you had lunch?”
His eyebrows drew together. “I don’t think so. What time is it?”
“After three.”
“No wonder I’m so hungry.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “You should eat. Did you bring lunch? I’ll come sit with you.”
“I’m not really in the mood for—” He stopped abruptly, meeting my eyes again, and seemed to change his mind. “Yeah, sure.”
I ducked into my office to retrieve my folder of research, then walked with him to the staff lounge. It was empty. He got his lunch out of the fridge and I poured myself hot water to make tea.
Dunking my tea bag, I joined him at a table. Small talk wasn’t my best skill, so I decided to get straight to the point. “I did some research last night.”
“About what?” he asked around a bite of his sandwich.
I opened the folder and thumbed through the information I’d printed. “A variety of things. Parent-child dynamics in adulthood. Attachment theory. Twin studies, especially as they relate to fraternal twins raised in the same household.”
His brow furrowed. “Why?”
“I have questions. You said your parents don’t view you as successful despite your numerous accomplishments, and that they compare you unfavorably to your sister.”
“So you printed out a bunch of studies?”
“This is just a preliminary look at the relevant literature. I’m sure there are angles I haven’t considered.”
He took another bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly.
“The relational dynamics within a nuclear family can heavily influence everything from personality development to self-perception to adult decision-making. It seems to me that your parents relate to you and your sister in sharply differing ways. Which led me to wonder what sort of effect that would have on your ability to form emotional attachments.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “It did?”
“Yes.” I pulled out a sheet of paper. “And the fact that you’re a twin is another important variable. Attempts at self-differentiation are most commonly seen in identical twins raised together, but a similar phenomenon can be observed in fraternal twins, even of different genders.”
“Meaning what? You think I’ve never gotten married or started a family like my sister because I’m trying to differentiate myself from her?”
I adjusted my glasses. “Perhaps, although I suspect it’s deeper than that. The emphasis your parents seem to place on certain outcomes is also a factor. Do you feel compelled to live up to their expectations? Or is it more natural for you to follow your own path, regardless of parental pressures?”
“Are those your questions or did they come from some study?”
I thumbed through the papers again. “Both. There’s a study on—”
“What are you doing?” he asked, cutting me off.
“Discussing what I found in a preliminary search through the relevant literature.”
“What do you think you’re going to find in there?” He gestured to my folder. “The answer to what’s wrong with me? It’s not there. Trust me, I’ve looked.”
“I didn’t mean to imply there’s something wrong with you.”
Pressing his lips together, he looked away. “Look, my parents are fine. They don’t really understand me, but I’m used to it. It’s not a big deal.”
It seemed like a big deal to me. The pain in his eyes was unmistakable. It made me hurt for him. With him. Which was an odd sensation I couldn’t recall experiencing before—not with this degree of intensity. But this wasn’t about me.
“I disagree. And research suggests—”
“Research?” He cut me off again. “Do you think I haven’t read this stuff before? I know you’re the expert and I’m just the data guy, but give me some credit.”
“That isn’t what I meant. I just thought this might help. Knowledge leads to understanding which leads to solutions.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t try to fix me.”
“You’re misunderstanding my intention. I don’t think you need fixing.”
He pointed to my stack of papers. “Then what’s that?”
“It’s data. And maybe I spent my time looking in the wrong places. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’m trying to understand.”
“I’m not a fucking a lab experiment, Hazel.” He gathered up his lunch and stood. “I have a lot to do. I should get back to my office.”
The crisp sheet of paper slipped from my fingers as I watched him go.
He was angry.
Why was he angry?
Couldn’t he see that I wanted to help? He understood data better than anyone else I knew. I’d thought for sure he’d be as interested as I was in what the research had to say.
This was science. Science had the answers.
But maybe they weren’t the answers he wanted. Or perhaps he just