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Running his other hand over his head, he says, “You know how I mentioned the science fair and my mom?”
Nodding, I reply, “Mrs. Whipple accusing her of buying your win? Though wine might have rhymed better there.”
He sits back. “Good memory and probably.”
“Thanks.” I prop my knee between us on the bench sideways to face him. “It’s hard to forget Mrs. Whipple.”
“True. I’ve tried many times, but that’s another story.” He’s cute when he’s a bit perplexed. More importantly, why does he seem puzzled?
“If that story is being left for another day, then what’s this story?”
He says, “Jacobs.” I sit up a little straighter, hearing my name. “Juni Jacobs.”
“Okay, yeah?”
I’m used to seeing this kind of intensity in his eyes when he’s at work, but out of the office, it makes me wonder if I need to be concerned. “Your parents were Daisy and Chris Jacobs?”
“Daisy and Chris Jacobs.”
Though we say it at the same time, neither of us claims victory with a jinx. I nod again like I’m in on his revelation.
He says, “You’re kidding, right?”
“Why would I kid about my parents?”
“Juni, my science fair submission that year was how sap and water move through the Tracheids at different speeds.”
“That’s my parents’ theory, the one my mom started in college when she beat my dad in that competition. It was also the subject of their first published paper together, their first grant, and the reason they made their first trip to the Amazon. That was the basis of their relationship.” He doesn’t answer the question I’m sure I buried in there, so I’m more direct, and ask, “Using my parents’ theorem, you won the science fair?”
“Water moves quicker, though the sap is to a plant like blood is to us. Jacobs’ Tracheid Theorem.”
They had other, and far greater, discoveries during their careers, but that one put them on the map. “They never had to beg for grant money again until a bioscience periodical did an article about them. It said they cared more about the fame than the planet they preached to want to save.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“They’d drop everything, including me, to go on a research trip. Obsession comes in more forms than the obvious. To most, they’re just plants. To my parents, they were an insight into another universe. They believed plants could be utilized to save civilization. Not in a nutty way, but if specific plants could be packaged in a certain way, there was potential for them to be replanted on another planet. We could have farms on Mars or fields of wheat on the moon. It was longshot stuff that included a lot of chemistry in reorganizing the plant cells to maintain the benefits of their genus while being able to adapt to the different environments in outer space.”
“Those are lofty goals. They sound like geniuses.”
I release a heavy breath from my chest, surprised I remember so much. It’s taken up so much space in my life that, like the breath did, it feels good to release it. “The space station currently houses twenty varieties of plants packaged based on my parents’ research. I wish they could see their goals brought to fruition.”
He pulls me into a hug and rubs my back. “They were ahead of their time.”
I nod against his shoulder, not sure why I’m tearing up. I’m usually much better at handling my emotions. When I look up, he cups my cheeks and gently runs the pads of his thumbs under my eyes. “My parents were supposed to be at my competition the day they died.” When I struggle to hold his gaze, I drop my head to his shoulder. He places several kisses on my head. “They promised. They’d missed almost all the others, but this one was for state. The winner would get a $20,000 grant and a full-ride scholarship to any New York public university. The prize I wanted to win even more was the chance to study in the Amazon with the great Jacobs that summer.”
Leaning back, his hands still hold my face, but confusion now fills his. “You entered to win a chance to spend time with your parents?”
“I did.” I laugh humorlessly. “It was a two-month study program. If I didn’t win, I wouldn’t be there. I’d be in New York missing them like always. So I took their research and dived deeper to discover that the veins in certain genus can expand to allow the sap to flow better. They contract when water is sensed. How crazy is that?”
“It is amazing.” It’s not like he’d feel pride or anything, but he sure is looking at me like he does when tenderness shapes his expression. “You’re amazing.” Confusion still enters his eyes right after, but I get it. This isn’t usually a topic discussed at the dinner table. He asks, “What happened?”
