Desert Chemistry

The crowd that night was mostly obnoxious teenagers, in groups of five or so. It was fun watching the boys trying to impress the girls with exaggerated acts of supposed manliness. I could tell by the looks in their eyes which of the girls were the smart ones, playing along and humoring the boys, and which ones were dumb enough to be impressed by all the silliness. I was quite pleased that that former outnumbered the latter.

The sun had just gone down, turning the sky a blazing orange and painting the wispy clouds with strange pinks and purples. I still hadn't gotten used to sunset in the desert. It looked more like a Technicolor backdrop for a Hollywood movie than something that could actually happen in real life. The late April air was still hot, close to ninety degrees, but bone dry. Light sweat evaporates before you even know it's there, leaving a faint, gritty trace of salt on your skin.

David offered to go first when we got on the course. "The second player has an advantage," he explained with appropriate seriousness, "because he can get an idea of the hole from the first player."

The first hole was a fairly simple par three. No gimmicks, just a gently curved green, shaped like the letter J, with the hole around the bend. David looked the whole thing over, placed his ball on the rubber strip that served as a tee, and got a very serious look on his face as he prepared to take his first shot.

It all seemed so ridiculous, two adults, both with PhDs in chemistry, playing mini-golf, surrounded by a pack of hormonal high school kids. I couldn't help but smile. I needed this distraction more than I had let on to David, and it was very sweet of him to give up his evening of freedom and spend it with me. As he stood there, completely absorbed by the process of hitting a little ball around a patch of fake grass, I looked at him, really looked. I had never done that before, not when we first met, not when we started working together, and not once in the year since then.

I knew he was thirty two, but my mind just could not make that number fit. On the outside, he still looked about twenty, with his shaggy, sandy blonde hair and a touch of baby fat rounding out his handsome face. Barely an adult. His eyes were even more confusing. Right then they were fixed on that little orange golf ball, with the absolute concentration of an eight year old, the kind most adults lose when they grow up. Earlier in the day, though, when he pulled me out of the lab and sat me down, those same blue-green eyes bored right through me, and they made him seem like the oldest, wisest person I knew.

David finally took his shot, banking it off the concrete curbs around the green, and the ball rolled to a stop a few inches from the hole. It didn't look like he was going to take it easy on me and let me win to make me feel better.

I took my turn, bouncing the ball off the concrete borders and getting it in the general vicinity of the hole. David made the easy putt for a birdie. I took two more shots to make par.

The next hole was more interesting, a par four with some obstacles in the way of a straight shot. We both managed par. David was graceful; I was lucky. After that, we caught up to the group of six teenagers in front of us on the course. That meant waiting a little at each hole, which was fine with me. I wasn't in any hurry to finish.

"So what, exactly, was the deal with you and Cate?" David asked while we waited.

"It's complicated."

"We've got plenty of time for you to explain, if you want to."

I didn't really, and I'm sure David wouldn't have pushed if I decided not to explain, but the rest of the evening would have been long and awkward. And part of me needed to tell somebody about it, I think. David was there, and he was willing to listen.

Then it was our turn at the third hole, another par four, with an old timber hung as a pendulum. David made another birdie. My ball got knocked off the green by the timber, and I wound up with a bogey.

"The whole story starts with Melissa, I guess," I said, waiting for the fourth hole.

"Okay?"

"I knew her from the ASU fencing club. She got into a huge fight with a roommate and needed a place to stay. I had the extra bedroom, so I offered. It was just for a couple of months last spring, but we became pretty good friends."

"Just friends?"

"Yeah, just friends. She moved out in the spring when school ended, and she's doing great. The next August, right after school started back up, Lakesha found me and asked me if I still had the extra bedroom. She had just come out to her family, and it didn't go well."

"Seems to be a recurring thing with you..."

"Yeah. I guess after Melissa, word got around, even on this huge campus. I somehow became the helpful lesbian big sister type or something. I honestly don't mind. I like the company, a little help with the rent is always good, and I get to help girls like me through a tough part of their lives . . . Anyway, Lakesha made up with her family after a while, and she moved out in November."

"And then Cate?"

