Friday, I whistle absentmindedly as I pass out the midterm exams to my students. Just about everything in my life is going right at the moment.
I’ve had two blissful weeks with Abigail.
Last night, we walked outside together at midnight to watch the lunar eclipse. The moon, full and low in the sky, turned red as it crossed orbital paths with the Earth. I felt inspired to share with her some of the observations I made from the space station when I wasn’t engrossed in my lab work. I held Abigail close and told her what it was like to see the Earth from outside it, how small and insignificant I felt and had to remind myself that I was up there to make an impact.
“You’ve impacted my life,” she told me, and kissed my neck.
Abigail sent along more information about Asa Wexler’s impending visit to campus. He’s meeting with my mother to discuss a partnership with the computer science department. They’re developing some sort of artificial intelligence technology he’s interested in, but most of his investments are related to pharmaceuticals and healthcare. I think he could be a great fit to fund my tissue research, and he agreed. He seems eager for our lunch this winter.
I celebrate by setting an exam that’s much more rigorous than I would have written otherwise. I already know the students are terrified. But if they want to make a difference in the world, they simply must develop a strong foundation. They cannot be impactful biologists without this level of rigor, and I tell them so.
The students groan, reading the essay question I created for them. “Oh, come now,” I tell them. “You all should know by now how cell cycles are dependent on one another. And Khalil, don’t look at me like that. I know you know about energy conversion in Eykaryotic cells.”
I pull out my phone to set it on airplane mode while they take their exam and then I gaze at photographs of Abigail. My favorite is the picture of her asleep, her dark hair falling off the side of the bed, her plump lips turned up in a smile.
Despite Ed Hastings’ attempt to derail our relationship, Abigail and I are on a strong trajectory toward happiness. Even Diana seems to approve.
Eventually, my timer goes off and the students groan. They bring their papers to the front as I assure them everything will be fine. One bad exam in a biology class isn’t going to damage their future, statistically speaking. “Besides,” I tell them. “I had a 4.0 and I still managed to get fired from the Space Agency.”
This doesn’t quite elicit the laugh I had been going for. Abigail says I still need to work on my deliberate jokes.
I spend the next hour grading exams, fighting off the nagging sense that I’m supposed to be doing something else, but then Moorely raps on the doorway and asks me to have a drink with him. Considering my excitement at my upcoming meeting with Wexler, I actually do feel like having a beer with Moorely. He’s familiar with these sorts of meetings, and I feel more confident after running some of my ideas past him at the Nobler Experiment.
A few hours later, it occurs to me that I haven’t touched base with Abigail. When I pull out my phone to call her, I see that it’s still on airplane mode. I hadn’t wanted it to ring or vibrate during my students’ exam.
“Oh no. Oh. No, oh no oh no.” I was supposed to spend the afternoon helping with Autumn Apple. I look around the bar, which is nearly empty save for us. And no wonder—half the town is out with my family, working to set up the festival booths. How could I have forgotten this commitment?
Even Moorely picks up on my distress when I turn the phone back on and see the stream of missed calls and messages. “What did you forget to do, mate?”
I exhale slowly through my nose. “I was supposed to help Abigail set up for the festival,” I tell him. She’s been expecting me for at least four hours, and I’ve been grading papers and drinking with Moorely. I feel a wave of shame at how quickly I slipped back into old habits, at how much I dislike this aspect of my personality. “What am I going to do, Moorely?”
This is going to take some work to atone for.