Callisto 2.0, Susan English [i love reading .TXT] 📗

delightful Brazilian accent. We hid out in the kitchen and talked for hours, and when I got home that night, I saw she had left me a video message, suggesting we get together the next day for coffee. On our second date, we ended up in bed together. Juliana was sweet and affectionate, and I called her my angel.

We spent as much time together as my busy schedule would allow, but it wasn’t long before Juliana began to ask for more. “Why don’t you call me? Or at least send me a message when we aren’t together?” she would ask. “Just write me when you think of me during the day, that’s all I want.”

But the fact was, I didn’t think about her. I was taking four upper-level physics classes, and my thoughts were turned toward making sense of the veritable zoo of subatomic particles, untangling the perplexing mathematics of group theory and Green’s functions, not to mention struggling to comprehend Feynman diagrams and the spooky action at a distance of quantum mechanics. My head was full, and, when I was in class or studying, there was no space for Juliana, or anyone else for that matter.

When I lamented to my study partners that Juliana was unhappy with the limited time I could spend with her, Jill told us that her boyfriend broke up with her in the middle of a week-long electricity and magnetism take-home exam because she was unavailable.

“I couldn’t even cry when I got his holomessage,” she said. “The exam was too difficult, and I didn’t have the time or energy to even process the breakup until I handed it in. But by that time, it was too late.”

“I know, E&M is the worst!” Darla said. “When I first got together with Dante, it was right before a big project was assigned in my upper division E&M course. I told him I couldn’t see him or talk to him for the next three weeks. He thought I was blowing him off.”

I grimaced. “Yeah, if you aren’t in the trenches, it’s impossible to understand the intensity of what we’re doing.”

A few months later, Juliana ended our relationship. I understood. My heart was 51

already taken—I was in love with physics.

When Olivia and I met two years later, I was twenty-four, and had recently started graduate school. She was a second-year grad student in geology, with an undergraduate degree in synthetic biology. We kept the same long hours in the library, studying till late every night, and after many nights of furtive eye contact and shy smiles, we introduced ourselves.

After that, our friendship blossomed. We would share meals in the cafeteria, and talk about our professors, our classes, and the rigors of grad school life. And then there was the academic work. She was as intense as I was, and it was nice to have a companion during my marathon study sessions.

One night, as we sat side by side at a table in the library, she spoke my name softly.

I looked up from my notes and turned toward her. She leaned over and kissed me on the lips. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I had no idea she felt anything for me but friendship, and until that moment, hadn’t even considered a relationship with her. But her lips were so soft, and with those dark brown, almond-shaped eyes, half closed and seductive, my brain switched gears. I kissed her back. Pure heaven.

Before long, we had moved in together, classic lesbian behavior. We shared a tiny apartment a few blocks from the university. It was such a relief to be with someone who understood the demanding study schedule of graduate school. And we were compatible in so many ways. Living with Olivia was easy. It felt like home.

In the beginning, our relationship was full of passion—we could barely wait to get our clothes off once we were in our apartment after a long day of classes. Eventually, a deep love and affection replaced the excitement and ardor of those first months. We were still very much attracted to each other, but the intensity and recklessness faded, and we settled into a comfortable routine.

We had been together for a little over a year when Olivia got the opportunity to study for a year in India, an exchange program with a focus on her specialty, terraforming.

She was thrilled, and I was, too, though I would miss her terribly. A year wasn’t so long, I reasoned.

A few days before she was to leave, I came home from a late-night study session with my classmates, and found her sitting on the couch, in the dark.

“Olivia, what’s going on? Why are all the lights off?” I switched on the living-room light.

“When it started to get dark, I just didn’t feel like getting up and turning them on.”

She was holding one hand in the other, rubbing her palm with her thumb, the way she always did when she was nervous.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” I stared at her.

“Come, Little Bear.” She patted the space beside her on the couch.

“Little Bear” was the name she had bestowed upon me when we spent an evening on the roof of the university library staring at the stars, a few nights after our first kiss.

