Dancing Strands

They say love symbolizes itself through DNA – two perfect strands wrapped around each other, dancing together in each cell of our being. Stella preferred RNA – the single strand that steals information from the duo to create something new. However, like the underrated molecule, a solo lifestyle isn't worth much to most people. 

It also seemed to hold little value to the universe, which continued to find unique ways to torture Stella at the most inopportune times. 

A gene sequencing lecture should be all business, no pleasure. It's an opportunity to converse with colleagues and absorb the latest research. For Stella, there was an ulterior motive for sitting in an ancient auditorium on a rainy Tuesday evening. The speaker was the head of a new, state-of-the-art laboratory. Connecting with her could lead to a lucrative job opportunity. 

Stella arrived an hour early to position herself in the front row, directly in line with the podium. She wanted to minimize the chance that someone else traveling to the rickety wooden seats would steal the doctor's focal point. A single cup of coffee coursed through her veins to keep her alert but not jittery through the two-hour presentation. Her notebook lay open across her lap. A pen rested between Stella's fingers, ready to dance across the paper. 

As Dr. Colter spoke about the projects at the lab and her upcoming research, Stella diligently took notes. She gave approving nods at the doctor's accomplishments and subtle looks of disgust at mentions of her competitors. Once the applause died down, she slowly closed her notebook and waited until the esteemed scientist was alone to approach. Stella proceeded cautiously but was relieved when the doctor greeted her with a smile and firm handshake. 

Typically, Stella avoided social interaction at all costs. It always felt unnatural trying to maintain friendships when she refused to join social media, keep up with the latest movie franchises, or watch local sports teams. Awkwardness seemed to be an unwelcome personality trait, and she'd much rather sit on her balcony with a good book than spend a week worrying about the weird thing she said, not to mention the awkward eye twitches that appeared when making small talk. 

She strived to be a professional through and through, attempting to display a mask of confidence while feeling miniscule inside. Stella found it easier to limit her public interactions to colleagues with whom she can share a mutual, impersonal respect. 

Knowing a potential career advancement was on the line, Stella put on her mask to give a bubbly but not overzealous greeting. She asked the doctor engaging questions and listened intently to the answers. Stella tried to tame her eagerness while discussing her research into RNA viruses and their impact on geographic ecology. She mentioned that the sciences are in her blood, and she was always open to new opportunities.

She internally sighed in relief when it seemed like the conversation was naturally coming to a close. With a smile still plastered on, she reached into her wallet to retrieve a business card. Then, it all went wrong. 

"Stella, this may sound strange, but I have to ask. I have a brother around your age and would like to know if you'd be willing to meet him. How you talk about your research so passionately reminds me of him. His ex-fiancé cheated on him last year, and he's practically secluded himself since. I think talking to you would help."

It was an odd request for anyone, especially Stella. She'd put her dating days far behind her after discovering that any man or woman she tried to connect with was just looking to hook up, boring as paint drying, or chewed in just the right way to make her want to drive her tiny gray sedan off the nearest cliff. 

If this were any other moment with any other person, the answer to that request would be a simple but forceful "Hell no!" Stella bit her tongue to avoid the reflexive response and took a breath. The date could be the favor that improves her career and life. Surely, pretending to enjoy the brother's company for an hour or two was worth an opportunity to engage with top researchers.

"Sure," she choked out. "I'd love to meet him."

A gene sequencing lecture should be all business, but somehow Stella sat in her car three days later, trying not to glare at the scrawny man she saw through the windshield. He sat at a small, round table just outside the entrance of the only local coffee shop that survived an infestation of Starbucks and Tim Hortons. 

He wore a wrinkled gray button-up and blue jeans almost long enough to cover his worn brown hiking boots. Long strawberry-blonde hair disguised the sides of his thick black frames. When Stella had a type, this wasn't it. 

With a final check of her lipstick and a silent prayer for this to be over as quickly as possible, she exited her vehicle and straightened her skirt before walking up to her blind date. She attempted a kind smile as she asked, "Are you Max?" 

"Ye-yes, I am," He nervously stuttered, standing up and holding out his hand. She shook it, trying not to wince at the sweaty, floppy experience. They found one too many ways to describe how nice the sunshine felt before Stella suggested they find the register. As Max ordered their drinks, she mentioned how good the scones looked, hoping he'd order some. Eating would limit the need for conversation. As they sat with their coffee and scones, Max nervously tapped his fingers on his cup's plastic lid before saying, "You look beautiful. I'm sorry I'm underdressed."

"Thank you, and I think you look nice," Stella lied, wondering why the people she dated either barely tried or tried too hard. "Your sister said you were also a researcher?"

Max's eyes lit up in a way that surprised Stella. "Yeah," he said with confidence. "I'm focusing on rare and spontaneous chromosomal abnormalities."

In the past, when Stella asked someone about themselves, she ended up zoning out. However, Max's research was exciting, and he spoke with a passion and expertise she didn't expect from the timid man she just met. After describing how his studies led to some helpful gene therapies, he cut himself off and asked about her work with RNA. 

The two went back and forth about their projects before entering more personal territory. He asked Stella where she was from and what she did with her free time. As her eye twitched, he sent a warm smile that began to crack the wall she'd built around her heart. 

She learned that his ex cheated on him while he was on a research trip, frustrated at Max's passion for his work. He loved to read and liked sports but wasn't a fan of social media or pop culture. He and some buddies had recently won a pub trivia tournament, though. 

As their conversation continued, her brain worked overtime to catch the butterflies that flew into her stomach. It wasn't until the orange rays of sunset that Stella realized she'd never touched her scone. 

Three years later, Stella still loved RNA. She relished being alone on her balcony, reading a good book. However, as she glanced down at Max and the spirited little girl beside him, she remembered DNA was pretty great, too.