Love in the Age of Chemicals Ch. 01

I wasn't sure I did. We stood in silence for a few seconds.

"What about loans? Financial aid?"

She groaned. "It's a long story. I have an ugly credit history, thanks to my mom using my name to open a bunch of credit card accounts that she then overcharged at casinos. Not even the government is willing to lend me money. Financial aid helps a little, but mostly through the work-study program. And that doesn't come anywhere close to covering all the tuition, fees, books, and living expenses."

"What about your family? Your parents?" I prodded. Her story still didn't make total sense to me. Surely she had other options.

"My mom raised me. Young, single mom. She wasn't... involved in my life. More of an example of what not to do, really. And she told me I would never be able to do this, that 'girls like us' weren't meant for school. She said I would eventually come crawling back home and wise up. And I'm so scared that... that I'll just..." Her voice cracked and she took a long, slow breath.

That I could understand. My parents always tore me down. They never understood my love of science. Even when I got into grad school at age 19, they "warned" me that I was in over my head and should learn to settle for a simpler life. And just maybe some... or a lot... of my academic drive was fueled by the compulsion to prove myself right. To not be like them. Since my early teenage years I had felt a desperate eagerness to get away, to strike out on my own and to not be sucked back into the predictable myopic culture that had surrounded me in my youth.

"I'll think about it," I sighed, not believing my own ears. I told myself I was saying whatever I needed to say in order to get her out of my lab, but it would be untrue to suggest that I was not already considering her proposal.

"Really?!" Miranda squealed. "You will?!" She grabbed my elbows and looked right in my eyes, her own eyes sparkling from happiness and from fresh tears. "Omygod, thank you! Thank you so much."

"I just said I'd think about it," I warned her.

"I know," she said, forcing herself to step back and calm down. "But that's more hope than I've had in a while." While I watched her smooth motions, she pulled out a slip of paper and a pen, jotted down her number, and handed it to me as if it was a freshly minted hundred dollar bill.

"Here's my number," she said happily. "Call me when you decide. But I'll probably bug you about it first."

"Please don't," I cautioned her.

"OK," she said softly, smiling but stepping backwards as if she feared my reaction already. Then creeping back step by step, she moved back into the hallway and closed the door to my lab. I heard her feet running down the hall. But this time running in joy, not in pain.

*******

"There's too much research, that's what it boils down to," I said plainly. Miranda sat opposite me in a coffee shop near campus. It was mid-morning on a Sunday, so most students weren't yet out and about, giving us the privacy we needed for this discussion. It had taken me a few days to figure out a way to make this worth my effort.

"Huh?" She seemed confused. I had thought the statement was clear enough.

"The research. There's too much reading to do. I don't have enough hours in the lab as it is -- I'm making so much progress in my experiments, but I can't publish anything without research. I don't care about reading the details of what other people are doing. It's a waste of my time -- I can get everything I need from the abstract. So what I need is a research assistant, and the school has been unwilling to provide one. I know you said there would be no cost to me, but there will be some investment of time on my part, and there is the fact that after this plays out, I will be 'divorced,' not that it matters a great deal. But in any case, I think I am in a position to ask something of you."

Miranda stared at me, still holding her coffee mug to her lips. I went on.

"So you do the reading for me. You look through the reports, the books, the articles, the journals -- all of which I will give you to study -- and you find anything that looks relevant or quotable. In this way you help me free up hundreds of hours of extra lab time and make my results more publishable by giving me legitimate grounds to expand my bibliographies."

"I do this... and you'll... marry me?" she asked in a quiet voice. Not that there was anyone else around to hear it.

"I'll sign whatever papers you need me to sign in order to get your free tuition."

"Really?"

"Really. Besides, you'll... If you do this, you'll actually be learning, one hopes, a lot about science. And you'll be advancing my own work, which is of great benefit to the scientific community and to the public."

"And you think I'd be able to do all this? That I can handle the research? You'd trust me with that?"

I snorted in derision. "Most of it is junk anyway. Fluff writing. Once you learn the lingo and can read between the lines, you'll see what a joke most of it is. I can teach you what to look for, what actually matters."

