Cece arrives just a couple of minutes after we hang up. “Does Jack know why you’re here?” she asks, cheeks bright from the cool breeze.
“Nope. I told him we were just hanging out. A last hurrah before we move out for real next month.”
“Good idea.” She watches me mix the powder in water. “Maybe I should have brought Hedgie? For girls’ night? But Kirk’ll enjoy some one-on-one time with her.”
He won’t, since he’s as terrified of her as I am. I finally feel seen.
“It’s a bit bittersweet that we won’t renew the lease,” I say.
“Don’t worry.” She grins. “I wrote down Mrs. Tuttle’s HBO password.”
I laugh and shake my head. “It’s just the end of an era.”
“It’s not, because our new places are five minutes apart.”
“Still.” I glance around. “Maybe I’ll miss the coconut crabs and the exposed wires.” I go back to stirring, and we’re quiet for a while. Then her shoulder bumps against mine. “Elsie?”
“Yeah?”
“FYI, you’ll always be my favorite.”
“You too, Cece.” The red in the pot gets a bit blurry for a second. “You too.”
The following morning, when Jack steps into his office, I’m already there. Waiting in the chair behind his desk.
“Well, well, well,” he says. Surprised. Delighted. “Look who’s—”
His eyes fall on the fruits of my labor: his little Hadron Collider model is . . . well, where it always is. Except today it’s trapped in cherry Jell-O.
“Happy birthday,” I say. I’m a little breathless. I still get knocked off my feet when I see him after a while. I wonder if it’ll ever end. I wonder if all these beautiful, momentous things I feel for him will ever settle into something ordinary. I can’t imagine they will.
“The Jell-O is my birthday present?” he asks, like he’d be overjoyed if it were.
“Nope.” I point to the card next to it. “That’s the present.”
The dimple makes my heart skip a beat. “Is it another Wayfair gift certificate? To buy more curtains?”
I laugh and swivel around in his chair—faculty members do get better furniture than the postdocs. I listen to him tear open the plain envelope, and let my eyes roam out the windows, to the trees that are just about to turn red and yellow, to the students going about their lives, to the blue sky. Then I close my eyes and picture Jack’s face as he reads my words.
Dear Jack,
I know I’ve been slow, but I just wanted you to know something: I’m right here. With you.
OceanofPDF.com
AUTHOR’S NOTE Love, Theoretically is, by far, the most “academic” book I’ve written. I’d been wanting to tell a love story set against the backdrop of academic politics for a while, and for this one I really let myself get into the weeds. Maybe a little too much? Sorry! But as usual, lots of elements were inspired by my own experience in the slightly cesspooly mess of the academe.
Academic job interviews can be just as exhausting, long winded, and soul crushing as Elsie perceives them to be. The feuds within disciplines, just as petty. The power mentors have over their mentees, just as absolute. The adjunctification of higher education, which strands instructors with no job or financial security, just as terrifying. The bogus article Jack wrote is very loosely modeled after a real event: the Sokal Hoax happened in 1996, when an NYU physics professor wrote and submitted a “nonsense” article to Social Text, a leading cultural studies academic journal, to make a point about its editorial sloppiness and lack of intellectual rigor. The article was accepted, and the controversies, implications, and academic infights that followed are history (and documented in the Wikipedia entry, if you feel like busting out the popcorn).
Either way, I hope you enjoyed this story. And if you’re wondering why anyone would want to pursue a career in academia after all of this . . . well, there are tons of academics out there, loving their jobs—and yet wondering the very same!
OceanofPDF.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Is writing hard, or am I just bad at it? In this essay, I will—
To be honest, this whole publishing thing isn’t getting any easier for me, and I’m still relying on several trillion people to help me get my work in shape. Love, Theoretically was, simultaneously, a book I really wanted to write and a book I really struggled to write (go figure!). I owe a lot to my editor, Sarah Blumenstock (thank you for letting me keep that chapter break; BTW, I’m still mad you didn’t tell me about that panel), and to my agent, Thao Le (thank you for being the only one who laughs at my jokes!), who constantly support me in all my writerly endeavors and are the reason writing is such a joy for me. I’m truly honored to get to work so closely with two people I like so much. Also, all my appreciation to Liz Sellers for her precious input. To my beloved Jen, Lucy, Margaret, and Kelly, who slogged through lackluster versions of this manuscript: this is what you get for being friends with me, you’re welcome (I’m so sorry—ILU).
Thank you to my (anonymous) authenticity readers for their important and difficult work. In addition, I’m incredibly fortunate to have the best people working on the art (Lilith, who consistently creates the covers of my dreams, and Rita Frangie and Vikki Chu), production editorial work (Lindsey Tulloch), and copy edits (Janice Lee) for my books. And, of course, the best marketing and publicity team. To Bridget O’Toole, Kim-Salina I, Kristin Cipolla, Tara O’Connor: Hi. I’m sorry if sometimes I go rogue, and I’m sorry about all the crying on Zoom. I truly appreciate you and everything you do for me, and it’s possible that I don’t deserve you, but please don’t leave me. Also, special acknowledgments to my grandeditor, Cindy, and my grandpublicist, Erin.
I would also like to thank all the foreign publishing professionals who have acquired and published my books abroad. I am so honored that The Love Hypothesis has reached so many readers, and I owe it all to you! In particular, all my love to my team at Sextante/Arqueiro (and to Frini and Nana) for having me in Brazil and giving me the experience of a lifetime, and to my team at Aufbau (especially Stefanie and Sara) for fitting so many cat cafés and Motel Ones in my memorable Germany visit.
When people ask me for writing advice, what I always say is that what matters the most is having a good support network, and mine is fantastic. I owe so much to my Grems, the Berkletes, and all the friends who’ve been so supportive of me in the last two years. In particular, thanks to Lo, Christina, Adriana, and Elena for their constant friendship, mentorship, and guidance. (And okay, fine, thanks to my husband, too, for making really good dinners.)
Last, but very much not least: all my gratitude to anyone who has read something I’ve written, ever. Time is a finite and precious resource, and I’m constantly overcome with emotion that people choose to spend it on my words. So thank you, thank you, thank you.
OceanofPDF.com
Justin Murphy of Out of the Attic Photography
ALI HAZELWOOD is the New York Times bestselling author of The Love Hypothesis and Love on the Brain, as well as a writer of peer-reviewed articles about brain science, in which no one makes out and the ever after is not always happy. Originally from Italy, she lived in Germany and Japan before moving to the US to pursue a Ph.D. in neuroscience. She recently became a professor, which absolutely terrifies her. When Ali is not at work, she can be found running, eating cake pops, or watching sci-fi movies with her two feline overlords (and her slightly-less-feline husband).
