A Symptom of Love (GERI Labs #1)

7. Welcome Home

7

Welcome Home

A lannah Meyser, Eleanor’s chosen roommate, apparently has a great taste in home décor, and a soft spot for pink. Once Eleanor shuts the squeaky door behind her, she takes in the soft colors, the long curtains and the extremely well-equipped—albeit small—kitchen. The living room has a bright-pink statement couch, a small white coffee table and a fluffy pink carpet. Minimalistic but cozy. Alannah, apparently, is also very fond of plants. Green is everywhere in cute little pots, and each has a popsicle stick with its name and a note attached to it with watering and sunlight exposure instructions, down to the science, in neat handwriting. There’s also a welcome note on the kitchen counter, fixed to a little ‘Welcome home’ balloon. Looks like Eleanor has gotten her balloon after all.

Eleanor,

So sorry I am not here to welcome you in person,

Spending Christmas with my parents.

I can’t wait to meet you soon,

Call if you need anything!

Have a blissful holiday season and welcome home!

Alannah

That’s sweet. Eleanor gives herself a tour in search of the bathroom and her new bedroom. She guesses it’s the one with the naked bed, empty desk, and ample sunlight, already exceeding her expectations. Except for maybe—no ceiling lights? Mental note, right after the WD40, a winter coat and possibly gloves, she needs to get some light source for her bedroom.

She had been so busy that it never occurred to her to check the forecast when packing for this adventure. And even if it did cross her mind for a lonely second, she’s never owned a real winter coat before, and wouldn’t even know what to search for. Tel Aviv winter just doesn’t justify the potential space that a large fluffy coat would take in her closet. A fleece jacket was really all she ever needed, so far. And even that was, for the most part, too toasty. Well, that is until the moment she stepped out of the airport this morning. Thank goodness for her own personal handsome blue-eyed stranger.

Eleanor rolls her oversized luggage into her new empty bedroom and digs in for some much-needed long pants, boots, her beanie and her fleece jacket. Then she puts it all on, because the place is freezing. She could probably use a crash course on how to use the thermostat. Yes, December is considered winter in Israel, but the Washington D.C. winter has just provided her with a new definition for the word ‘cold.’ So that’s what her mom meant when she used that esoteric term.

And after a brief session of familiarizing herself with the new apartment, she can finally pull out her laptop and hook it up. She did remember to get (and bring) an adapter for the American outlets.

And this is called having her priorities straight.

She lets herself crash for a second on her linen-less bed. Might be gross, but right now there’s no one around to express an opinion about it. No one to tell her to put down her laptop, take a break, go eat. Complete freedom.

Finally.

Eleanor takes a deep breath, enjoying the silence. The endless possibilities and all the time in the world to read papers, write grants, hypothesize, plan her experiments, design her primers, dwell on her results. Her own scientific haven. What else could a workaholic ask for? She glances through the window next to her desk, overlooking the parking lot and partly, really just very partly, overlooking a park. That will do for her daily dose of view.

Her stomach is growling, reminding her she has one empty fridge and a rioting digestive system to fill. She steps outside, already wearing all the warmest clothes she owns. The cold, crisp air is refreshing but is definitely too cold for the clothing she brought. She needs to go shopping ASAP. Her nose and eyes start watering quickly from the chill. Her mom was absolutely not joking when she said Eleanor’s jacket would be like wearing a paper bag as a bathing suit—Eleanor’s not sure where she came up with this analogy, but it made her laugh then as it does now. Only now, her laughter is accompanied by teeth chattering and her lips are too frozen to properly move.

She looks around. Where does one get a winter coat in this place? And who to ask? Not having her cell phone at her disposal makes her feel almost helpless. But just almost, because her eyes spot a small local grocery store to the rescue.

A quick trip through the shelves, and to Eleanor’s delight, it appears that their last-minute Christmas gift aisle is somehow stocked with linens too, although they only have one size (double) and one print (Disney princesses). And despite her Oren-induced dislike for all fairytales and happy ending romantic stories, she grabs it off the shelf. One can’t afford to be picky these days. That is, if this specific one wants to sleep in a bed with actual bedsheets tonight.