I had explained to Olivia that my namesake, Callisto, was associated with the 52

constellation Ursa Major, and her son, Arcas, with Ursa Minor. Then I proceeded, much to Olivia’s delight, to wax poetic about Ursa Minor, Little Bear in English, and its most famous star, Polaris. Big Bear would have been more appropriate, but Little Bear it was from then on.

I sat down, bewildered.

“We have to talk.”

“Talk?” I repeated stupidly, brow furrowed. “Talk about what?”

“I, um.” She took my hand in hers and looked away.

“What? What is it? You’re starting to scare me.”

“I think, well ….” Her voice trailed off.

“Olivia, talk to me!” I put my free hand on her shoulder, and she turned to me.

“I think we should break up.”

“What?” I was so stunned I could barely process her words.

“I don’t think we should be together anymore.”

“But … but, why?” I asked, truly baffled.

“You know I love you, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I said, though at that very moment I wasn’t so sure.

“I just think that we’re too young to be in such a serious relationship. I’m your first long-term girlfriend.”

Biting my lip, I shook my head. “No, Olivia, this isn’t about me.”

She squeezed my hand. “No, it’s about me. I’m not ready. And it feels like the right time to make a change in our relationship, since I’ll be leaving, anyway.”

Tears were running down my face, dripping off my chin. I hadn’t even been aware that I was crying until I felt the wetness on my face.

“I’m so sorry.” She took me in her arms, and I rested my cheek against her chest, listening to her heart beating, my tears soaking her shirt. “Still friends?” Olivia asked, a catch in her voice.

I sat up, wiping my nose and eyes with my sleeve. “Of course.”

But I had needed time to come to terms with our breakup. I hadn’t seen it coming.

She would be going to India for a year but I had assumed we would continue as a couple. She slept on the couch that night and left the next morning to stay a few days with her family, to give me a little space, before she made the big move to the other side of the planet.

I was lost. The apartment felt deserted. It was as if she had taken all the joy and happiness with her. Her drawers were empty, her half of the closet bare, a few empty hangers where her clothes had once been. Her electronic toothbrush, gone. Mine looked so lonely and desolate all by itself on the bathroom shelf. I curled myself into a ball and cried for a week, hardly sleeping, barely eating, I couldn’t be bothered to take a shower. I messaged my study group, telling them I was sick. No one came to visit.

They were all too busy with school, with their own lives. I was alone and desperately, devastatingly sad.

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Olivia tried contacting me in those first few weeks, but I just couldn’t talk to her, and wrote her a message telling her I wasn’t ready to communicate. She messaged me back, saying she understood, and she would wait for me, for as long as I needed. It was only a matter of time, I knew, but how I had wished the time would pass more quickly.

Eventually my broken heart healed, and we recovered our friendship, exchanging messages and holochatting, and when, a year later, Olivia told me about her new girlfriend, I was happy for her. She was my family, and I loved her with all my heart.

As for me, I was so focused on my own studies, I didn’t even think about being in another relationship. Sure, there were women who caught my eye, causing a slight stirring in my heart, and, I must confess, in other parts of my body, too. But, in the end, my true passion was for physics, and there was no room for anything or anyone else. It had been five years since Olivia, five years of celibacy. Physics, after all, is a jealous mistress.

My reaction toward Diana threw me off guard. I had felt something for her, an attraction, a connection, and all those years of solitude came crashing down on me.

Something inside of me had woken up, and I wanted more. I wanted to feel a woman’s body under my hands, to caress the supple curves, to kiss pliant lips, and to experience the emotional closeness of a partner. Diana’s effect on me was profound. Thanks to her, I understood that my heart was finally open to the possibility of real intimacy.

Diana was not the one for me. But her charm, her beauty, her kindness, and her attention, it was enough to knock anybody off their feet. Now that I could think more clearly, I didn’t know when or even if I would ever find someone to share my life with, and maybe being single was fine, too. But it was time for me to move on to the next stage of my life,