Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Hmm…yeah, it was probably time for new ones.
“They don’t look too bad,” I teased, wiping my lenses on my T-shirt.
She arched a brow. “Tommy…”
“All right, fine. I’ll fix my glasses. But I refuse to undergo a personality change unless she does too.”
Mom quirked a smile. “Sounds fair. If possible, don’t take it personally.”
“How? She literally just told me that she didn’t like my occupation, my friends, or the way I looked.”
“She’ll be herself again after the wedding is over and done in June. In the meantime, let’s do our best to support her.”
“I said I’d fix my glasses.”
“Maybe get a haircut too?” Mom suggested, playfully tugging a lock of my hair.
I peeked at my reflection in the circular mirror in the foyer, licking my palm to flatten the wayward pieces into place.
“We’ll see. Thanks for lunch.”
“Anytime. I’m sorry Dad wasn’t able to stick around.”
“Hmm.” I doubted he felt the same, but I left it alone. I’d had enough family drama for the day.
She followed me to the door and kissed my cheek. “Love you, my tenacious terrific Thomas.”
I rolled my eyes at the childhood nickname, then speed-walked to my car before she could add any other personal care items to my to-do list.
Note to self: Steer clear of family for the foreseeable future.
One of my superhero talents was my ability to compartmentalize unpleasant conversations and situations at will. So a week after my sister ruined my turkey sandwich with her list of personal grooming demands, my glasses were still broken and my hair was still a mess.
Both chores had been filed in the “to be dealt with later” box in my noggin that was already filled to capacity. However, I hadn’t missed any important deadlines—an impressive feat for a guy who worked and went to school full-time.
I happily split my days between teaching biochemistry and astrophysics to undergrads at Caltech and taking classes toward my PhD in biomolecular astrophysics. Which meant I was in a classroom or a lab six days a week…immersed in all things science. Fine by me. I loved biomolecular studies. And I loved teaching.
However, I would have preferred not to be scanning through an upcoming exam for one of the bigwigs in my department while at a Script Club meeting. This was multi-tasking to the extreme if you asked me. I had twenty minutes to approve the questions and send the file to the head of my department. Dr. Abrams was a stickler for punctuality, so even though I knew this assignment wasn’t a top priority, I had to treat it like one.
The harsh truth was that if I wanted to be taken seriously in my field of expertise, I needed the backing of a big-name mentor. And Dr. Abrams was as big as they came—an acclaimed astrophysicist with ties to top-secret government projects involving the study of the possibility of life on other planets. It was an honor to lecture, conduct lab studies, and tutor hundreds of students on his behalf. But I didn’t appreciate his tendency to throw last-minute assignments with ridiculously stringent deadlines my way.
“Give me five minutes,” I mumbled to my friends, madly typing while they chatted amicably around me.
“You’re fine. We’re still waiting for Holden,” Asher commented, checking his watch. Asher was our self-appointed secretary and if possible, he was even more fastidious about timeliness than Dr. Abrams. “Did he say when he’d be here?”
“He’s running ten minutes behind schedule,” I replied, eyes glued to my screen.
“I think he was on a date,” Topher piped in.
I glanced up with a frown. “Really?”
George swooshed his cape dramatically and took a seat on the opposite end of the sectional. “Yeah, I don’t know who the guy is, though. I thought you might have some gossip, Tommy. I’m shamelessly curious.”
“Nope. I don’t know anything about it.” I shrugged nonchalantly.
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” Chet said from somewhere behind me. “I’m going to pull my cookies out of the oven. I’ll be right back.”
“Did you make chocolate chip cookies?” Lincoln asked, sliding into the great room on socks like a surfer riding a wave.
Chet motioned for his stepson to follow him. “I did. Come grab a couple before your dad drops you off at Papa’s house.”
“Actually, Jase is picking Linc up. He’ll be here any sec. Then I’ll get out of the way. I know you have important things to discuss,” Sam informed his husband, turning to greet the rest of us with a wide smile. “How’s it going, boys?”
A chorus of “good” was followed by polite “catch-up” conversation amongst friends. It was mellow, but the conditions were a tad chaotic for someone working with a deadline. Thankfully, they took the hint and moved the party into the kitchen, leaving me on my own to finish up.
Darn that Dr. Abrams. I should have been kicking back with my buddies, not racing the clock for an assignment that felt more like a loyalty test. I couldn’t help resenting the impingement on my precariously slim social life. It made me long for simpler times when we were all college students and roommates.