To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: May 30
Subject: Safe travels
Wife…there is no other pineapple that I'll ever want.
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: June 1
Subject: Confession
Hey, Dr. Dallas,
Confession: I had fun with you this past weekend. You're my most entertaining husband.
- e
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: June 2
Subject: Confession
Hi, Skip,
I have a confession for you, too. I like getting into trouble with you. You're my most delicious wife.
Nick
*You're also my only wife.
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: June 2
Subject: Confession
My confession for today: I didn't say proper goodbyes when I left. I'm bad at that shit. It's easier for me to say, "Catch you later, cunt" than actual goodbyes. I'm sorry about how I left things. It was a really good weekend.
- e
*You're my only husband. Not sure I'm qualified for any denomination of husbands.
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: June 3
Subject: Stop talking around it
No apologies necessary.
Can we keep it that way? Can we stay entertaining husband and delicious wife, and then find a way to get time on our side?
Nick
*You're plenty qualified for me.
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: June 4
Subject: I hate moving
You're saying that like being married is an experiment.
I had lunch with my babysitter today. You know, Lauren's brother, Wes. He works for an agency that I probably shouldn't disclose over email. We're both fans of the pizza here in Sorrento (it is NOT the same in all parts of Italy), and he informed me that the apartment I've been renting for the past few years is owned by an old-school mafia outfit. Some real cosa nostra shit. Who knew? He said it's a good thing I'm moving.
Speaking of moving, I need to complain for a minute. Here it comes: I fucking HATE moving. I'm not sure if you're a Harry Potter fan (if you're not, you need to either lie or divorce me right now because I can't be married to someone who isn't down with the lifestyle) but I need a goddamn portkey like you wouldn't believe. I don't even have that much stuff, just books, rocks, little things I've picked up in my travels. I guess do have a bunch of Moroccan pottery. Anyway, I don't enjoy consolidating it and relocating it. I stood in my apartment this morning and sincerely wished I could wave a wand to send everything into boxes and trunks.
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: June 4
Subject: I hate moving
So it's an experiment. You're there, I'm here, and that's not changing. Let's see how long we can do this.
I'm a kid doctor. I speak enough Hogwarts to get by.
Also—what? You rent from the mob? Who the hell are you, Erin Walsh?
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: June 5
Subject: Low bar…
You're fucking with all my scholarly sensibilities, dude. All of them. Let's set aside the fact that this research proposal of yours is wholly subjective and not data-dependent. At the very minimum, it's not a meaningful experiment without a control group.
It sounds like you've seen the movies but haven't read the books. Weak.
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: June 6
Subject: Low bar…
We have a control group. We have Matt and Lauren. Think about it, Skip. We got married the same day they did, and I know for a fact that he lost his shit when she was out of town for a couple of weeks last fall. It's as close to a control group as we'll ever get.
Downloading the books now. See? We've got this.
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: June 6
Subject: Do you even have a theory to test?
I heard alllllll about that. She was gone for three weeks and I got a long, drunk email that was 17% intelligible. It was fucking troubling. I sent Riley to make sure Matt wasn't attempting a swan dive into the bay. Were you there when they sorta-kinda-but-not-really broke up? When he ran his own little marathon in the middle of a blizzard? As Riley would say: shambles.
You think you can do better than that? Or do you think I'll be the one in shambles?
But let's get back to my scholarly sensibilities, please. What are we even studying? Which outcome are we trying to evaluate? How long it takes until we start writing unintelligible emails and jogging through snowstorms? What happened to 'do no harm'?
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: June 7
Subject: I have several theories
We're studying how long it takes for one of us to bring you home.
No betting on the outcome. It's not scholarly.
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: June 11
Subject: in other news…
I'm in Iceland now. It is not Italy. It's remarkably cold. I just ordered everything that The North Face sells.
Also, I'm still not magical. I tried to unpack by yelling some charms, and then I tried some incantations to turn on the internet at my apartment, but nothing happened. Until that's patched up, you'll only hear from me when I'm at the lab.
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: June 11
Subject: in other news…
Ah, there she is.
I thought we agreed you'd tell me about the limits before I crossed them.
*You're quite magical.
*Please tell me you're not renting from any organized crime families.
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: June 11
Subject: in other news…
Yeah, I just don't like talking about that shit but it seems that I have to be really explicit when it comes to this topic: I'm not interested in any discussion of me relative to home, Boston, my relationships with (or lack thereof) my siblings, or my parents. Call it the third rail, call it a trigger, call it whatever the fuck you want but home isn't a place that I belong, Nick.
I need to work on setting up my lab. So…catch you later, cunt.
