The Ex-Husband of Alice Langley

29

PARIS SWIFT-KELCE
I stand in the lab, staring at my laptop screen, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I try to keep up with the flood of data streaming in. Every few seconds, I pause to glance at the experiment laid out in front of me, making sure everything is in order. But suddenly, a dull, throbbing ache starts to radiate from my ankles, creeping upward until it's impossible to ignore. I grimace and roll my shoulders, then glance down, tugging the hem of my pants up to get a better look. Sure enough, my ankles are puffy and swollen, straining against the straps of my heels.

"Ugh, edema," I mutter, letting the fabric fall back down. I twist my ankles in slow circles, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure, but it does little good. The lab feels unusually warm, and between the heat, my tight shoes, and the relentless ache, I feel like I'm about to burst.

I take a breath and look over at Lauren, who's hunched over the microscope, completely absorbed. "Hey, I don't feel very good. I'm going to sit down. I'll be right back," I tell her, heading over to grab a chair from the corner of the room.

I return, dropping into the chair with a sigh as I set my laptop on my knees, my swollen feet finally getting a break. "You good?" Lauren asks, finally looking up from her work with an eyebrow raised.

"I'm fine. Just tired. My feet hurt, and I need to pee, but I'm too lazy to get up and go to the bathroom," I grumble, leaning back and letting my head rest against the wall.

"Wow, sounds awful," Lauren teases, her eyes crinkling as she chuckles behind her mask.

"Lauren, you don't understand!" I whine, a little more dramatically than necessary. "It's like I'm constantly carrying around a water balloon for an abdomen, and now my ankles are in on it too."

She snorts. "Hey, you can always talk to your work wifey... as long as you get off your ass and start doing your job," she quips, and I can't help but laugh, despite myself.

With a groan, I adjust my laptop on my lap and start typing again, my fingers moving automatically as I input data. "How did sample 17 come out?" I ask, glancing at the screen.

"Negative for SARS-CoV-2," she replies, jotting something down in her own notebook.

"What compound was sample 17?" I ask, trying to focus on the task at hand despite the growing discomfort.

She looks up, tapping her pen against her chin thoughtfully. "Sample 17 was the one with the zinc ion compound, right?"

I nod, entering the results into my report. Despite the ache and the heaviness, I press on, telling myself it'll all be worth it once this project is over and I can finally kick back, maybe even kick off my heels permanently.

"You need to tell Michael, though. Co-workers aren't the best people to tell first." Lauren says, giving me a pointed look.

I sigh, slumping back in my chair. "I will. I just don't want people to think of me differently because of it. I'm still me."

She raises an eyebrow, but then refocuses on her work. "Sample 18 and 19 are negative for SARS-CoV-2."

I type that in, nodding as I track the results. "Okay, in theory, sample 20 will be positive since it's a different compound."

Lauren watches as I enter the data, her gaze flicking between me and the screen. She crosses her arms, one eyebrow raised. "You've got this, Paris. You know who you are, and so does he. Micheal's not just a good boss—he's supportive. You're going to be fine."

I nod, letting out a long breath. "You're right." The weight of the day starts to lift, if only slightly.

Then Lauren's attention snaps back to the samples. "Well, sample 20 is positive for SARS-CoV-2."