I’m more interested in their genes. But it’s really, really boring.”
Denver’s eyes danced. “I love being bored.”
Again, Adam hesitated. This never happened, and he knew damn well Denver didn’t care about moth genetics. “There are almost fifteen hundred different kinds of hawk moths, but there’s no real study in the phylogenetic framework. How they’ve evolved, and why they’ve evolved, and how those two events are related.”
Despite all logic, Denver seemed genuinely intrigued. “So this helps you what? Figure out how to protect crops?”
“Well, actually, yes, but not in the way you might think. I mean, biology should always be studied for the sake of studying, but this discipline could have actual purpose. We’re losing pollinators. Why? What’s driving them? Is it evolution? Is it us? Is it something we haven’t yet discovered? What can we learn by understanding how they evolved in the first place? Could that help us stop their die-off? Could it help us in some other way?” He realized he’d gotten carried away, flushed, and stopped.
Denver finished checking an ID and glanced at Adam impatiently. “Well, don’t leave me hanging, boy. You sounded like you were on a roll. Tell me more how your bugs will save the world.”
God help him, Adam did.
For someone who didn’t know a damn thing about flirting, Denver thought he was doing a pretty good job.
He was even following some of what Adam was saying, and in its own mind-numbing way, it was almost cool. He wasn’t half as interested in the moths as he was in the way Adam lit up like a Christmas tree when he talked about them. Denver found himself wondering how the hell someone came into such a thing, studying moth family trees or whatever, and then he realized he could ask. That proved almost as entertaining as the rest of it.
“My uncle got me into it. He’s a professor at Iowa State University and lives just outside Ames. He’s into wine—grows grapes, bottles it, sells it. Everyone in his family works at the vineyard, and it’s a job for them, but to him it’s a hobby. He wanted to do everything organically, which was hard since they live next to a golf course. He kept bees too, in part for the grapes, but he’s the one who introduced me to the idea of pollinators and how important they are. I made a state fair project out of it, used it to land a scholarship and everything.”
Denver could just see this guy getting caught up in bees and grapes. He had a dopey focus about him, like he was the kind of guy who’d need to be reminded to stop and eat. “So what do you do when you’re not studying moths?”
The question seemed to embarrass Adam. “Not much, I suppose.”
“No pollinator bowling leagues, huh?”
He’d meant it as a joke, but something about the comment had Adam looking, if not ashamed, forlorn in a way that hinted at more to his story. “Mostly the entomology grad students hang out together outside of classes and grad work, yeah.”
“You say that like that doesn’t include you,” Denver observed.
Adam reached over his shoulder to rub at his neck. “It used to. I . . . had a falling out with one of them, and it’s been hard to be with them since. Plus I moved out of the house we were all renting.” He looked pained. “Sometimes I wonder if that was smart.”
“Moving out on your own? Why isn’t that smart—money tight?”
Adam shook his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just . . . harder, being on my own. Harder than I thought.”
“Sometimes hard’s good,” Denver pointed out.
“Sometimes.” Adam rubbed at his neck again.
A scuffle near the bar drew Denver’s attention, and he stepped away from the door to loom ominously. Once things settled back down, he returned to his station, where Adam stood huddled against a support pillar, nervously eyeing the dance floor. He looked so lost, not quite out of place but definitely rudderless. Denver couldn’t decide if he wanted to wrap him
Denver’s eyes danced. “I love being bored.”
Again, Adam hesitated. This never happened, and he knew damn well Denver didn’t care about moth genetics. “There are almost fifteen hundred different kinds of hawk moths, but there’s no real study in the phylogenetic framework. How they’ve evolved, and why they’ve evolved, and how those two events are related.”
Despite all logic, Denver seemed genuinely intrigued. “So this helps you what? Figure out how to protect crops?”
“Well, actually, yes, but not in the way you might think. I mean, biology should always be studied for the sake of studying, but this discipline could have actual purpose. We’re losing pollinators. Why? What’s driving them? Is it evolution? Is it us? Is it something we haven’t yet discovered? What can we learn by understanding how they evolved in the first place? Could that help us stop their die-off? Could it help us in some other way?” He realized he’d gotten carried away, flushed, and stopped.
Denver finished checking an ID and glanced at Adam impatiently. “Well, don’t leave me hanging, boy. You sounded like you were on a roll. Tell me more how your bugs will save the world.”
God help him, Adam did.
For someone who didn’t know a damn thing about flirting, Denver thought he was doing a pretty good job.
He was even following some of what Adam was saying, and in its own mind-numbing way, it was almost cool. He wasn’t half as interested in the moths as he was in the way Adam lit up like a Christmas tree when he talked about them. Denver found himself wondering how the hell someone came into such a thing, studying moth family trees or whatever, and then he realized he could ask. That proved almost as entertaining as the rest of it.
“My uncle got me into it. He’s a professor at Iowa State University and lives just outside Ames. He’s into wine—grows grapes, bottles it, sells it. Everyone in his family works at the vineyard, and it’s a job for them, but to him it’s a hobby. He wanted to do everything organically, which was hard since they live next to a golf course. He kept bees too, in part for the grapes, but he’s the one who introduced me to the idea of pollinators and how important they are. I made a state fair project out of it, used it to land a scholarship and everything.”
Denver could just see this guy getting caught up in bees and grapes. He had a dopey focus about him, like he was the kind of guy who’d need to be reminded to stop and eat. “So what do you do when you’re not studying moths?”
The question seemed to embarrass Adam. “Not much, I suppose.”
“No pollinator bowling leagues, huh?”
He’d meant it as a joke, but something about the comment had Adam looking, if not ashamed, forlorn in a way that hinted at more to his story. “Mostly the entomology grad students hang out together outside of classes and grad work, yeah.”
“You say that like that doesn’t include you,” Denver observed.
Adam reached over his shoulder to rub at his neck. “It used to. I . . . had a falling out with one of them, and it’s been hard to be with them since. Plus I moved out of the house we were all renting.” He looked pained. “Sometimes I wonder if that was smart.”
“Moving out on your own? Why isn’t that smart—money tight?”
Adam shook his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just . . . harder, being on my own. Harder than I thought.”
“Sometimes hard’s good,” Denver pointed out.
“Sometimes.” Adam rubbed at his neck again.
A scuffle near the bar drew Denver’s attention, and he stepped away from the door to loom ominously. Once things settled back down, he returned to his station, where Adam stood huddled against a support pillar, nervously eyeing the dance floor. He looked so lost, not quite out of place but definitely rudderless. Denver couldn’t decide if he wanted to wrap him
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