Chapter 3: Dead Weight

Fever raging. I nearly collapsed on the street.

Two hours later, I stumbled home, soaked through.

The entire weekend's dishes still sat in the sink.

Two great scientists with precious time. Housework—nobody did it but me.

I'd once asked Elara to help me hang some laundry.

Callan had fought with me. A full-blown fight.

Forget it. I was moving out anyway.

I tried to ignore the wreck of the apartment. Collapsed onto the couch, exhausted.

My phone pushed a notification. The lecture they'd gone to. Livestream.

Might as well have been Greek. I couldn't understand a single word.

Then the Q&A session. Callan walked up to the mic, holding Elara's hand.

The two of them standing together. The audience buzzing.

The moderator, playing along, asked.

Are the two doctors together?

Elara answered, a touch smug.

Yes. We've been classmates since kindergarten. Even our research direction is the same.

Some student in the crowd heckled, grinning.

You two are so lucky. Must have so much to talk about, right?

Elara beamed and nodded.

That's right. If you're looking for a partner, make sure you find someone on your wavelength. A fellow traveler.

Callan broke his usual silence.

I agree with her. Don't pick dead weight.

Dead weight.

I let out a bitter laugh.

But people with Asperger's struggle with basic self-care.

In elementary school, they couldn't tie their shoes. I knelt down and did it.

In middle school, they couldn't navigate or take the bus. I held their hands and led them.

Even in college—I cleaned their dorm on a schedule. I took care of them when they got sick.

For my best friend and my boyfriend, I'd almost stopped having a life of my own.

That day, the institute's golden duo hit Twitter trending.

Someone dug up their Instagram photos—from high school science fairs to college graduation. Always standing next to each other.

Someone posted their co-authored papers. Their joint research projects.

Add the video of the two of them bolting from the wedding together. The comments were all they’re the real couple.

They'd become the definition of a perfect match.

No one noticed. In the corner of every photo, there was a small version of me.

I closed my eyes. Forced myself to stop scrolling.

They'd said they'd be home soon to take care of me. Elara and Callan didn't come back all night.

The next day, I saved my resignation email to drafts. Went to the institute on time.

The atmosphere was strange.

The receptionist? Not even that pretty. Still trying to be the other woman.

She's got some nerve. Following Dr. Callan around, worming her way into his car yesterday.

But I saw her get kicked out halfway. So satisfying.

I checked Slack. Someone had filmed me handing Callan his lab notebook—the one he'd left at home.

In the video, his expression was cold. All his attention on Elara.

It really did make me look like some desperate third wheel.

I was about to go public. Clarify the relationship. But Callan messaged the group first.

Sage is our roommate. Also Elara's best friend.

The contempt in people's eyes only multiplied.

Shameless. Trying to steal her best friend's boyfriend.

Ice ran through me. I tracked down Callan and confronted him.

Why didn't you say I'm your girlfriend of years? What do you mean, roommate?

Callan closed his eyes. His voice was flat, cold.

What do you want me to say? Everyone thinks Elara and I are a couple.

The moment I contradict that—what will they think of Elara? How much gossip will she get?

From now on, we keep our distance. Avoid suspicion.

When we redo the wedding, invite the colleagues, the truth will sort itself out.

So he did understand the damage rumors could do.

He wasn't completely absorbed in his research after all.

He could consider someone else's feelings. That someone just had never been me.

Didn't matter anyway. We were never having a second wedding.