Applied Electromagnetism Page 9

  She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “No shit.”

  His head swiveled her way, and his mouth curved in one of his almost-smiles. “It’s just not something that interests me. I’d rather keep my head down and do my own work.”

  “I guess I can understand that.” She could see the appeal in it, but couldn’t help wanting more for herself. The thought of being stuck in the same job forever made her brain feel itchy.

  Adam’s job was more exciting than hers, between the travel and the constant supply of new challenges and situations—not to mention the adrenaline rush of pulling off a miracle in the face of a looming deadline—and she could see how that might be enough for him.

  Olivia’s job was slightly less exciting. Even if Gavin started handing off more off-site integrations to her, she didn’t actually love unexpected crises and flying blind into a strange situation under a tight deadline. It seemed to be Adam’s forte, but Olivia was a planner who preferred structure and having multiple contingency plans ready at hand.

  Plus, she actually liked working with people. Even when she didn’t necessarily like the people, she derived some enjoyment from solving the puzzle of them. More than that, she felt like she was pretty good at it.

  “So you think I’m smart, just not good enough at my job to be a manager. Is that it?” She was doing it to herself now, refusing to let it go. But she couldn’t seem to stop.

  Weirdly, it didn’t hurt as much as before. She could think about it and talk about it without that sour feeling in the pit of her stomach that felt like it was trying to crawl into her throat and choke her. It was a duller sort of discomfort now, like a half-healed scar. She could poke at it gently without too much pain, as long as she was careful not to press too hard.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” Adam said.

  “You did,” she admitted, which felt like a big step. “But I’ll get over it. I accept that you’re entitled to your opinion, and I did put you on the spot by asking.”

  “I really didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I know.”

  She hadn’t quite solved the puzzle of Adam Cortinas yet, but a picture was starting to take shape. She felt like she knew him well enough by now to believe there was no malice behind his matter-of-fact criticisms. Which was exactly what he’d just said about her.

  “So we’re okay?” he asked uncertainly.

  “Yeah. We’re okay. I don’t agree with you, but you’re right about one thing: I’m not good at taking feedback.”

  He glanced over at her, but wisely didn’t say anything. Maybe he actually was learning.

  Olivia looked down at her lap and squeezed her hands until the knuckles cracked. “Have you ever heard of Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria?”

  “No.”

  “It’s associated with ADHD. Basically it means you can have an extreme emotional reaction to even the perception of being rejected or criticized.”

  She didn’t usually talk about her ADHD, which hadn’t been diagnosed until she was in college. Before that, Olivia had just thought everyone felt anxious all the time and had trouble making decisions and executing them—that it was normal to feel that way. She’d always been a good student—not as good as her sister, but good enough—so no one had ever thought to have her tested for ADHD until the stress of college had sent her into a tailspin that had almost forced her to drop out.

  Adam glanced at her. “Extreme, meaning…?”

  “Mood swings, depression, sometimes rage. It varies from person to person, but with me it usually manifests as anxiety.”

  “So you’re extra sensitive?” The way he said it made her sound like some sort of wimp or fragile snowflake who just needed to develop a thicker skin. As if it was that easy to overcome a chemical imbalance in your brain.

  “It’s more than just that,” she said, wanting him to understand. “Simple tasks that most people wouldn’t think twice about, like texting a friend, can seem insurmountable, because RSD makes you fear rejection even when it’s unlikely or completely benign.”

  “Everyone feels that though, to some extent. I know I do.”

  “But what I’m saying is I feel it more than is normal. And it’s not just something I can decide to get over, because it’s neurological and genetic. The messages my brain is sending me are worse than the messages your brain sends you.”

  She could tell from his expression that he still didn’t really get it, so she tried an analogy her therapist had used. “It’s like—let’s say we both want to ask someone out on a date. That’s pretty scary no matter who you are, right?”

  He humored her with a nod, even though she doubted he’d ever in his life been scared to ask anyone on a date.

  “So for the purposes of this metaphor,” she explained, “in order to work up the courage to do it, you have to walk across the room, fill up a bucket, and carry it back to where you were.”

  “What are we filling the bucket with?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Anything. It’s just how we fill our imaginary courage reserves. It’s like a fuel tank.”

  “Okay.”

  “And filling your courage tank takes a certain amount of energy, but it’s manageable, so you go ahead and do it, so you can overcome your fear and ask the girl out—or maybe for you it’s a dude. I don’t know. Whatever.” She felt the need to tack that last part on, because she didn’t want to seem like she was making assumptions about his sexuality. It was only a little because she was fishing for information about him.

  “It’d be a girl,” he offered matter-of-factly.

  “Okay, fine,” she said, like she couldn’t care less. “Anyway. If I want to do the same thing, because of my ADHD and Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, instead of just walking across the room to fill up my bucket like you did, I’ve got to walk two miles down the road. It’s still possible, but it’s a lot farther, and uses a lot more energy, and when I get back, I’m going to be a lot more tired than you were. So maybe I still do it, if I can convince myself the thing is important enough—or maybe I decide it’s too much trouble and it’s not worth all that walking and making myself so tired. Does that make sense?”

