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)
“He’s a teacher,” Mr. Hartwell injected.
“Actually, I’m a PhD student and a professor at Caltech,” Thomas gently corrected.
“What’s your discipline?”
“Oh, don’t ask. It’s a microbiology and astrophysics combination…so complicated.” Tabitha practically yelled from her perch in the middle of the table.
Thomas frowned, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “It’s really not that complicated. I teach astrophysics and study biomolecular physics as it relates to astronomy.”
Mrs. Remington leaned in. “That’s fascinating. Does that mean you’re on a team that looks for life in outer space?”
“In a sense, yes.”
“Bet you didn’t know we had an extraterrestrial expert in the family,” Mr. Hartwell boomed with a hearty laugh.
A few others joined in until a twitter of chuckles hummed through the dining room. It wasn’t unfriendly, but I could feel the tension coming off Thomas in strong waves. Maybe his mom did too, because she jumped in and steered the conversation toward someone at their tennis club who’d sworn they’d had an alien sighting on a camping trip. His sister brought up a glamping trip she and Sterling had been on a few months ago, and suddenly everyone had a camping story to tell. They were weak segues and honestly…what could be more boring than listening to twenty camping tales? At least they got the heat off Thomas.
It was more of the same once the main meal was served. Which, by the way, was delish—prime roast beef, sumptuous sides, and warm rosemary bread served with salted butter I could have eaten straight out of the ramekin. But the company at our end of the table wasn’t easily swayed with meaningless chatter. The Remingtons had more questions. This was their house and their party, so there wasn’t much I could do to get Thomas out of the line of fire.
Here’s how it went: The Remingtons would inquire about Thomas’s NASA ties and some of the world-renowned scientists he knew, and his dad would counter with jabs about hard-working citizens financing space dreams.
I’d thought Tabitha was the one to watch out for, but if I read the dynamics correctly, she and Mrs. H ran interference, steering topics away from Thomas before he went on the defense. I think they meant well, but the constant chatter silenced Thomas. I wasn’t sure how I could help, so I held his hand under the table and interjected when I could, even though I was afraid they might start aiming their personal queries my way.
And of course they did.
“Where are you from, Noah?” Mr. Remington asked.
“San Diego originally, but I’ve lived in LA for years,” I replied.
“Really? We’re from La Jolla. You?”
“Oceanside.”
“Practically neighbors.” He squinted as he picked up his fork. “You know…you look very familiar to me.”
“It’s funny that you say that. Your name sounded familiar to me too. Then again, I am a pretty avid shopper,” I joked.
He gave a shrewd half smile and looked like he was going to press, but the conversation turned to wedding plans and the heat was off again.
I didn’t think much of it. I was pretty confident there was no way Mr. Remington the third had ever heard of me. And on the off chance he’d read my story seven years ago, I’d bet he’d forgotten it within five minutes. People like me weren’t interesting to people like him.
After what felt like an hour’s worth of friendly toasts, we were encouraged to head to the terrace for coffee and digestifs. Thomas and I broke free of the partygoers and made our way to the far side of the generous outdoor space overlooking a gigantic swimming pool that glistened like turquoise in the moonlight.
We were in the home stretch. I could feel it. And you know…this wasn’t so bad. It was a beautiful evening, a beautiful setting, and everyone was actually very pleasant.
I bumped Thomas’s arm and took a sip of port wine. “How are you holding up?”
He glanced at his watch. “Fine. We can disappear in ten minutes. Or after you finish your drink.”
I swirled the port around my glass. “I would shoot this, but I’ve had too much champagne and too much to eat. Want a sip?”
“I’m driving and—”
“Ah, there you are!” Mr. Remington boomed. “I figured out who you are.”
I chuckled. I was buzzed for sure, but I had a feeling Mr. R was well on his way to being bombed. “I’m Noah,” I confirmed, raising my digestif. “Noah Burns.”
“Yes, yes. But the questions is…would you happen to be related to Michael Burns?”
My mouth suddenly went dry.
Oh. Fuck.
Remington.
I have an interview at the Remington Corporation with the head honcho. It’s a great opportunity. Wish me luck, kiddo.
Good luck, Dad. Have him call me if he needs a reference, I’d joked.
I took a sip and set my glass aside before replying. “Why do you ask?”
Mr. R grinned at his wife and pointed at me. “Doesn’t he look like Michael, hon? Dead ringer.”