Silence. She sipped her drink. Her lips curled up in a smile. I found myself waiting for her laughter, wanting to hear it again. Then I chided myself for being silly. She was pretty, but not flashy about it. Her hair was long and dark, and the way she had it trail over one shoulder and onto her chest drew my eyes towards the mysterious swelling of her breasts. I felt a twinge of frustration. Girls like her would never be a part of my world. And my world was probably better off without them.

"OK, then," she said, pulling her arms tight to her sides and shaking a bit, as if giving herself a hug. She was clearly containing her excitement. "I'll go get... I guess... the marriage license, or whatever we need. And I'll let you know when we are ready to go before the judge. And then I'll handle everything from there."

"That's all?" I asked, waiting for a catch.

"Yeah, that's all, I think. I don't know how soon it will go into effect, but I'm guessing that my fall tuition will be covered. I'll be working this summer, but I should have plenty of time to learn how to do your research."

"OK. We'll make the necessary arrangements once it's all official," I said, standing up to leave. I left my tea still steaming. Small talk was not my thing.

"Oh. Alright," she said. "I'll let you know when there's anything you need to do."

"OK. Have a... uh... a nice... day. Miss Miranda." I cringed once my back was to her. So awkward! Why did everything have to be so hard?

"You too!" she said loudly as I walked away.

*******

At first, everything seemed to go smoothly. Miranda showed up at my office a few days later with paperwork to fill out. The next week, we went before a judge and were officially married. The judge looked at us with some suspicion in her eyes, I think, but she had no reason to question us. Perhaps we didn't appear much like a pair of newlyweds. Well, Miranda did seem quite excited... and nervous. She was worried it wouldn't work out, but everything went smoothly.

As we left the plain brick building that housed the judge's office, we walked to our respective cars, both parked in the same lot. Miranda looked at me across a row of cars and said, "Should we... like, go celebrate or something?"

"Celebrate what?" was my immediate reply.

Her eyes went down in thought, then she shrugged and said, "Yeah, you're right."

"Did you want to begin your research?" I suggested.

"Let's wait until the tuition thing is all clear, just in case," she replied.

"That's fair," I said, opening my car door. "I'll await your call."

And with that, I started the car and drove away, married.

*******

Miranda was an eager student. Once her tuition bill came back as zero, she threw herself into research. Summer break had started, and so she was available to read whenever she wasn't working. I learned that she was quite intelligent and was more than capable of understanding the literature I sent her way. She would often return articles the next day along with a page or two of relevant quotes and her thoughts on their possible relevance to my work. I was, admittedly, quite surprised. Her performance in my class had not prepared me for this. But Miranda explained that, now that she could quit one of her jobs and had time available, she was able to concentrate on her studies. She had not had such liberty during the school year while working multiple jobs.

I all but forgot that we were technically married. There was nothing in my daily life that called it to mind. By the end of the summer, Miranda and I had a very efficient working relationship of mutual respect. I felt much more relaxed in her presence. And with her help, I was starting to think that I had gotten much more out of this "marriage" than I had expected. It seemed to be an ideal arrangement.

But then came the fall semester.

*******

During the first week of classes, two things happened that would shake up our convenient marriage. First, Miranda started going out. As the student body returned, so did the student bodies. And Miranda found herself drawn towards the usual college social scene. Not that it mattered to me in principle. Let her have friends and go to parties and do whatever it is that normal people do. It wasn't my style, but I had no reason to judge her choices, so long as her work didn't suffer.

But suffer it did. Her work began to suffer, her classes began to suffer, and she seemed perpetually agitated, for reasons I would only later discover.

The second thing that happened was the incipient unraveling of our little ruse. I had just finished a lecture and was planning to go to my lab for the afternoon when I was accosted by Miranda. Just as I exited the classroom, in front of students and professors moving relentlessly through the halls, she suddenly appeared, put her arm around my waist, and said more loudly than necessary, "Hey, honey! Let me walk you to your office."

