Page 38 of Technical Advances

“Not much. I own a little company now. Benji tells me you do too.”

“I do.” Dad was not contributing to the conversation that he had initiated, and I was too distracted to ferret out why or to assist.

“Construction, right? New homes or …” Dad really was staring at Anson like he was trying to solve a problem.

The hostess arrived at that moment and interrupted, which felt like a relief, at least to me. She looked Anson over like she was checking him out. Oh, I really didn’t like that. Her tone was sharp as she drew the men’s attention away from each other and toward her.

“Good evening, gentleman. I’m so sorry, but we do have a no-jeans policy …”

Anson spoke over her, a little heft to his voice.

“We have a reservation. Anson Day, party of three.” A second woman swooped in behind the hostess.

“Dr. Day! Welcome back to Beantown Prime.” With hurried efficiency, she tucked three heavy menus on her hip and gestured for us to follow. “I’ve got this, Daisy.” She patted the hostess on the arm and began walking.

“And you must be the graduate?”

I glanced at Anson, then down at his jeans and back up, cocking an eyebrow.

He had a crooked smile on his face, an acknowledgment that he had gotten away with something. He smiled back at me before we both nodded to the woman.

She made eye contact with my dad next, though she managed to maneuver us through the crowded restaurant as she did so. “Mr. Warren, you must be incredibly proud of your son.”

My dad opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the efficient woman as she gestured up a flight of stairs that led to a loft area. We walked past a number of tables for two that lined the edge of the area, looking over the lower level of the restaurant, and came to a stop at the end of the landing, where a small room held a table for four. A wine rack partially obstructed the lower view, reaching halfway up the glass wall. Standing near it, one could look down at the floor below, but seated, we would not be seen. At eye level, the Charles River Basin filled the window, my campus visible on the other side.

“Chef Drew wanted to welcome you with some champagne. May I open this for you?” I turned away from the view to find Anson watching me and Dad watching him. We all drew our attention back to the hostess.

“Thank you, Katie,” Anson read the woman’s name tag. “And thank Drew for us.” Katie nodded as the cork popped, and she expertly poured three flutes of champagne. She handed one to my father before delivering the other two, first to Anson and then to me. Anson barely took his eyes off mine to accept the glass, or when he ordered an appetizer from Katie before she left the room.

I stood awkwardly with the flute in hand, aware of my father’s stare. Dad cleared his throat and raised his glass, and I gave a subtle nod to Anson. He cleared his throat in turn and finally tore his eyes from mine to smile at my father instead.

CHAPTER 14

ANSON

Ihadn’t seen him in three days. We’d continued to work on Project Orthos, sharing documents on the secure server and emailing back and forth, but there were no more texts, not even the GIFs he seemed to favor, and no more visits to the lab from Benji.

The lab I’d built expressly to have a place to be alone suddenly felt oppressively lonely. The project continued to move forward, so quickly that I had most of the 3D printers in the facility running day and night. But my evenings in the lab were silent in a way that had never bothered me in the past. A missed lunch, which before I’d met Benji, I would only have noticed when Beck bitched about it, became a Greek tragedy, and even the successes we were seeing on the project felt meaningless every time I looked up from my desk, and Benji’s smiling face wasn’t there to share them with me.

And it had only been three days.

I knew I should have been looking forward to seeing my old friend as the car dropped me off at Beantown Prime, but all I could think about was seeing his son.

I used all the social skills I had trained myself on over the years to pull my focus from Benji and welcome my childhood friend, trying to continue a conversation that had felt awkward, even to me, when I’d first entered the restaurant.

“Ben Warren. It is good to see you after all this time.”

“It’s good to see you too,” he repeated formally. “I’d ask you how you’ve been, but, like, I have the internet.” We all laughed, easing the tension a fraction. “Thank you, man, for …” Ben gently waved the glass he was holding around the room.

My gaze turned to Benji, always to Benji. “It is absolutely my pleasure. I’m so … pleased to have met your son and to have scooped him up before any of my competitors could.” I raised my glass in Benji’s direction.

Before I could offer a toast, Ben raised his glass high in the air and began, “To the future Dr. Benjamin Warren. MIT graduate and New Day Tech’s newest research assistant.

“Dr. Warren,” Ben said again, more softly. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.” Ben’s eyes got misty as he raised his glass even higher. “To Benji.”

“To Benji,” I echoed, turning to see him blushing an effervescent pink, the sunset behind him surrounding his frame as it reflected off the water. Benji’s gaze shot from his father to me and back to his father as Ben wiped a tear from his eye.

Benji looked down and muttered, “Thank you,” before taking a sip of champagne. Ben and I followed, though Ben’s sip managed to empty his glass.