"Yup. Ooh, Looks like we're up again."

Par three. A curved, downward sloping green with a secret passage near the tee. David made it into the secret passage first, and his ball landed near the hole for an easy birdie putt. I did the same, and it dropped right in the cup for a hole in one. Yes!

"So what was different about Cate?" David asked while we walked to the next hole.

"Melissa and Lakesha were getting away from bad situations, other people. Cate was too, I guess, but mostly she was running from herself."

"That's not what I'm asking. Melissa and Lakesha were both nice, pretty, level-headed girls, and they slept in their own beds. Cate was a disaster, and you knew that going in, but you fell for her anyway, and you fell hard." His voice was concerned rather than judgmental, but the implication was plain. "Do you have a thing for bad girls or something?"

I walked up to the next tee as the kids in front of us finished, glad of the excuse. Par five, with an uphill slope and lots of rocks for obstacles. I went first, and my ball hit a rock and came rolling right back to me. Same thing on the next shot. I wound up giving up and taking the six. David managed par after missing an easy putt.

I sat down on a bench by the next hole. This wasn't going to be easy. "Cate was just different," I said. "Not because she was messed up - I didn't like that at all. I tried as hard as I could not to get sucked into her crazy BS."

David sat patiently, waiting for me to continue. I struggled for a while, trying to find the right words, until I realized there were no right words. "I fell for Cate because she looked like Anne," I said. "Anne was my college roommate, and I loved her so much it hurt. She was the first person I ever kissed, the first person I ever slept with.

I've missed Anne so much, and when Cate moved in and looked at me with those dark, smoky eyes, I just couldn't resist. I knew it was a bad idea, getting mixed up with a girl like that, but I couldn't help myself. She came to bed with me the first night we lived together, and I could never manage to say no to her after that."

I started crying a little, and David put his arm around me. "It's okay, Allison. You're a wonderful person, and you'll find somebody else who's right for you someday." I leaned into him and rested my head on his shoulder. The solid bulk of his chest was comforting and made me feel safe.

"So were you still the helpful big sister type for Cate, despite being crazy for her?" he asked after I relaxed a little.

"Yeah," I replied. "Cate's going to be okay. She's back with her family, and her life is back on track."

"Well, that's good," he said. "That means all the hurt you're going through now was worth something."

I don't know why, but somehow hearing him say that made me feel better.