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: June 12
Subject: there are other ways to do this
You're the only woman I know who comfortably integrates that word into conversation. Is that something you've picked up overseas or are you under the impression you can shock me? (you cannot)
*You have my number. You're allowed to call or text me if you want. Encouraged, even.
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: June 14
Subject: not really
Hey, Dr. McCuntcautious,
I have one of those old-school data plans that only provides for a certain number of texts per month, and Riley uses them all. He's fashioned himself as quite the gossip girl.
And on the topic of cunts: I acquired that word in Australia. It's an interesting place, you know. Very tectonically active. The Indo-Australian plate is moving so frequently that GPS can't recalibrate quickly enough to appropriately capture its location.
- e
*We're stopping with the asterisks now. You're giving me improper footnote twitches.
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: June 15
Subject: WHAT?
What do you mean, Australia is moving? Where's it going?
(not an asterisk) Which footnote style do you prefer? Are we breaking out the Chicago Manual of Style? APA? MLA?
You make the rules here, Skip. You always have.
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: June 16
Subject: WHAT?
It's moving northward, and rotating slightly clockwise. This isn't new. Australia has recalibrated its international coordinates four times in the past fifty years, and it looks like they'll do it again soon. Maybe this year.
(not an asterisk but still structurally annoying) There are no easy footnote mechanisms in email. So if you have something to say, put it in the body of the email.
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: June 16
Subject: WHAT?
Are we talking inches here? Or miles?
In the body of the email: My wife is a nerd and I fucking love it.
Also in the body of the email: What's the status of that internet service at your apartment? I want to see your sweet face while you drop the nerdy science talk on me.
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: June 17
Subject: WHAT?
A little more than 2.5 inches per year. It adds up. From what I hear, the next GPS update will be around 1.5 kilometers.
The plates are geologically fluid. Things move, dude. You need to deal with it. You know what else is moving? The moon. It's about two inches farther away each year.
This husband of mine has quite the sense of humor. Don't you know not to poke the academics where they hurt? It makes us less interested in video chatting. Also, I keep forgetting to call about getting the internet turned on…
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: June 18
Subject: WHAT?
I'm calling the University of Texas at Austin right now and requesting a refund. I don't know how I earned a degree from the College of Natural Sciences without hearing anything about Australia moving or the moon floating away.
I'll upgrade your data plan, Skip. Let me text you. Anything, please.
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: June 21
Subject: how do you have time to text?
I recognize that this is yet another thing we've failed to address in any way, but Angus left me with more than enough blood money to fund my own data upgrades. I don't need a dime from you or anyone else. I won't, ever. But aside from the financial logistics, I never have my phone with me inside the lab or when I'm out doing fieldwork, and even if I did, I wouldn't spend all day texting. Not trying to pull a Shannon here, but I'm really fucking busy.
(also: I'm concerned that the brain surgeon in this relationship, the one trying to return his diploma, has plenty of time to text. I pray that your scrub nurses aren't taking dictation. Do they write your emails too?)
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: June 22
Subject: No dictation here
The nursing staff is outstanding, and they all have far better things to do than send my texts or write emails. This is all me, in the downtime between surgeries or when I'm waiting for imaging studies. Sometimes it's just when I'm wishing you were in bed with me. Like right now.
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: June 23
Subject: That time
It's been a little more than three weeks. Should I expect any long, drunk, semi-intelligible emails in the spirit of Matt from you?
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: June 24
Subject: That time
It's really cute how you fish for affection, Skip. I miss you too, and life would be significantly improved if you weren't 2400 miles away, but instead of drinking that issue, I'm studying for board certification exams.
I get that you're an independent woman and I admire the fuck out of that, but if the internet in your apartment isn't working within the next 48 hours, you'll be handing the management of that issue over to me. I need you, Skip. Make it happen.
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: June 24
Subject: That time
You know, you pretend that you're this chill, easy-going guy but peel back the layers and you're pushy and impatient.
You're an irritable onion.
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: June 25
Subject: Irritable onion?
Let's pretend for the sake of argument that irritable onion makes any sense (it doesn't). By that logic, you're a moody raspberry, both sweet and tart.
Can we get back to the issues now: WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH THE INTERNET IN YOUR APARTMENT?
To: Nick Acevedo
From: Erin Walsh
Date: June 26
Subject: I am NOT moody
You know how no one—not a single person in all of human existence—has ever calmed down after being told to calm down? Telling someone she's moody and then busting out the caps lock and unleashing some motherfucking fury isn't the way to prove that I'm moody.
It will be fixed in a few days, and I seem to think this exchange proves that you're an irritable onion.
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: June 27
Subject: Such a moody raspberry
But I think I love it.