Unfortunately, the tiny local store does not sell jackets. So she gets some groceries, as much as her hands can carry. Then sprints back to her apartment, bags in hands, before she gets hypothermia or frostbite or whatever other wondrous things could happen to the human body at twenty-six degrees Fahrenheit. Granted, these temperatures may not be too exciting for the locals, but they are for her.

How much is it even in Celsius? Isn’t that the temperature in her freezer?

Back at her new still-doesn’t-feel-like home, she boils some water and opens the pack of instant coffee she worked so hard finding at the grocery store. With a hot cup of coffee in one hand and a sandwich in the other, Eleanor lets herself sink into the soft pink couch in the living room, sighing loudly and contently. Her newly purchased colorful fuzzy Christmas socks look up at her happily too.

Eleanor gobbles her sandwich and grabs her laptop. She hasn’t done any work for like forever. Almost since falling into Aiden’s lap, that is. Was it because he seemed interested in whatever was going on her screen? Or was it she who was interested in whatever was going through his mind? Either way, she can now safely make up for the lost time. She opens her little electronic bundle of joy—thank God for free building WiFi—and clicks her inbox icon. There’s an email from Professor Kowalski waiting for her.

Dear Dr. Benjamin,

Welcome to the US. I hope you had a nice flight.

I have some good news and some not so good news. I assume you’d want the latter first.

I’ve made an attempt to get you a temporary visitor pass for this week, but unfortunately the GERI security department is adamant on you taking orientation, on-boarding and lab safety training before gaining access to campus during the holiday shutdown. I’m sorry about that, I’m sure you wanted to get started ASAP.

But for the good news – we did manage to get your stipends to start effective today, so please enjoy some paid time off, and please feel free to contact me should you encounter any issue.

Happy holidays,

Professor Andrew A. Kowalski, PhD

Epigenetic Disease Branch

Gene and Epigenetic Research Institute

A financially responsible, reasonable person might choose to focus on the good news in Professor Kowalski’s email. She’s going to get paid for about ten days of doing absolutely nothing. Indeed, it’s very nice of him to get her stipends started right away. But that’s beside the point, because for someone like her, not very reasonable and very much not financially driven, not being able to go into the lab for so long is very disappointing. Her hands are already itching to get those microcentrifuge tubes in a row, try out her new set of pipettes, take a stab at their real-time PCR machine. Probably a newer model than the one she was using back home in her PhD lab. And mostly just comfortably sink back into her science. She was counting on it to make her feel like she belongs again. She knows nothing else in this new place, no one else.

Wait, what happened to her fun-peace-and-quiet, all-on-her-own high? She only arrived a few hours ago, and being alone is already losing its appeal?

She writes back a quick note to Professor Kowalski, acknowledging the information just received and thanking him for his generosity, both on the stipends front and for breaking the bad news first. Then, she reluctantly moves on to the next email.

This one is from Iberia airlines. She’s about to press delete, never in the mood for taking a survey, when her eyes register the precious word ‘phone’ in the subject line.

Well, not that precious, actually, she’s not a phone person. Aside from texting her family on WhatsApp and googling scientific topics occasionally, she rarely glances at it. Hence losing it in the airport.

But that was before. Before her family and friends were thousands of miles away.

And all it takes is the combination of ‘found your phone ’ with ‘driver will drop it off tomorrow at the address you have provided’ to make her never-been-attached-to-her-phone self become positively cheerful again. She may have asked for some peace and quiet—but for someone growing up in the Benjamin household, a couple of hours of this is already an overdose.

Would someone make some noise around here?!

So Eleanor channels it all into work, knocking herself out with scientific papers. Literally, sort of, because at some point she loses track of time and space, and when she wakes up cold and confused, she forgets where she is for a moment. She opens her eyes into the dark and not-yet-familiar living room, feeling her way through the walls in desperate search for the light switch in this ceiling-lamp-depleted apartment. There’s some noisy bumping into stuff, some potential knee and elbow bruises, until she finally manages to find her new bedroom, slides herself under her new princesses covers, curls into a ball—trying to keep warm—and dozes off again.

No, it’s not as easy as it sounds. Doing absolutely nothing is considered an art, at least by some, because it takes talent to actually do it properly. And no, Eleanor doesn’t appear to possess such talent. So needless to say, it’s not working too well for her.

