“I remember disjointed details. It was winter, and we’d agreed to meet at a pub called the Blind Pig. I was wearing a tweed coat that felt like armor and wondering why I’d decided to go out. When I walked inside, my glasses fogged in the boiler heat. I didn’t know if you’d be close to the door or somewhere in the inner shadows. Because I couldn’t see, I listened.
A collective murmur, the feeling of travel close to home.
After a time, I found you compressed into a booth and already holding a beer. You slid it across the table for me to taste, and I touched the sweating glass. I didn’t know what to talk about. I’d never dated a scientist before.
Once I saw a study about how cheese contains opiates. Afterward, every time I ate cheese, I wondered, “Is this addictive?” Before I met you, I thought science was about those kinds of facts.
But you said you studied memory.”