Caeli Widger - Mother of Invention

“Callahan,” he said, poking his head around one of the monitors. He pushed his curly hair away from his forehead with a pinky finger, a gesture he performed with tic-like frequency. He should have gotten a haircut for once, she thought, for the sake of the Cohort. They would probably prefer the cofounder of their Trial to look like a grownup. Luke could still pass for twenty-two. “Where’ve you been? I thought we were meeting half an hour ago.”

“I needed more time with the Cohort,” said Tessa, sitting down in the Lucite chair and crossing her arms and legs. The chair was hard and its arms were slightly too high; it was impossible to get comfortable. “We had breakfast and then I walked them over to Clinical for their morning evals.”

“Right.” Luke nodded. “Milford should be sending the results over any second and officially green-light the procedures for noon. How’s the Cohort?” Luke tapped his finger to his temple, indicating mind frame, which was Tessa’s job to assess. “Let’s start with LaTonya.”

“Excellent. Eager, high spirits. She’s an unwavering optimist.”

“Good. Lavek?”

“Kate’s somewhat anxious, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“How anxious?”

“Mildly. Remember that having your genes reconfigured and your womb manipulated might cause just a little bit of stress, even in a perfectly stable person. Kate’s high-strung by nature, a typical high achiever. But she’s also completely grounded.”

“What about her divorce?”

“What about it?”

“Is she still communicating with the jerky ex?”

“Minimally. It won’t be an issue.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Emotional and situational readiness of the Cohort has been my job for the past year. I would have flagged Kate weeks ago if I had concerns about her ex-husband’s influence.”

“Hey.” Luke held up a hand. “No need to get defensive, dude. You know I trust your judgment.” He smiled; it was a joke between them, calling her dude . He’d called her that by accident during one of their first conversations, many years ago, and now he reverted to it when he sensed she might be annoyed with him, an attempt to quickly win her back over. They worked best when in sync. Sometimes the dude worked. Other times, like now, she ignored it.

“Moving on to Gwen,” said Tessa. Luke grimaced.

“Don’t make that face,” she said.

“Sorry.” He picked up his fidget and spun it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Look, Gwen’s the least affable of the three. She continues to display some contrariness. She’s naturally solitary. But I maintain that she’s ready.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s tough. She’s got grit. The same qualities that make her unpleasant to be around will keep her grounded during her pregnancy. Pragmatism. A lack of sentimentality. These are strengths.”

“But are they good maternal qualities?” asked Luke.

Tessa knew where he was headed; she’d expected this. Luke had been skeptical of Gwen since he’d seen her initial psych eval, ten months ago. It had been high enough to qualify for the Trial, but just barely. Tessa had insisted on accepting her anyway, a decision Luke claimed to find risky, though Tessa suspected he was simply turned off by Gwen’s age.

“We’ve been over and over this, Luke. Gwen represents a critical demographic. Older mothers stand to become Seahorse’s biggest adopters. Women in their forties are done living to please other people. They’re over being accommodating and agreeable. Gwen is just acting her age.”

Luke shook his head. “I’m still struggling with her.”

“It’s too late now. You’ve had ten months to deal with this.”

“Is it? Too late?”

“Too late to cancel her procedure? Are you kidding me?”

Luke pushed sideways in his Aeron and then deftly maneuvered the chair with his feet across the polished concrete floor to the front of his desk, until his long legs almost touched Tessa’s. He placed his fidget on his denim-clad knee and leaned in toward her, as if delivering a secret. She could smell him—a mixture of musky male skin, a few days unshowered but inoffensive, and a vague whiff of fruit from the acai energy drinks he constantly consumed.

“Hear me out for a second,” Luke said quietly. “What if Gwen absconds? Freaks out? Causes us problems? If she disrupts the Trial, we’re both going to regret it.”

“She won’t do any of those things. Gwen’s bristly. Not unhinged.”

“She’s given me nothing. Just a lot of scowling and unnecessary questions, every time I talk to the Cohort.”

“Like what?”

“She likes to get personal. Yesterday, she asked me what I’m doing here. Just like that: I’m curious, Mr. Zimmerman, as to exactly what makes you want to be a part of the Seahorse project. ”

“And what did you tell her?”

Luke looked irritated. “I told her the truth. That I’ve been in the biotech space for my entire career and that inventing TEAT has been a longtime passion. And then she goes, But why? I’m just trying to understand how a young guy like you decides to make reproductive technology his passion. ”

“It’s a reasonable question,” said Tessa.

“She seemed more accusatory than curious.”

“Try to see it from Gwen’s perspective. What if a woman much younger than you was a key player in determining the future of your body? Of your child? Wouldn’t you want to ask her some questions?”

He seemed to ignore her. “Should we delay her procedure and do one more psych eval?”

“The Cohort’s procedures are in two hours , Luke. Delaying Gwen would only make her upset and suspicious.” Tessa tried to stay calm, though she felt like shoving Luke’s chair away.

Luke said nothing, looking down at the fidget resting on his knee and flicking it into action. Tessa stared at the blurry green whirl, then reached out and clamped her hand over it.

“Hey,” he protested.

She kept her hand on his leg. Sometimes, physicality was required to get through to him, as with a toddler. “Luke. Stop this. The procedures are at noon. Gwen’s included. No more psych evals.”

He met her eyes and she saw him soften. This was their dynamic; they pushed and pulled each other, until one of them suddenly understood. He dropped his hand over hers and they sat silently for a moment, until a notification pinged from one of Luke’s monitors.

“Results of the morning evals,” said Luke, and they stood up together, the fidget falling to the floor and skittering across the slippery surface. They ignored it and moved back to Luke’s desk, leaning in toward the screens to review the Cohort’s morning charts. The news was good: vitals, viscosity, and hormone levels were optimal in each of the women. Gwen’s numbers were the best, Tessa noted with satisfaction. There was no reason to postpone procedures, no need for last-minute reevaluation or second opinions. The Cohort was ready for the Trial.

Luke straightened from the monitor and turned to Tessa. “Showtime,” he said, his face relaxing into a genuine smile for the first time since she’d entered his office.

Tessa, returning his smile, felt the tension in the air dissipate, their usual camaraderie settle in. “Shall we head over to Clinical? It’s time. They enter prep in half an hour. I want to escort them.”

“Everything that happens, happens today,” said Luke, offering his elbow to Tessa. She looped her arm through his and they exited his office together, bound for the tubular hallway that crossed from West Lobe to East. As they approached it, the warm, cultured voice of Zeus wished them a fruitful day , and the glass doors to the footbridge slid apart.