She wakes up to chirping birds and the sound of a garbage truck backing up under her bedroom window. Maybe the bird chirping was actually part of her dream, but the garbage truck sound is very realistic. She has no idea what time it is or how long she’s slept. Still in yesterday’s clothes, snuggled in Aiden’s—yes, still hasn’t reached the right state of mind to take it off—hoodie. She’s not sure why his image is still haunting her mind, or why thinking of him during these confusing moments of sleep-shedding makes her feel less alone.

And more importantly, why, all of a sudden, being alone is bothering her? Like a dose of emptiness before her coffee.

When has her precious alone time—that she’d so desperately been craving—crossed the line into loneliness?

Eleanor grabs her laptop. ‘Can you get a concussion without hitting your head?’ Time to consult Dr. Google. She sorts through the sources, trying to find an actual scientific publication to back up some of the million findings at her fingertips. How did people even live before the Internet age?

Unthinkable.

According to her on-the-fly search, this could happen due to injury somewhere else in the body. Eleanor walks herself into the bathroom, where she recalls seeing a larger mirror, and checks for bruises. Aiden did a pretty good job catching her. Recalling it brings a smile to her face. The search comes back clean. No bruises other than her knee that’s still proudly bearing Aiden’s band-aid, and a few small ones she added to the collection last night while blindly searching for her bed. Surely not the culprit for her potential concussion. Clumsiness is a skill Eleanor has carried with pride since she can remember. Her dad always says it’s because she’s too busy thinking ‘smart sciencey thoughts.’ And so far, she’s managed to live through it with only minor scratches and bruises. Nothing serious. She can’t recall anything like her newly discovered symptoms.

She looks up ‘concussion symptoms to watch out for.’ The list includes ‘light and sound sensitivity’—nope. ‘Changes in sleep patterns’—that could be part of her jet lag, so not really. She keeps scrolling.

Hmmm… ‘Changes in thinking and memory’—well… She may have a few symptoms to fit under this category. She mentally tries to list them:

Thinking of a guy she’s just met briefly at the airport, and then on a plane. Then getting those weird excitement shivers running through her spine just from touching his fingers, and again now just thinking about it. This can’t be a good sign, and very unusual for her specifically.

Having a hard time telling the difference between true fun (being alone and doing work), to what her brain somehow perceives as fun at the moment (attending a noisy family dinner party, texting her entire family in a gigantic group chat, going to that bar Aiden mentioned to watch him play…). What? Impossible. She doesn’t even like music anymore.

She’s definitely experiencing short-term memory loss right now because she can’t, for the life of her, remember significant details from the past 48 hours. Including where she had saved the last primer design sheet she was working on during the flight from Tel Aviv to Madrid or what she had for dinner on the plane. The only thing she can remember is… Aiden.

Definitely a concussion.

She glances back into what might be a not-too-reliable source of online information but continues reading it anyway. The list says ‘emotional changes’, and yep—that too, because her heart was racing when she hugged him, and that is totally not something that happens to someone coming from a very warm all-hugs-and-kisses-on-both-cheeks family. That little twist in her stomach when they said their last goodbyes. This is way out of character for her and definitely out of her comfort zone.

Therefore, and based on all of the above, her next search shifts to the recommendations on recovery from a concussion. It’s mostly just rest. Then she adds her own personal recommendations—breakfast, a much-needed cup of coffee, and perhaps even a shower could be a good place to start.

A few hours later, back in her bedroom, tasks accomplished, Eleanor is trying to figure out what to wear. The weather outside looks sunny and clear, but it deceivingly looked like that yesterday too, so she’s not buying it this time.

Sigh.

Her hand reaches back to Aiden’s hoodie, which still possesses his scent, summoning his memory before her.

Stupid concussion.

Eleanor shoves it in the laundry machine along with the very colorful Disney linens, which smell like paint factory.

She puts on her favorite sweatpants and hoodie.

Her other favorite hoodie, not Aiden’s.

She pulls her hair into a bun. Time to make this place feel like a home. Her home. Maybe that would make things better.

