbugs,” I corrected, reaching gratefully for the coffee. “I had a breakthrough today. A really big one.”
“Yeah? Tell me about it.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
I took a sip of coffee—perfectly prepared with the splash of cream I liked—and felt a surge of appreciation for this man who had somehow adapted to my scientific whirlwinds.
“I found a compound that stops bacteria from sharing their resistance genes,” I explained, selecting the simplest terms I could. “It’s like if you discovered a way to prevent hockey players from teaching each other their best moves.”
“So the rookies would never learn from the veterans,” he said with a nod, following my analogy. “That’s actually pretty brilliant.”
“What’s brilliant is that you understood my oversimplified explanation.” I smiled, taking a bite of pasta. “God, I’m starving. Thank you for this.”