  His forehead furrowed as if he were working on a really difficult calculus problem. “Yeah. I never really thought about it that way before, but I think I get it.”

  “It’s not that it’s impossible, it’s just a lot harder. And because it’s so hard, you become hypervigilant about avoiding situations that could result in rejection. It can seem like social phobia, because it’s this paralyzing terror you’re going to humiliate yourself. You try to cope by being so perfect you’re above criticism—which is impossible, of course—or else you just give up and don’t ever take risks.”

  Adam was quiet for a moment, digesting everything she’d said. “So when you asked me for that reference, that was really hard for you, because you have this extreme fear of being rejected…which was exactly what happened.”

  She looked down at the abandoned knitting in her lap. “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Jesus, Olivia. I had no idea.” He sounded pained.

  She swallowed, unable to look at him. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad.” Her fingers plucked at a corner of Penny’s shawl as she spoke. “You couldn’t have known, and you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just trying to explain why I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and why I get so tense whenever you start in on me with your constructive criticisms.”

  “I’m sorry. I get it now, and I’ll try to be more sensitive.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  They both fell silent. For a minute, the only sounds inside the car were road noise and the incongruously upbeat No Doubt song on the radio.

  “So did you like totally hate my guts after that?” Adam asked. “You must have.”

  Olivia looked at him. Even in profile, she could see the worry etched in his features. He actually cared what she thought of him. “Hate’s a strong word. Let’s just say y
ou weren’t exactly my favorite person.”

  “And now?” His eyes darted sideways, but he didn’t let himself look all the way at her.

  “You’re slowly making your way back up the chart.”

  The corner of his mouth tugged into a smile. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Top 100, even. With a bullet.”

  Chapter Eight

  They lost the classic rock station a half hour later, and Olivia found another one playing eighties pop hits. There wasn’t much to look at on this particular stretch of Highway 77. A lot of pastures. Some cows. The occasional gas station. And a spectacular Texas sunset splashed across the sky to their right.

  She watched the colors change through the passenger window, knitting until her hands began to ache again, and gave up when she finally lost the light.

  “Beaver Nuggets!” she exclaimed in happy surprise when she leaned over to put her knitting away. She’d forgotten she had them.

  “What?” They’d both been quiet for a while, so Adam seemed startled when she suddenly spoke up.

  “I just remembered I bought Beaver Nuggets at Buc-ee’s.”

  “Right.” He ran his hand over the side of his face, like he was trying to wake himself up. “So what are they?”

  “They’re like sweet Cheetos. But a thousand times better.”

  “Sounds gross.”

  “Just you wait. You’ll see.”

  He threw her a disbelieving look. “You don’t actually think I’m going to put something called a Beaver Nugget in my mouth?”

  She grinned as she tore the bag open, breathing in the buttery caramel flavor. “Hey, it’s your loss if you don’t want to try them. More for me.” She popped one in her mouth and crunched down on the crispy sweetness, letting out a moan of happiness. “Damn. So good.”

  Adam’s eyebrows lifted in interest, but he continued to look skeptical. “Uh huh.”

  Olivia helped herself to another one. And another. They really were addictive. The more you ate, the better they tasted.

  “Are you going to keep doing that?” he asked.

  “Doing what?”

  “Moaning like that. It’s unsettling.”

  “You’d be moaning with me if you tried one.”

  His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as he pressed his lips together. It was hard to tell in the failing light, but she thought his cheeks might be slightly pink.

  “Fine.” He stuck out his hand. “Give me one.”

  Olivia placed a sugar-coated corn puff in his palm and watched closely as he ate it. He was staring straight ahead, which left her free to admire the slight pout of his lips and the manly slope of his jaw as he sampled the Beaver Nugget.

  There was no pleasure-face this time. Instead, he shrugged slightly as he chewed. “It’s really sweet.”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes remained laser-sighted on his throat as he swallowed.

  He licked his lips and wrinkled his nose. “Too sweet.”

  “Says the guy who just drank forty ounces of frozen corn syrup.” She forced herself to stop ogling him and faced forward in her seat, reaching into the bag for more Beaver Nuggets.

  “I don’t get it,” he said. “It’s just a caramel-flavored Cheeto.”

  “I know! Isn’t it amazing?”

  “I mean…it’s fine.”

  “It’s more than fine. It’s like a nugget of pure crunchy happiness.”

  His lip curled in distaste. “I think it’s the word nugget that’s putting me off.”

  “What’s wrong with the word nugget?”

  “It makes me think of turds.”

  “Do chicken nuggets make you think of turds?”

  “No, they make me think of pink slime and snotty toddlers, which isn’t appetizing either.”

  “I’m pretty sure the name is supposed to be funny.”

  He glanced over at her and raised a mocking eyebrow. “Is it funny, or is it just gross?”

  “Why can’t it be both?” she asked, popping another nugget in her mouth.