Too startled to object, I let myself be led by her insistent pushing down the hallway, past several confused and bemused glances, and into my office. Once there, Miranda shut the door, shoved her hand in her pocket, and pulled out a ring. Grabbing my left hand, she forced it onto my finger and sighed with relief, "Thank God it fits," she exclaimed. Then, as a knocking on my door startled us both, she whispered an urgent, "Just play along!" Miranda smiled broadly and opened the door.

"Deacon!" boomed the cheery voice of Dr. DiNardo, one of the senior faculty in my department.

"Ray. Hi," I answered, sensing my heart racing.

"I just heard the news. Sounds like you had a busy summer," he teased, glancing back and forth from me to Miranda and back to me. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Well... uh..." I stammered.

"Oh, you know Deke," Miranda said, looping her arm through mine and playfully putting her head on my shoulder. "So private."

Dr. DiNardo laughed deeply. "Yeah, that about sums it up. The reticent boy genius."

We all laughed, Miranda with her musical voice and me with unrestrained nervousness.

"Congratulations, anyway. Maybe we should have a little faculty reception or something later this month."

"Yeah," I said, clearing my throat and standing a little straighter. "That would be nice. Thanks for stopping by."

"Sure thing, you lucky bastard," he said with a grin, waving as he closed the door and walked away.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Miranda turned to me and whispered frantically, "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. It all just blew up this morning."

"What the hell!" I hissed back, pulling off the ring and putting it on my desk.

"I was at work this morning in the financial aid office. Jeanine, one of the older ladies who works there, brought a form over to me. It was a change of address form. She asked me why I had put down my old address on my application instead of your address, since we were married."

I groaned. Oh God, I knew this would happen. I knew it was too simple.

"And thankfully, I came up with a quick reply. I said it must have been out of habit. And she laughed and made sure I changed my address to yours. Thank God I still had it written down from the marriage license. Then she asked me where my ring was. And I told her it was being re-sized. And she laughed and said that it was no surprise that you didn't get that little detail right. And I asked if she knew you, and she said yes, her husband works with you. It was Jeanine DiNardo. And so I knew she'd be telling her husband, so I said I had to run an errand and hurried to the store to get a ring for you, then I rushed over here and apparently got here just in time. O God, this is such a mess!"

She had recounted the whole narrative in almost a single breath, it seemed. After getting it all out, she calmed down a bit, then looked up at me for the first time. We both suddenly realized that we were still standing arm in arm, and we quickly backed up, sitting in the two chairs my office afforded.

"So that's it, then," I said. "The... uh... the jig is up?" I didn't know how we could continue to play this out for another year or two.

"What?! NO!!" Miranda objected, panicky. "Please no. We'll figure this out. We can't stop now. I'll lose my... Heck, I'd do more than lose my tuition break: I'd get kicked out of school. Get in legal trouble!"

"Don't be ridiculous," I replied. "We're legally married. That's all that matters."

"No... no, it doesn't. You don't get it," she said slowly. "There's more."

My heart sank at that loaded response. "More?"

"Yeah. Jeanine was gushing over how sweet it was and how happy she was for us. Apparently she's been wanting you to find a nice coed and settle down for some time."

Well, I guess that explained some of my awkward conversations with Dr. DiNardo over the years...

"And she went on to tell me about some students who pretend to marry a faculty member just for the tuition break. And they actually pay the professor to go along with it. She said she's seen it twice in her 22 years here. In one case, they faked the legal documents. In the other case, they actually got married, but it turned out the student was already married to someone else, so they got in a lot of hot water."

"Whoa," I replied, too stunned at first to remember the implications this had for me.

"Yeah," Miranda smiled. "Jeanine said it was the first time she'd heard of anyone being charged with bigamy." And she laughed. And I relaxed. For a few seconds.

But then I had to get us back to our situation. "So... now what? What about us?"

"Well," Miranda said thoughtfully. "I guess we just have to play the part around other people. I'll get a fake ring, you wear yours, I'll stop by your office now and then and we can try to look convincing."

I paused to consider. It sounded plausible, except...

