Work Text:
“Hey, mom,” Charlie Degler said as he walked down the stairs into the kitchen. His mother, Ellie Sattler, sat at the island, bent over her laptop.
“Hi, baby,” she responded absentmindedly.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh, nothing much. Doing some reading.” Charlie opened the fridge, grabbed a pitcher and poured himself a glass of water. Her eyes flicked over to him. “Honey?”
Charlie glanced at her. “What?”
“Do you know how to set up a, um, Google alert?” Ellie frowned at the laptop screen, frustration evident on her face.
“Yeah.” Charlie moved back next to the island, looking at the computer. He turned it towards him, typing and clicking around. “Here. What do you want me to put in?”
“Oh…” Ellie trailed off. “I can type it. I’ll take it. Thank you.”
“Okay. There are a few more settings at the bottom.” Charlie made to step away, but hesitated. “What do you need it for?”
Ellie shrugged. “Nothing. Just wanted to learn how to do it. In case I needed it in the future.”
Charlie let out a short laugh. “Your voice gets higher when you lie, mom.”
Ellie felt her face flush. “Um, I’m looking out for news. About an old… friend.”
“An old friend?”
“Yep.”
“Why don’t you call them?”
“It’s… complicated.”
Charlie hummed. “Ah. That kind of friend.”
Ellie blushed. Her and Mark’s divorce was still fresh. Yes, there hadn’t been love in their marriage for years before. But the official divorce was recent. So she didn’t yet know how she was supposed to talk to her kids about her love life. Well. Wannabe love life.
Ellie knew the chances of her seeing Alan again were slim to none. She knew he didn’t publish often anymore, that he rarely went to conferences. But if he did, she wanted to be the first to know. And if it was a mention of him speaking at a conference… well then, them happening to run into each other would be fine. Ellie could make it look like a coincidence.
“What’s his name?” Charlie had his hands over the keys.
Ellie cleared her throat. “Uh, Alan Grant.”
Charlie turned his head to look at her. “From the park? The guy dad said used to come over when I was little?”
Ellie pressed her lips together before responding. “Once. He only came here once.” Then all but disappeared out of her life. But Charlie didn’t need the details.
“Didn’t dad get in trouble at work for trying to help him one time?”
Ellie rolled her eyes. She was glad that Charlie couldn’t currently see her face. “Your father was being dramatic.” Ellie paused. “And people were in danger. It was important.”
Charlie pushed the laptop back in front of her. “There. It’ll email you with a notification.”
“Thanks.” Ellie smiled at her son. “How long will it take?”
“Until something new comes out. However long that is.” Charlie gave her a side hug. “I’m going to meet dad for dinner, but I’ll see you later. Love you.”
“I love you too, honey.” Ellie smiled at his back as he left the kitchen, then her eyes returned to the laptop. She refreshed her email. Nothing. Of course there was nothing. Ellie knew she shouldn’t have expected anything so fast.
But Ellie refreshed a second time a few minutes later anyways. Still nothing. Maybe tomorrow. At least she would have something to look forward to.
Alan Grant walked quickly to his tent. It was earlier than he usually stopped working. But he was excited. Tonight was going to be special.
The printer they’d been using on site had stopped working a few months before. It was ancient, dusty and had rarely been used. No one had been in a hurry to get it replaced.
Alan had rushed to order one three days ago. He didn’t bother to look at the price as he added the first one on the page to his cart and clicked the fastest shipping speed. Right after, he let out a sigh of relief. Because suddenly, not having a printer was a glaring, profound absence in his life.
Three days ago, he’d sat down at his workstation at the end of the night. As he did every night. Alan didn’t check his email as often as he knew he should, but he’d checked it that night.
Alan sighed as his eyes glazed over the unread messages. Invitation, internship request, job offer. Ignore, ignore, ignore. Spam, more spam. He sighed again as he scrolled through the messages. New publication. His attention had been caught. He leaned closer to the screen, his eyes squinting to take in the small text. Finally. Alan smiled. He thanked his past self for figuring out how to subscribe to the website.
Alan downloaded the attachment. The thirty-five seconds it took was a lifetime. When he opened it, his eyes flickered to the bottom of the screen. Six pages longer than the last one. Perfect.
Alan had tried a few different ways to read it on his computer. But his eyes wouldn’t cooperate. Glasses on, glasses off. Lights on, lights off. A headache grew as his frustration did. He hated that everything had to be on screens these days.
And so Alan had rushed to order the printer. And here it was. Finally.
It took him an hour and a half to figure out how to set it up. Alan didn’t know whether that was a long time or not. But there was no time for him to sulk or get frustrated. His fingers tapped the side of the machine, listening to it run as it pushed the papers out. Alan picked up the first piece of paper.
His thumb brushed over the header.
Potential Uses of Algae As A Source Of Biofuel
Ellie Sattler, et al.
If he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to stop the smile that grew on his face. Alan remembered a young, beautiful, newly graduated paleobotanist who had once complained to him that she would never do anything great enough to be published.
Two years after that day, she was top in her field. Alan had been overwhelmed by how proud he was of her. He’d gotten more excited when she was recognized or congratulated than he did when it was on his own work.
And now, her book was still popular. Ellie published articles at a rate he couldn’t believe. Even knowing that her kids were adults now, Alan didn’t know how she found the time with them and Mark. Alan was alone, lonely, and isolated, and still didn’t produce a third of the work she did.
No, she wasn’t his to be proud of anymore. But pride filled him regardless.
He loved her writing. Alan heard her voice in his head as he read. He could hear—read—the passion she had for her work. The effort she put into even the tiniest details. When he finished, he immediately read it a second time.
When he was done then, he placed it in his favorite drawer of his filing cabinet. Before moving away, Alan touched the picture of them stuck to the outside. He wondered if she ever thought of him, even now. It was selfish of him to hope, he knew that. Alan sighed. Between her work and husband and family, Ellie probably didn’t have a chance to give Alan Grant even a ghost of a thought.
Ellie’s words echoed in his head as he drifted to sleep that night. He leaned into the fantasy, letting himself pretend she was laying next to him. Off on a tangent about something she was passionate about. Their legs tangling as he listened. Like they used to, every night. But never again.