At twenty-seven, YouTube sensation Ben Leonards is married to his work. If he's not whipping up lasagna with a side of science experiments, he's running statistical analysis of bitcoin during explosive behavior periods.
When a friend asks him to org...
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The computer screen blinks at me, reminding me I'm on a deadline. Jaimie-the-friend did me a favor by approving the last-minute time off request for the rest of the week but Jaimie-the-boss will still be expecting this analysis done by tomorrow. Amelie's visit in the morning disrupted the whole schedule I had for the day. Stop. Focus on the statistical analysis of bitcoin during explosive behavior periods: the mean, the median, the skew, and the kurtosis. I check them again. My brain refuses to concentrate on the numbers in front of me, spinning in a direction that has nothing to do with the task at hand and everything to do with Am.
The smell of Amelie's perfume lingers on my shirt, and I lift it up to my nose to sniff it again. I can get used to the smell if she likes it. It's not horrible. Or maybe I can ask her to buy a different scent, something less sweet. It's hard to process the food smells with something this powerful in the background.
"Incoming video call from Angie Fisher. Accept or decline," announces my smart house system. I grab the earpiece from the charger on the corner of my desk and put it on. "Incoming video call from Angie Fisher. Accept or decline."
"Accept."
I pick up the phone and hold it in front of me as I walk out of my office and into the kitchen. Angie's face is shining with sweat and way too close to the camera when she appears.
"I'm on the treadmill, I have two more miles to waddle through, and I'm counting on you to tell me something less depressing than the news I've turned off."
I put the phone into the holder on the countertop and wait for her to elaborate.
"Start talking," she says.
"What would you like to know?"
"How did the conversation go this morning?" Angie wipes the sweat off her forehead with a hand towel.
"About the baby shower?"
"Please, no. That cursed thing is going to drive me into early labor. But Am has been insane trying to make sure I had one, so I gave in. I'm so sorry Mike dragged you into it, but there's no way we're going to do it here. We barely have space for ourselves. And I promise I'll only invite sane people, well Tall as well, but we can't have a party without that old fart can we?"
"You don't want the party then?"
"Well, that's a bit of a strong statement. I don't mind, it's a party, and I love those. It's just...I feel extra-large and gross, and none of my cute maternity dresses fit anymore, and the weird back acne I told you about is still there, plus I can't even look at food."
"I thought your meds were working."
"Yeah, it's not an all-day sickness anymore, but man, the smell of some food triggers it," Angie is breathing hard, and the camera is close enough for her breath to cloud the lense, and for her image to blur a little every time she breathes out.