"You have roommates?" I asked.

Miranda's face sunk when she realized the implications of that question. "Yes," she whispered, defeatedly.

We sat in silence. I studied her face, watching hints of emotions pass through her expressions. Fear. Shame. Confusion. Hopefulness. Desperation. I waited for the inevitable. She would eventually realize we couldn't keep this up. There was no way to make it work. At this point, the consequences couldn't be too bad for her.

"I guess there's only one option," she finally said.

"Yes. That much is clear," I tried to sound sympathetic, but it wasn't something I could pull off well.

"I'll have to move in with you."

*******

It was becoming clear to me that, whatever the process was that led Miranda to her conclusions, it was not a rational one.

"No," I said firmly, "there is also the option of calling this off, of ending it before someone calls your bluff."

"Our bluff," she said, looking up with a hint of anger.

"Excuse me?"

"What, you think I'm the only one who would get in trouble for this?"

"But it was your idea. You did all the paperwork. I just..."

"You just signed your name on legal documents and school paperwork saying that you and I are married."

"And we are." I took comfort in that. It was a fact. We were legally married.

"Not if it's a sham. Not if they think it's a fake marriage just to fleece the school out of some money."

"But how can they judge that? We are faithful to the letter of the law."

"Do you think that will matter?" she asked, her voice sad.

A long silence followed. My brain scrambled for a way out of this. I began to feel angry that I had let her cajole me into this mess. But she was right. Very few people -- and in a university this was a great shame -- very few people cared about reason. Even if we had followed the letter of the law, a small scandal such as this would end me. Dammit.

"You have to move in with me." Even as I said it, I bristled at the thought. I lived alone. I liked living alone. I liked silence and solitude and safety. I liked my routine. "But I'm very unhappy about it," I added. Then I regretted saying it, because Miranda was already near tears.

"I know," she said sadly. "I'll make it up to you somehow."

She stood to leave and I stood to make sure the door was shut behind her. But as we opened the door, we were both startled by Dr. Glenda Cavell, her hand raised, ready to knock. Dr. Cavell was my department chair. She was smiling until she saw Miranda's face.

Thinking quickly (as I was learning she was apt to do), Miranda turned towards me and said, "I'm so sorry, honey. You were right. I'll make it up to you tonight." She leaned in and brushed my cheek with a soft kiss. I'm sure I flushed several shades of red as Miranda slipped past Dr. Cavell.

"Well, I'm sorry to interrupt," Dr. Cavell said gently as we watched Miranda walk away. "I was just here to say congratulations."

"Thanks," I mumbled, softly touching my cheek as I watched Miranda disappear at the end of the hall.

"We'll talk another time," Glenda assured me, patting my shoulder and heading in the other direction.

*******

Less than two weeks later, I opened the door of my home to Miranda, who arrived at our prearranged time with a carload of belongings. She looked around, straining to see over the armloads of bags she bore. Realizing she was waiting for some indication of where to go, it occurred to me that she would probably need a room. I led her to one of the extra rooms in my place, a room filled with old textbooks, notebooks I had scribbled in long ago, and several unopened boxes from my own arrival five years earlier.

Setting down her burden, Miranda surveyed the small room with visible signs of disappointment.

"A bed?" she asked breathlessly.

"Bed?" I had perhaps not given this as much thought as necessary. "Well... there's that couch... there," I indicated, gesturing towards a piece of furniture that had come with the house and which I had never bothered to move out of its spot in my quasi-library.

"That's... OK... I'll get something this afternoon," she said. Then walking past me out of the room, she added, "There are a few more loads in the car." She paused a moment in the doorway of the house, then continued, "I guess I'll go get them."

As she strained to bring in a large suitcase, I suddenly realized what was expected of me. "Do you... need some help?" I offered.

"What? Help your wife unload her car? Don't be silly," she said, her voice somewhere between good-natured humor and indignation.

"That was sarcasm," I commented, slipping on my shoes.

"Gold star for you," she replied, emerging empty-handed from her room.

"I don't always... understand those things," I offered by way of apology.