A doorbell ring startles her, as she’s not expecting anyone. She doesn’t even know if this neighborhood is considered safe enough to answer the door. But then, considering the fact that her apartment key was buried in the pot outside, untouched, for almost a week… She decides to take her chances.

She peeks through the peephole, getting a view of a middle-aged man. Not too threatening, but she has no idea who he is or what he’s after. Eleanor didn’t take the What to do when a stranger rings your doorbell in a new country on which you know absolutely nothing about course, and hasn’t read the memo either.

“Who is it?” she reflexively asks in Hebrew through the door.

No answer.

Well of course not. Why would the guy on the other side speak Hebrew? She’s definitely not in Kansas anymore. Or rather—Israel.

“Who is it?” she tries again, this time in English, considering whether she’ll need to put her long forgotten krav-maga skills to use. She’s been out of practice for years now, but hopefully it’s like riding a bicycle.

“Iberia delivery,” the guy answers. Or at least that’s what she hopes he answered. And just to rest his case, he reaches for something in his side bag.

Hopefully not a gun; that would be a total waste of relocation funds. She hasn’t even had a chance to see the lab, not to mention she’s still working on designing those PCR primers.

But he pulls out a cell phone. Her cell phone! The email did say they would send it with a driver once it reached the U.S. on the next flight, but that was quite fast, plus she’s already come to peace with the fact that she’s suffering from some short-term memory loss.

Anything-not-Aiden-related loss .

To think she was contemplating whether or not she should answer the door, and now she can’t open it fast enough.

The delivery guy is quite shocked at her joyful reaction to being reunited with her phone, and with the overly generous tip she shoves into his hand. She takes pity on him after he leaves, and patiently counts to ten behind the closed door, before unleashing her happy screams.

“Got my phone back!!!” she quickly texts to their newly created multi-participant family WhatsApp group. Feeling connected again.

Grandma: “Thank goodness, I was starting to worry.”

Grandpa: “Starting?”

Grandma: ”It’s my job to worry.” She adds a laughing emoji.

Mom: ”I miss you already! And can’t wait to hear all about your journey!”

Grandma: ”First can you tell us who is this handsome young man?”

Eleanor: ”I’m sorry, who are we talking about?”

Orly: ”Give her a minute to scroll back through our chatter, she’s just got her phone back. Ellie, honey, get yourself up to speed.” A laughing- crying emoji.

Gillie: ”I have to admit, I’m curious too!”

Yes, Gillie is the kind of friend who one can’t even recall a time when he wasn’t part of the family. Which of course wins him an honorable spot in Eleanor’s family WhatsApp group.

Eleanor: ”Gillie, I thought you were on my side. *Deeply shocked*”

Gillie: ”Eloosh, I’m 100% with your savta on this one. Make it 200%.”

This makes her laugh out loud.

Who thought that relinking herself with this small annoying electronic device, the one that always beeps and rings and causes perpetual distractions, a total nuisance, would bring her so much joy?

A piece of home.

Her phone rings.

“Eloosh! I miss you already!” Gillie’s shiny grin covers the screen in a WhatsApp video call, bringing a big smile to her face. Gillie is the only one who still insists on using her childhood nickname, Eloosh, which is what everyone else used to call her until she decided she was too old for that, sometime around second grade, shortly after she and Gillie became BFFs. Gillie is still stuck on the Eloosh phase though.

“I miss you too!” She sighs. “Gosh, it’s so quiet in here, it’s driving me crazy.”

“Already? I thought you wanted some alone time to focus on your work.”

“I did,” she admits. “But Gillie, it hasn’t even been two days and I’ve already reached an important realization about myself.”

“And what’s that?”

“That I really don’t like being alone.”

“A shocker,” Gillie chuckles. “Kind of saw that one coming.” He lets his contagious laugh roll out, lighting up the mood in her lonely apartment.

“Could have warned me…”

“I think it’s important to let people do their own exploration in life.” He makes his signature imitation of their high school bio teacher. It’s been almost ten years since they graduated. That one teacher made her mark. “Anyway, would you have listened if I had?

“Nah. You’re right,” she sighs. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“The unbearable sound of complete silence. I think I might go get myself one of those white noise machines.”

