Love in the Age of Chemicals Ch. 03

My stomach hurt.

I was lying in bed, eyes closed, sensing it was morning. I felt a heavy pressure on my abdomen and feared the worst. My brain flashed through a list of ailments that might manifest as stomach pain. I blinked my eyes open and reached down to feel the affected area. When I did, my startle reflex forced me back, scrambling towards the headboard as far as I could go. A smooth, fleshy weight that had been sprawled over my midsection now fell into my lap. It moved in time with a stirring under the covers next to me.

A leg. Miranda's leg. I had never woken up to a leg before.

Miranda was still in my bed. I told myself we would need to restore her bed to its proper place as soon as possible that morning.

I sat up, my back against the wall, and watched her stir. Her arms stretched out and she rolled onto her back. I watched in fascination as her body arched, pushing her chest up. The faint outline of the bottom of her rib cage served as the apex of the arch formed as she moaned. It took great restraint not to throw myself on top of her.

As if reading my mind, she clenched her eyes, placed her hand gently between her legs, and said, "Mmmmm... I am alittleraw down there." Then she resumed stretching her arms and arching her back. Finally, she lay flat again with a sigh.

"I'm... I'm very sorry," I apologized.

Miranda smiled and rolled to her side, facing me. "Deke, I wasn't complaining. It was more like... bragging. Showing off a trophy. I'm gonna feel that all day and think about last night."

"Oh," I said, trying to understand.

"You did good, Baby," she assured me. "In fact, I kinda just want to stay in bed all morning."

"We should move it back to your room, first," I suggested.

Miranda rolled onto her back and folded her hands across her abdomen. "Yeah, about that. Are you sure? I mean, what if someone comes by for a surprise visit?"

"Would we be under any obligation to show them the bedrooms?" It was an honest query. I really didn't understand such protocol.

"I suppose not," she said. After a few moments of silence, Miranda inhaled deeply, her head near my waist. Then she giggled and reached her hand over to the waistband of my shorts. I froze as she pulled it out a couple centimeters and took a deep breath. "Somebodysmells like their roommate's vagina," she teased, letting my waistband snap back into place.

My eyes widened and I reached down into my shorts. I felt a sticky crustiness all around my crotch. "I'm going to go shower," I stated abruptly.

Miranda watched me crawl out of bed and trot towards the bathroom. "Are you sure about the beds?" she called after me.

"Yes," I confirmed as the water began to spray.

"Is it really that bad sharing a bed with me?" she asked as she entered the bathroom. I was nearly naked as I waited for the shower to warm up. Startled by her presence, I used the towel in my hand to cover myself from the waist down. Miranda, without seeming to find anything strange in our position, pulled down her shorts and sat on the toilet, less than two meters away from me. I turned my head in uncomfortable disbelief.

"Do I snore or something? Or kick you in my sleep?" she asked nonchalantly.

I stared at the water, watching the steam begin to rise. I couldn't believe she was acting as if it was normal to share private moments like that with someone! I heard her stand and pull her shorts up. She flushed and I remained frozen, waiting for her to leave. Instead, her voice came again, just over my shoulder. She was just a foot away.

"Is the toilet thing a problem for you?"

"It was... unexpected," I said. "And... uncomfortable." I gripped the towel and continued to look away.

"I'm sorry, Deke," she apologized. "I still don't understand the borders of your world. I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable on purpose... usually. I just... I guess I assume that since we have sex that certain boundaries don't matter as much anymore."

"That's understandable," I replied, trying to think of how to explainwhyI didn't feel the same way. It seemed like she had more to say, or was waiting for something from me. I urgently hoped she wasn't expecting to join me in the shower, but thankfully she made no such offer. When I turned to look at her, she was staring at the rising steam and resting her hand on her abdomen. She looked at me wistfully, then said, "I'll go make some breakfast. Food first, then cleaning."

