“Well, it seems like we won’t have any issues with weekend shifts, then.” I looked outside. The sky was gray and dark with sleet. I suppressed a sigh. The train would be a slippery mess.
“Will you be okay getting home?” Nathan asked. We’d paused at the threshold of the building, his hand on the door handle.
“Yes, of course.” Did he think Omegas melted in the rain?
He looked at the sky, then back at me. “Are you sure? We could share a cab. Which way are you heading?”
“I’ll take the train,” I said. “I’m going to a friend’s house for dinner.”
Nathan studied me for a moment. “Okay. Have a good weekend, Bridget.”
He left me in the lobby and I watched the sleet beading on his dark hair and coat. I shook my head, then texted Maggie to let her know I was on my way for our celebratory dinner.
Chapter 3 - Bridget
The next few weeks passed in a blur of work. Our Omega mesenchymal cells were proliferating well, and the second incubator was soon full of stem cells, growing away in a medium designed to induce them towards cartilage-production. The first round of patient injections was quickly approaching, and we needed enough cells for ten subjects.
We received blood samples from each subject and tested their immune response against the Omega stem cells they would be treated with. Every single crossmatch was negative.
Nathan was back to being the distant taskmaster I was used to. He was rigorous, rigid, quick to pull Anvi up on mistakes, and quick to remind me of basic procedures. If I’d thought our brief talk about our personal lives would have softened him up, I was very wrong. It’s like he’d doubled down on being as professionally detached as possible.
But my extended proximity to him had led to one unfortunate development; I was noticing little things about him that I would rather not have realized. His hands were strong and dextrous, capable of handling a glass pipette with delicacy while also hauling around the centrifuges when we wanted to rearrange the lab. And instead of zoning out thinking about ways to quietly murder him, I found myself admiring how the light from his laptop emphasized his cheekbones.
Luckily, neither him nor Anvi had noticed my preoccupation.
On the Tuesday of our fourth week, the day of the first round of injections, Lisbeth called Nathan and me into her office.
“Come in, come in,” she said, smiling from behind her desk, wearing a coral-colored shirt and chunky turquoise necklace. “I have exciting news!”
Nathan and I sat in the chairs across from her.
“Do you know who Andrew St. James is?”
“Is he part of the IRB?” I asked. The Internal Review Board was the group of scientists and funders overseeing the study.
“No,” Lisbeth laughed. “He’s a famous tennis player, and he’s part of the study. He’s actually coming in today for his first injection, and since he’s a VIP, Patrick wants you both to meet with him.”
She said this as if it was a special treat for Nathan and me. I guessed Patrick must have been Dr. Patrick Davis, the head of the clinic.
“Why?” I asked after a moment of blank silence.
Lisbeth kept smiling, but now there was a slight edge. “Because he’s a VIP and if he wants to meet the scientific team behind the scenes, then he can.”
Nathan’s frown mirrored my own. “Do we have a choice?” he asked.
“No. Instead of the clinic staff conducting his follow up questioning, you’ll meet with him. And today, you’ll talk with him about his baseline symptoms.”
“But we’re not orthopedic doctors,” I said in weak protest. “We’re researchers.”
Lisbeth’s eyes hardened along with her smile. “Dr. Davis is asking for this favor. We are here at his disposal. Do I really need to spell this out for you?”
“It’s fine,” Nathan said. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, sure,” I said.
“Wonderful, thank you both for being such good team players,” Lisbeth said, her smile relaxing. “He’ll be here in about an hour. Someone from the clinic will come to fetch you.”
I followed Nathan out of her office. By some unspoken agreement, we walked in silence to the prep lab. Anvi was feeding the cells in the cleanroom, so we were alone.