“Where’s your roommate?” Gillie straightens his lab coat and sits down. The familiar lounge room in their cell biology department comes to view on the little screen. Not seeing Gillie in the lab every day is going to be hard. Not that they shared the same advisor, but his PhD lab always had all and every possible piece of equipment. They had quite a few generous grants to fund their research, plus ample more to spare. So for Eleanor, stopping by Gillie’s lab to borrow some much needed goods was not unusual. Once-twice-a-day-at-least kind of not-unusual.

“She’s spending the holidays with her parents, she won’t be back before the new year. How come the lounge is so quiet?” The lounge is typically the center of activity.

“It’s already pretty late here, seven hours difference, remember?”

“Right, so then I have time to give you a tour.” She gets up from the couch and travels around with her phone. It doesn’t take more than five minutes to walk him through the small apartment.

“Cute! I like the plants!” Gillie sums it up.

“Yeah. These are my roommate’s babies.”

“And for someone who dislikes fairytales, your Disney princesses bedsheets are a bold statement!”

“Shut up! That’s the only set they had at the store.”

“Busted!” He laughs out loud. “How was your trip there?”

“Uneventful.” She’s quick to summarize. Convincing oneself starts with convincing others. Right?

“Really?” Gillie smirks. “That’s not what your mom said. Who’s that hot guy you were sprawled over on the plane?”

“Sprawled over? Just the guy who was sitting next to me.”

“Looks like you were totally invading his personal space.”

“What do you mean looks like? And what was my grandma asking about a handsome young man ?” Is Eleanor’s boring life back to being smeared all over social media?

AGAIN?!

“Your mom sent that selfie to the group chat. He’s HOT! Does he happen to have a handsome gay brother by any chance?”

“Hold on… What selfie?”

“The one the handsome guy you sat next to probably took for your mom. I swear, Eloosh, you’re the only person in the world who doesn’t notice when people take selfies with you.”

“Why would he take a selfie with me? That’s creepy.”

“Your mom asked him to, don’t judge. You know how hard it is to say no to her. The poor guy was just following orders. He knew you wouldn’t notice anyway.”

“How could he have known?”

“You mom told him that too.”

“Gillie!”

“She literally told him— take a selfie, she won’t notice. She shared that in the group chat too. Geez, you really don’t read your text messages.”

“Seriously? My own mom turns against me?” Eleanor clutches her heart in feigned shock.

“You’re missing the point,” Gillie says and messes with his screen before an image appears on her phone. “I mean, look at those blue eyes. The undeniable jaw line. His five o’clock shadow, the delicious biceps showing under his shirt. I bet he also owns some amazing pecs and abs.” Gillie drifts off. “And look at you all lit up like a complete set of Hanukkah candles. Tell me you’re going to see him again.” Her best friend is smiling like the devoted matchmaker he is.

“You know me better than that!” Eleanor protests. “You know I came here to work. I need to focus.” She tries to make the photo go away, pressing everywhere as quickly as possible. “Great,” she sighs. “Gillie, how do you change the screen saver image? I think I accidentally replaced it with this stupid selfie.”

“You mean your lock screen or your home screen?”

“Both.”

“Not telling you,” he chuckles. “Now you’ll get to look at yourself smiling at this gorgeous man every time you reach out for your phone.”

“Gillie!” she protests.

“Anyway, back to what I was saying. You’ll have plenty of time to focus, leave some time for fun.”

“Working in the lab is all the fun I need. Besides, he’s a drummer.”

“A drummer?!” His smug smile is unmistakable. “Darling, sounds like you have a type!”

“Tell me about it. And just to be clear, you’ll never catch me dating a drummer again.”

“Right, because all drummers are Oren Hason?” Gillie challenges. She wouldn’t expect any less of him, but still.

“Yes.”

“That’s some next-level logic. Would you rather date a scientist?” Yet another one of Gillie’s challenging questions.

“Of course not! That would be even worse. Bringing work home.”

“You already bring work home. On like a champion-league level.”

He has a point.

“True. Okay, then that would be sleeping with the competition, so NO,” she insists.

“Doesn’t have to be competition, not every single scientist in the world is interested in diseases caused by epigenetic aberrations, you know?” He attempts a serious expression.

“How is that even remotely possible?! And anyway, still a no.”