"OK," I responded, staying in place until she had left the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

*******

By mid-morning, our beds were back where they belonged, my room was much as it was meant to be, and the dirty dishes from the previous night were on their way to being washed and dried. When we had been cleaning the dining area, Miranda hummed a happy tune as she picked up scattered clothes from around the chair that had supported us during our sexual encounter. Picking up my glasses from the middle of the table, where they had been tossed to facilitate better kissing, Miranda walked over to me and gently placed them back on my face. Her features, which had been somewhat blurry that morning, came into focus. Her smile was soft, her hair pulled back in a bouncy ponytail.

"You're such a cutie," she said, softly touching my cheek with the backs of her fingers.

I looked at her questioningly, not sure what prompted such a statement. Then Miranda broke our gaze and looked at the clock. She sighed and said, "Hey, I'm gonna take a little break and run out for a while," she said. "You can leave the mess if you want, I'll get to it after lunch."

"OK," I replied, trying to form a plan for my day. It was difficult being off routine.

Miranda grabbed some things from her room and emerged wearing a different outfit. "Wanna come to church with me?"

"I never saw you as the church type," I answered.

"It's been a while," she said, as if that explained it.

"But... but you seem to have such a good scientific mind!" I objected.

She paused and looked at me likeIwas the one speaking nonsense. "Deke, the two aren't mutually exclusive."

"Explain that to my parents," I mumbled.

"Hm?"

"Nothing."

"Besides," she went on, glancing at her face in a mirror by the door, "Dottie and Thomas will be there. They'll probably take me to lunch after. You'd be welcome to join, even if it's just for lunch."

"You go ahead. I'll probably stay here all day."

"'K!" she said, slinging her purse over her shoulder and heading out the door.

The quiet of the house as soon as she left was familiar but not as welcome as I had expected. I looked around at the yet out-of-order house and decided to return to my room. At least that one place had been returned to its proper state. I could watch a movie on my laptop. Or read a book. Or go out for a walk. I noticed that a part of me was really just trying to fill the time until Miranda got back. And that seemed odd to me.

*******

Thanksgiving break had ended, and students returned to campus for the last frantic rush towards end-of-semester exams. Those who had been spending the past few months on other pursuits tried to make up for lost time with long nights at the library. Miranda found the library wasn't as conducive to her research during those weeks, and she asked if I minded if she paused her reading until after exams. Her output had been more than satisfactory in both quantity and quality, so I had no objection.

Consequently, she was at the house more than usual. She spent much of her time preparing for her own exams, but because she had been preparing well (at least since, as she explained, I had begun helping her to "control her hormonal distractions"), she was in good shape entering finals week.

And so I began to notice small things changing around the house. Certain rooms that felt cleaner. Particular arrangements in a closet – arrangements that improved the efficiency of my storage space. Flowers and plants in unexpected places – small and unobtrusive, adding a curious brightness to the living space.

As for me, having almost reached the limits of what I would be able to do on my current project without further funding, I at last submitted my grant proposal to the appropriate agencies. And having prepared well in advance for exam week, I, too, found myself with time unaccounted for. I even resumed doing some of my own research, just to pass the time.

And every evening, Miranda would serve us dinner. Sometimes we would converse, sometimes not. And as we cleaned up our dishes afterwards, she would always ask, "Any special plans for the evening?"

And I would usually respond by explaining what I planned to read or what movie I intended to watch.

And Miranda would wait for me to finish, and she would look at me with eyes that seemed to expect something more. Perhaps she thought I led a boring life; and compared to most people she knew, I probably did.

She insisted on helping me wash our dishes every evening, even though the space around the sink was limited and we jostled each other. Miranda, who had ceased complaining about how warm I kept the house, had taken to wearing a variety of thin, spaghetti-strap tops which would have been inappropriate in public. And she always seemed to get water on her top while we cleaned up. I tried to politely ignore the way this made her top nearly transparent, chiding myself for so easily turning her into a sexual object.

That's not to say I didn't desire her. I had become enamored of the feel of her skin. But to approach her as if that's all she was... just a biological machine crafted to excite and relieve my reproductive urges... it seemed I would be taking advantage of her vulnerable position.

