be delicious and only subtly different from cow’s milk yogurt. A large part of that deliciousness was undoubtedly due to the full fat content, but she wasn’t complaining.
Once she’d been adequately caffeinated, she sat down with a fresh black Moleskine notebook and her favorite mechanical pencil, and tried to think about the eleven-crossing knot that had been haunting her for months.
Unfortunately, her brain had other ideas. Instead of helping her visualize the knot problem in four-dimensional space, it instead chose to think of things she should add to her lesson plans or include in her class lectures next week. It suggested items that should be added to her grocery list. It reminded her that her sister’s birthday was coming up and deliberated over gift ideas for her.
An hour later, Mia was on Etsy trying to decide if her sister would prefer a vintage tea set or a vintage glass decanter set.
It was the same thing that had been happening lately every time she tried to concentrate on a theoretical problem instead of a concrete one. She’d been able to focus just fine when she was researching apartments, working on her lesson plans, and pulling together the syllabi for her classes.
But as soon as she tried to think about abstract math, her brain stopped cooperating. She couldn’t seem to find her groove anymore.
She tried the meditation exercises she’d learned on YouTube. When that didn’t work, she tried doodling. Seifert surfaces. Apollonian gaskets. Her favorite equations, like Euler’s Identity, which she had tattooed on her foot.
She tried getting up and moving around the apartment. She tried opening all the window blinds, and then she tried closing them again. She tried three different music playlists, and then white noise, and then finally silence.
None of it helped. No matter what she did, her brain threw roadblocks up, wandering off on random tangents instead of focusing on the task at hand. It tempted her to shop for new work clothes on sale, or to make a new focus playlist that would be better than all the other focus playlists she’d already made.
She tried taking a shower, which sometimes helped trigger her creative thinking. Then she tried washing dishes, which also sometimes helped.
After that, she gave up and spent the rest of the afternoon watching Netflix.
At six o’clock, Mia knocked on Birdie’s back door. She was taken by surprise when Josh opened it. “Hi,” she said, trying not to appear flustered. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” She wished she’d bothered to put on makeup.
His eyebrows arched slightly. “Disappointed?”
It felt like he was teasing her. Mia knew that sometimes when people teased you it was because they were making fun of you, but also sometimes it was because they were flirting. And it wasn’t always easy to tell the difference.
Josh’s affect was extremely dry, which made it even harder to decipher his intent.
Andie appeared beside him. “Hey! Birdie invited the whole gang for dinner tonight.”
“There’s a gang?” Mia asked as she stepped inside.
“Usually it’s just the three of us,” Andie said. “It’ll be nice to have a fourth.”
“Hellooooo!” Birdie waved from the kitchen. “Welcome! Make yourself at home and whatnot.”
“It smells delicious in here,” Mia said. In addition to hot cooking oil, Birdie’s house smelled like fresh-baked bread. It reminded her of the bakeries back home.
“That’s Birdie’s homemade yeast rolls.” Andie was putting the finishing touches on what looked to be another charcuterie board. “Best part of coming to dinner on Saturdays.”
“Hey!” Birdie exclaimed in faux indignation, shooting a smile at her niece. “What about me?”
“Besides the company,” Andie added affectionately, swatting her brother’s hand when he leaned in to steal a pickled okra.
“Can I help with anything?” Mia offered.
“We’ve got it under control,” Birdie said from the stove, where she was supervising a cast-iron pan that sizzled and spat hot grease. “We’re like a well-oiled machine.”
Mia was relieved not to be needed in the kitchen. She didn’t have any experience frying things in hot oil, and she found it intimidating and a little frightening. For that matter, she didn’t have much experience with any kind of cooking. Or with family dinners where everyone chipped in. Her mother was a workaholic cardiac surgeon, so her family had always relied heavily on takeout, even at holidays. Mia wasn’t certain her mother even knew how to turn on her expensive digital oven.
Consequently, Mia was useless in the kitchen, aside from a few basic skills like boiling pasta and making grilled cheese sandwiches. Although she always offered to help