The mood was lighter as we finished out the course. We chatted about random, silly things - his niece Sophie's recent Pokémon obsession; how much useable energy could be extracted from the pounds and pounds of lemons that came off the tree in his back yard every year; how spectacularly awful a blind date between my friend Maggie and his friend Eddie would be - and generally goofed around. David did keep score - he had the scientist's compulsion to record data, whether it matters or not - but there was never even a hint of winning or losing. He cheered every time I did well, as I did for him. He didn't tell me the final score, and I didn't ask.

~~~

"Hungry?" David asked as we walked back to the parking lot, stopping for a few rounds of Miss Pac Man and Galaga on the way.

"Famished," I replied.

"You like Mexican?" he asked.

"Not really," I said. "I grew up in Boston, where most of it was pretty bad. I'm sure there's great Mexican food in this town, but I've never gone looking for it."

"Then you're in for a treat," he said. "The tortillas where we're going are some of the best anywhere, and everything else is really good too."

David drove us up the 101 and into old town Scottsdale, and he parked in a municipal garage at the edge of the big outdoor civic center mall. The place, called Los Olivos, was right next door to the garage, in a building that was going on a hundred years old. That's not a big deal where I grew up, but it's practically ancient history in Arizona.

"I've been coming here for birthdays and family stuff since I was like three," David said as we walked in. "You're going to love it." I envied the roots he had in this town. I really missed my family and friends back in Boston.

Dinner was amazing. The elements all seemed familiar, the same as the lifeless stuff of fast food burrito places and Cinco de Mayo parties, but there was no comparison. The margarita had the right notes of salt and smoky tequila, but mostly it tasted of real, honest lime, bright and bursting with life. It was like drinking sunshine and August rain in the orchards of Michoacán. The guacamole we ate with our chips was light as air, buttery avocado brightened by that same wonderful lime.

The waitress, a short, grumpy woman who looked about a hundred years old, dropped off the dinner plates without a word, and we started in. David had promised me that the red chili burro wouldn't completely burn out my taste buds. I was skeptical, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. He poured a long stripe of hot sauce on top of his burro and smiled at me. The stuff looked like it was basically just ground chilies with enough water to thin it out. I shuddered.

The burro filling was spicy, but not so much I couldn't taste anything else. It was smoky and earthy, and the meat was falling-apart tender. The real magic, though, was the tortilla. It was thin, stretchy, chewy, pillowy soft, and generally perfect. A real flour tortilla, like a French croissant or a Southern buttermilk biscuit, is culinary alchemical magic. Knowing the chemistry of the fat, starch and gluten doesn't diminish the wonder even a little.

My one margarita turned into three over dinner (or was it four?), and the food sank to the bottom of my stomach. I was feeling warm and drowsy when we walked out to the car.

As David was driving back to Tempe, I felt my judgment, my inhibitions, and my good sense slipping away. "Can I ask you a question?" I asked before I could stop myself. "It might be kinda personal."

"Sure," he replied. "You've spilled your guts to me tonight. I can do the same if it'll help."

"What's the deal with guys getting turned on by lesbians?" I asked, surprised at my boldness. I could never have done that sober. "I never understood that. We are, pretty much by definition, not interested."

David's face turned bright red, and he didn't answer for a while. I waited for him to figure out what to say.

"I don't know, really. I think for most guys it's a male power fantasy. Like both of you are just waiting for the right man to come along, and when he shows up you'll fall all over each other trying to satisfy him."

"That's sick and disgusting."

"You asked."

"I guess I did." I sighed. Men.

A while later, crossing the Rural Road bridge over the Tempe Town Lake, I tried again. I really wanted to know what he thought for himself. "What about you?" I asked. "What do you think about what Cate and I do . . . did in bed?"

"I try very hard NOT to think about it," David replied, turning even redder and pounding the steering wheel to emphasize the point. "It's like . . . I have nieces, you know, so I can figure out that my baby sister has had sex at least twice in her life. I'm glad she has a happy marriage and a good sex life, but I don't want any of the details. Ever."

I smiled. His discomfort was adorable. I probably should have felt guilty about it, but I'm going to blame the margaritas and move on. He still hadn't answered my question, though, and I really wanted to know. "Okay, then, what about lesbians in general?"

"You're not making this easy, are you?" He paused for a while. "I totally get why you'd fall in love with a woman. I'm honestly surprised that more of you don't. It's hard enough to find somebody who makes you happy in the world. If two women are good together, in bed or elsewhere, then I think that's wonderful."

He turned the corner onto Apache to drop me off at my apartment. "And yes, being totally honest, I think women having sex are pretty hot, even when it has nothing at all to do with me." The red turned almost purple. I smiled and put my hand on his shoulder.

He pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex. "I think that's more than enough sharing for one day," he said, not quite looking at me.

I was suddenly very aware that I was going home to an empty apartment, an empty bed. I desperately wanted to be anywhere else in the world.

"I really don't want to be alone tonight," I said, mostly to myself, but it came out wrong, and David didn't miss the implication.

He turned off the engine and looked me straight in the eye, his face completely serious. "I can't give you what you think you need tonight, Allison, for all kinds of reasons, and I wouldn't even if I could," he said, his expression gentle but firm. "Nobody can. Cate's gone, and you need to deal with that for yourself."

I nodded guiltily and then stared down at my lap. He was right. He had been so nice to me the whole night, and I was acting like an idiot, saying things I shouldn't. "I'm sorry," I said. "I really didn't mean . . ." I let my voice trail off, not knowing how to finish.

"It's okay. Whatever you meant, it doesn't matter," he replied. "People say all kinds of things when they're hurting."

We sat there for a while, neither quite knowing what to say.

"If your apartment's too much," he said, breaking the silence, "you can stay in my guest bedroom for a night or two."

A huge wave of relief washed over me. I couldn't say how I reacted physically, but my expression must have been pretty amusing, because David's face cracked into a wide, toothy grin. "Maybe if you get some actual sleep, you won't burn down the lab tomorrow," he said.

"Oh, thank you," I said, suppressing the urge to giggle. "Lemme run inside and get some stuff."

I packed an overnight bag and came back to the car, and David drove us over to his house.

"I hope you don't mind a twin bed and lots of pink," he said as he opened the guest room door. "Sophie and Lisa stay overnight sometimes, so this room is mostly for them."

"It's fine," I said. "Anything is fine. Thank you so much."

David showed me where everything was and then left me alone. It wasn't particularly late, but I was exhausted and a little drunk. I changed into my nightshirt, brushed my teeth, and collapsed into bed. I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