But as I watched a movie the next Sunday afternoon – some poorly written space adventure that at leastattemptedto be consistent with the laws of physics – I was surprised by a line of dialogue during an unnecessary scene between the protagonist and his colleague. In a shallow attempt to add emotional depth to the story, the hero was struggling to pursue a particular goal but was stymied by his own fear of failure. As the emotions were teased to a boiling point, he finally shouted, "But if I don't try, then they can't reject me!"

I paused the movie and pondered why that line of dialogue resonated with me. Sometimes our reason runs ahead of cognition, and I was sure there was some significance to those words, an idea that my conscious mind needed to unravel.

Surely I had spared no effort in pursuing my career goals. There was no correlation there.

And I was not interested in pursuing any personal relationships that might expose me to the fear of rejection.

I wondered if an epiphany was hidden there, some special relationship to my research... perhaps regarding host rejection...

And then Miranda walked in the door. And she was so simply beautiful. She smiled at me as she kicked off her shoes and said, "I have to use the bathroom." I watched her hips sway as she walked down the hall away from me. And I thought of the few moments I had spent in sexual union with her and how utterly accepted I had felt in those moments.Thatwas the deep subtext of sexual activity, I realized: the longing to be accepted unconditionally by another. That was why I never wanted those moments to end. And perhaps we wouldn't everletthem end if the urge to climax were not so compelling.

I furrowed my brow, realizing with shame that I craved that acceptance. Was it fromherspecifically? Or would any soft, feminine body suffice? Perhaps there were aspects of both. And then I had a flicker of understanding regarding why these students would throw themselves at each other whenever they had the opportunity. They were casting about for a place to belong, even for just a moment.

And me? Even though our every physical encounter had been at her instigation, Miranda had seemed to indicate that our relationship was bilateral. I was free to initiate sexual relations with her in accordance with my own desire. And yet I would not. I could not. Because if I didn't ask, she couldn't reject me. Even when I had first resolved to accept her proposal (of sex, not marriage), I hadn't been able to communicate it, but had waited for her to make it happen.

Just then, she walked down the hall and stood looking at me. I glanced sideways at her and knew... it washeracceptance that was more significant to me than any other woman's. Perhaps my limited experience was to blame – I had experienced sex with Miranda only – but I wanted to experience it with her again.

"Are you OK?" she asked.

"Yes," I answered. "Something gave me occasion to think, so I paused the movie."

"Oh. Well, what are you thinking about?" she said, moving slowly towards the couch and sitting on the arm farthest from me.

"It's... personal."

"OK," she nodded. She kept nodding silently, bouncing the foot of the leg that was crossed over the other. After a minute of silence, she began speaking in a deeper, fake voice, "So, Miranda, how was your day?"

Then, in her own voice, she answered, "Not bad, thanks for asking.Did you have lunch with the Malpans again?Yes, I did, in fact. It was good to catch up. They'd been out of the country for a few months because of his father's death and had only just returned when we invited them over for dinner.Oh, is his family in India?No, actually, his family lives in Canada; he moved here to go to college and has been here ever since.That's nice. Was there anything in particular you all talked about? Actually, yes. Thomas mentioned that I was probably exposed to tuberculosis when I volunteered at the shelter over Thanksgiving. So I have to go in and get tested for that.Wow, Miranda, I'm sorry to hear that.Thanks, Deke, thanks for caring. How wasyourday?"

I slowly turned my head and looked up at her expectant gaze. She seemed not angry, but perhaps alittleagitated. "What... was... that?" I asked.

"Just trying to show you one way you could greet me. Just... acknowledge that things happen outside of what you personally experience. Acknowledge the... thevalidityof my day."

"Are you angry at me?"

She sighed and looked away. "Not for that, no." Then standing up, she left the room and said, "I think I'm going to go read for a bit. I have an exam in the morning."

I tried to will myself to follow her to her room and tell her I greatly desired to have sex with her. But I never got off the couch. She had expressed her plans to read, and she would probably not welcome my interruption for sex. Eventually, I picked up the remote and allowed the movie to continue. I was now slightly more interested in the hero's plight. Unfortunately for me, the solution seemed to be that he had to overcome his fear and act.

*******

It was Friday of that week, and was in my office with the door closed, intending to put my lunch break to productive use by planning my curriculum for the spring term. It was not my office hours, so I was irritated when I heard a sharp knock. Without waiting for an answer, my uninvited guest opened the door and stepped inside.

