for a while. I have this dream of getting a job in publicity or marketing, preferably in the fashion industry, and living my best life in the city that never sleeps.”
“Ah.” Max smiled thinly. He put a hand on her knee and squeezed it. “Would I be a terrible friend if I wished you continued to have no luck in that department? I mean, Baxter and Hazel have quite a thing going.”
“Yes, you would be a terrible friend,” she said, smiling. “You have to wish me all the luck, because Baxter is accustomed to eating kangaroo and sleeping on fluffy dog beds.”
“Fair enough,” he conceded. “Then I wish you all the luck, Carly.”
They sat in silence a long moment, listening to the music. Carly said, “You know, when I move to New York, you could come visit me and Baxter.”
“I might have to,” Max said. “Just to assure myself that Baxter has access to a couch. And it looks like I might have the time after all.”
“Really?” she asked, perking up. “Why?”
“Oh,” he said, and flicked his wrist. “That was a poor joke. It’s just that I thought I’d be getting tenure and starting a new research project, maybe getting a fat endowment in the process. But now I’m not so sure.”
She wanted to know more about that, but the lady appeared with red plastic baskets of food for them. Baxter and Hazel raced to the table to see if there was anything for them, and while Carly protested, Max tossed them each a weenie bite.
“You’re going to make them fat,” she laughingly accused him.
“Don’t look now, Carly, but Baxter was already fat when Hazel and I met him. Look me in the eye and tell me you aren’t feeding him mac and cheese every now and again.”
“I’m not telling you anything,” she said, and stuffed a carrot into her mouth. “Your turn . . . Why do you think you’re not getting tenure now?”
“Because I found out that another professor is in the running. Our department puts forward only one candidate a year for tenure, and sometimes none at all. Alanna is doing some amazing work around drug addiction. She’s gotten a lot of well-deserved media attention for it.” He smiled ruefully. “My work is not very sexy. But it’s important.”
“True confessions—I’ve been dying to ask what your work is, Max, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to follow. Like I said, a cricket trauma shut down my scientific education.”
He laughed. “It’s really simple. I’m studying the oxytocin system in dogs to better understand the neurohormonal basis of cognitive abilities.”
Carly laughed. “Dammit! My fears have been realized with only one sentence! I have no idea what you just said.”
He shifted around to face her. “There have been some studies conducted that suggest that some dogs have similar aspects of autistic behaviors that are found in humans.”
“You’re kidding,” Carly said.
“I’m not. For example, one study looked at bull terriers who chase their tails, right? Round and round they go,” he said, making a circle with his finger. “That behavior is similar to behavior in humans on the spectrum, like trancing and social withdrawal. It’s very OCD.”
“Yeah, okay,” she said.
“I’m finishing up a study on how autistic humans interact with dogs and how the human oxytocin system is affected. There is a cognitive reward system for both dog and human there that I’ve documented, especially as it relates to social behaviors. The second phase of my research is studying the canine oxytocin system. I’m hoping to discover some parallels in that reward system that are translational and that will inform either education modalities or even pharmacological interventions in autistic humans.”
He hadn’t completely lost her yet, Carly was pleased to see, but she had questions. “What is oxy . . .”
“Oxytocin,” he said. “It’s the hormone that has the most to do with social bonding.”
Carly couldn’t begin to imagine how he did that sort of work.
Hazel and Baxter raced by at that moment, in pursuit of a terrier. The woman with the guitar ended one song and then began to play an acoustic variation of a song Carly had heard many times on the radio. It was lovely.
“Are you studying Hazel?” Carly asked.
Max laughed. “No. But I’m studying my brother. I found out yesterday he’s getting a dog from the ACC .”
“How fun! What’s he getting?”
“A Labrador.”
Carly grinned. “We had one growing up. That dog was a lunkhead—he actually ate the mortar from between the bricks on the back porch, and