~~~

I woke to something cold and wet pressing into my cheek. "Come on, Lucie," I head David call, "Allison is not going to take you out for a walk this morning."

I opened my eyes to see David's adorable yellow Labrador turn around and obediently pad out of the room, tail wagging happily. I dragged myself out of bed, sluggish and still tired but fortunately not hung over. I found David drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen after I showered. "I picked up a couple of bagels at Chompie's," he said. "I thought you might want some breakfast."

I didn't think I'd ever be hungry again after dinner the night before, but a rumble in my belly told me otherwise. I sliced a sesame bagel in half and David dropped it in the toaster for me. He then made me a cup of tea and set it in front of me. Earl Gray, my favorite. The aroma perked me up, and the warm liquid slipping into my stomach made the day seem a little brighter.

"I had some in the cabinet," he said with a friendly shrug. "You look like you really need the caffeine."

"Thanks," I said. "Thank you for everything."

I had the strangest feeling riding into work with David. This is how normal, middle class adults live. They have morning bagels in their kitchens with their wives or husbands, and then they drive from their nice houses to their normal jobs. Maybe drop the kids off at school on the way. After years of shabby college student apartments and temporary academic jobs, I felt like an alien visiting America for the first time.

The morning went by pretty quickly. David had a class to teach, and I got through all of the previous day's failed lab work in a few hours. It's amazing how much a good night's sleep can help.

I met Maggie at 12:40 by a café in the Memorial Union. She was in a gray and blue sundress, which was about the least dressy thing I had ever seen her wear to work. Her short, sensible brown hair framed an angular, intense face, with sharp brown eyes and ready smile.

Most of the places to eat in the MU are the standard fast food brands, but the place we got lunch is a little more upscale and a lot tastier and healthier. I had a tomato and mozzarella salad, with actual real tomatoes, and Maggie had a grilled veggie sandwich.

Maggie had already known Cate was moving out, but I hadn't told her about my evening with David yet. I filled her in, and she gave me a knowing look. I shook my head at her. "He's taken," I said, "and he's not my type. Much too ... not-female for me."

"Suit yourself," she replied, but the look in her eye didn't go away entirely. "Sounds like a really nice evening," she said, a little more seriously.

"Yeah," I replied. "I needed the distraction. It was really nice of him to do that for me."

Maggie regaled me with tales of her children's fort-building and swimming lessons in her soothing, throaty voice, exaggerating now and then to get a laugh. I half-listened, grateful for a chunk of normality in my life.

Right before we got up to leave, Maggie asked, "You know I was just teasing about David, right?"

"Yeah," I replied. "I know."

"I've been all alone since Clark ... well, since the accident," she said. "I guess I was just a little jealous of you, getting to spend an evening with a nice man, especially one who looks like David."

I pulled her into a hug. "I know how much you miss him, sweetie," I said. "Hang in there."

"Thanks," she replied.

The rest of the week was uneventful. With finals rapidly approaching, David spent a lot of time helping students, so I was alone in the lab most of the time. The work was not very exciting, which was fine with me. We were just about done cataloging a batch of enzymes, and none of them had turned out to be very useful for our purposes. I was running follow-up tests on a few that hadn't come out right in the initial research. We'd contribute any new discoveries to the PeroxiBase database and move on at the end of the week.

It was still hard going home and missing Cate. I got more sleep at night, but I woke up every morning feeling groggy, stiff and depressed.