Page 300 - The Love Hypothesis

Malcolm smiled and leaned his head against her shoulder. “My kalamata

knows me well.”
It seemed impossible that she’d been gone for less than a week. That all
the chaos had unfolded in the span of a few days. Olive felt dazed, shell-

shocked, as though her brain was winded from running a marathon. She
was tired and wanted to sleep. She was hungry and wanted to eat. She was

angry and wanted to see Tom get what he deserved. She was anxious, as
twitchy as a damaged nerve, and she wanted a hug. Preferably from Adam.

In San Francisco, she folded her now-useless coat inside her suitcase
and then sat on it. She checked her phone for new messages while Malcolm

went to buy a bottle of Diet Coke. There were several from Anh, just
checking in from Boston, and one from her landlord about the elevator
being out of commission. She rolled her eyes, switched to her academic

email, and found several unread messages flagged as important.
She tapped on the red exclamation point and opened one.

Today, 5:15 p.m.
FROM: Anna-Wiley@berkeley.edu
TO: Aysegul-Aslan@stanford.edu
CC: Olive-Smith@stanford.edu

SUBJECT: Re: Pancreatic Cancer Project

Aysegul,

Thank you for reaching out to me. I had the privilege of
seeing Olive Smith’s talk at SB D—we were on the same panel

—and I was very im pressed with her work on early detect ion
tools for pancreatic cancer. I’d love to have her in my lab
next year! Maybe the three of us ca n ch at more on the

phone soon?

Best,

Anna