  “It’s a food named after toilet humor.”

  “It could also be referring to the beaver’s testicles,” she pointed out. “You know, his nuggets.”

  Adam shook his head, but he looked more amused than disgusted. “Yes, I get it. But is that better?”

  “I guess it depends if you think a genitals joke is better than a poop joke.”

  “Either way, it seems inappropriate to associate it with food sold at what is otherwise a family-friendly shopping experience.”

  “The inappropriateness is what makes it funny.”

  “Does it though?” he asked, cutting a wry look her way.

  “They’re delicious, so I don’t really care what they’re named. Plus, it’s fun to say Beaver Nuggets. Try it.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Come on.”

  “Why would I do that?” He was trying not to smile, which just made her press him more.

  “Because it’s fun. Say it.”

  He pressed his lips together and shook his head again, like he couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. Olivia couldn’t believe it either.

  And then he just went and said it: “Beaver Nuggets.”

  She burst out laughing, and the sound of it filled up the car, drowning out the radio and making the night seem a little less dark outside.

  Adam looked over at her, grinning, and stuck out his hand. “Give me some more of those.”

  “Told you they were addictive.” As she poured some out into his palm, she felt a little giddy, like her head was a helium balloon. She didn’t know if it was the sugar, the long day, or something else altogether.

  “They’re okay,” he said as he shoved a handful into his mouth. He looked a little giddy himself.

  “You love them.” She said it with a playful lilt, the way a little kid would tease someone about a crush just before singing about them sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

  But even spoken in a childish tone, the word love felt too large for the confined space they were sharing. It expanded as soon as it hit the air, like a popcorn maker gone out of control, filling up the tiny car and making it feel even smaller.

  When Adam looked at her again, the smile on his face seemed to catch, suspended for a moment in time. Their eyes met, and something in them set Olivia’s stomach spinning.

  She turned to stare out the passenger side window even though it was too dark to see much of anything beyond the glass. Swallowing, she pressed a hand to her cheek. Her skin radiated heat like a sunburn, even though the air conditioner vent was blowing right on her.

  She was enjoying this too much. Enjoying Adam too much. Everything felt different between them, and the sea change had happened so fast she didn’t know how to deal with it.

  It had begun to rain a little, and the drops pattered a soft rhythm on the roof of the car. Adam flicked on the wipers, and they made a groaning sound as they scraped over the dusty windshield.

  His hand bumped against Olivia’s leg. “More nuggets, please.”

  She dug into the bag and passed him another handful. An old Wham song was playing on the radio, and he tapped his thumb on the steering wheel in time with the beat as he chewed.

  “Adam?”

  “Hmmm?” he answered through a mouthful of corn puffs.

  “Tell me the truth. Do you think we’re going to be able to finish this integration by Saturday?”

  He shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders to loosen them up. “We’ll have to work a little smarter is all. Put in a few long nights. It’s doable.”

  “Is it?”

  He glanced over at her, then back at the road. “Yes.” His fingers tightened on the wheel. “We should make it to the hotel by ten. So we check in, get a good night’s sleep, and start bright and early in the morning. It’s not like we would have gotten all that much done today even if we’d arrived on time, so at most we’ve only missed a few productive hours. We can make it up later in
the week if we have to.”

  He sounded so sure of himself. She envied him his ability to be so confident in the face of the unknown.

  “Hey, maybe we’ll get there and it’ll turn out to be a simple job,” he said. “Maybe their systems will be up-to-date and compliant.”

  “You really think that’s likely?” she asked.

  “I think it’s possible, and it’s not worth worrying about it until we’re actually there.”

  “Right.”

  He glanced at her again, and his eyes seemed to soften. “Trust me, it’s going to be fine. I’ve done dozens of these integrations.”

  “And of all of those, how many times have you missed the deadline?”

  “Only once.”

  “So it does happen sometimes.”

  “Rarely.”

  “But if the first and only time I’m given the assignment we fail, you know they’re going to blame me, right?”

  He shook his head, frowning at the rainy highway ahead of them. “That’s not true. You can’t control the airlines, or the fact that the lawyers dragged their feet for weeks, or the condition of the plant’s systems when we get there.”

  She wondered if he was really that naive, or if he was just trying to make her feel better. But then she remembered he wouldn’t do that. He’d never lie just to make someone feel better.

  “It doesn’t matter whether it’s actually my fault,” she said. “Someone’s always got to take the blame, and you can bet it’s not going to be legal or the C-levels who overcommitted to the board. Maybe they won’t come right out and say it, but it’ll be implied that I wasn’t up to the task. It’ll be a black mark against me. A reason not to give me more responsibility in the future.”

  The rain was falling even harder now, and Adam’s frown deepened as he increased the speed of the windshield wipers. “Listen, I won’t let them do that, okay?”

  “You can’t control who they blame.”

  “Sure I can, if I say it was my fault. I’ll take the blame if I have to.”

  She blinked at him. “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because. Why would you?” Why would anyone do something like that for her? Especially him.