"Office hours are on Tuesday, as posted" I said without looking up.

"Indulge me," Miranda said, dropping into the folding chair across from me.

I looked at her in confusion, not recalling a scheduled meeting. She placed a plastic bag on my desk and pulled out what appeared to be her own lunch.

"Miranda, I'm...," I began.

"Happy to see me," she beamed. "I can tell from your smile."

"It's just that..."

"I never come visit you at your office, I know. But I was at work and Jeanine was on her way over here to take Ray out for lunch, and she suggested we walk together."

"Oh," I nodded, unable to keep from looking towards the hallway, where there was no sign of anyone. But soon the sounds of footfalls echoed in the distance. Miranda got out of her chair, came behind my desk and sat on my lap. Draping my hand across her thighs, she gave an exaggerated squeal and laughed, "Stop it! I mean it! You're going to spill my drink." Just then, Ray and Jeanine paused outside my door, smiling.

"Get a room!" Ray yelled, then added, "Oh wait, you'reinone!" He laughed loudly at his own joke.

Jeanine playfully smacked his arm, then said, "Miranda, this was a great idea. Thanks for convincing me to make the trip over."

"Anytime, Jeanine!" Miranda said, then blushed and refused to look at me.

Once we heard the sound of them exiting into the stairwell, I waited for an explanation as Miranda squirmed in my lap. "Did you lie to me?" I finally asked.

"OK, so it wasmyidea for Jeanine to come here, butsheinsisted I comewithher. I think she felt uncomfortable doing it alone."

"Why did you want her to come here?"

"Because... she needs a little push sometimes. Ray's obviously crazy about her. And she really loves him, too, but she just doesn't think to show it. Even the little things matter, you know? But after all their years together, she's gotten too comfortable. So I thought it might really be meaningful if she surprised him and they went on a lunch date – something they haven't done since they were newlyweds. That's all."

"But... why do you need to get involved?"

"Because," she said, leaning back and looking into my eyes in a way that seemed to indicate I should know better, "she's a friend. I care."

Miranda continued to squirm on my lap, trying to make my desk chair spin around. Her motion was having an unintended, yet predictable, effect on me.

"OK, well, I think they're gone now," I assured her, being careful to touch only her arm as I guided her off my lap. She returned to the other chair and sat down with her elbow on the desk and her chin in her hand. Taking a bite of her food, she said, "So... wanna talk?"

"About what?" I asked, looking back at my screen and trying to regain my train of thought.

"Never mind," she answered.

We sat and ate in silence for a while, Miranda staring blankly in my direction as I worked. Then, unprompted, she said, "My TB test came back positive. So Dr. Malpan is starting me on some antibiotics."

"TB? As in tuberculosis?"

"Yeah, I told you about... You know what? Never mind."

I enjoyed a few more minutes of working in silence, but I sensed Miranda was still planning to engage me in some form of conversation.

"Those new glasses are really good," she finally said.

"They work just the same as the old ones," I replied.

"Theylookcuter," she clarified. "Andyou're wearing my favorite shirt."

"This isyourshirt?" I asked, pausing and looking down. "How did it end up..."

Miranda smiled and said, "No, Puppy, my favorite shirt ofyours. The one I think you look the best in."

I thought it odd that anyone would have preferences regardingmywardrobe, but then I supposed I preferred it when Miranda wore jeans and a sweatshirt with her glasses on and her hair pulled back. It was such a casual look that left so much to the imagination...

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the open door. Miranda and I both turned our heads in surprise, not having heard anyone approaching.

"Dr. Kirsch?" a young lady asked.

"Office hours are on Tuesday, Miss... uh... Katerina."

"I know, but I'm worried you may have already submitted grades by then. I wanted to ask about my exam score."

"My assistant will be grading exams this weekend," I said, nodding to the stack of papers in front of Miranda, "and final scores will be submitted next Thursday." I watched as she struck what seemed to be an uncomfortable pose with her hands behind her back. And she was dressed less warmly than I would have expected for December.