She graduates from Brown in May, double degree and plane ticket in hand. There’s a party at her parents house in Newton and she’s the only one who goes to bed sober. In the morning Pop and Dad drive her to the airport, arguing about the merits of Logan vs. Manchester.
“You’ll be fine,” Dad says, “Just don’t drink the water.”
“That’s Mexico, not England,” Pop points out.
On the plane, she finds a new journal in her carry on. It’s the one she’s been lusting after all semester; the one Dad told her would be a waste of money. On the inside cover is a quote from Michael Faraday written in Mom’s hand-writing:
The important thing is to know how to take all things quietly.
~*~
The flat has two bedrooms and a decent kitchen. She snaps a picture on the digital camera her siblings gave her for Christmas (Canon, roughly the cost of three of her textbooks combined) and sends it to Pop with a note assuring him that yes, I’m eating in most nights instead of paying too much for the delicious Indian food from the restaurant down the street.
She has three roommates. Angie was her suite-mate senior year, but for all Meredith knows the girl could very well be a convicted felon. The other two girls are friends of Angie’s; Stella has shoulder-length blond hair and Caitlin doesn’t smile once in the first week that Meridith is there. They win her affection forever by taking her to their favorite coffee house at the end of week two. Nothing says Welcome to London quite like reasonably priced lattes and free wifi.
Pop has been giving her the lecture since before she could comprehend language. Don’t be silly, she can here him saying, People can’t be trusted, one always has to have the upperhand. She knows London is a dangerous place and that any minute she could be gunned down in Hyde Park or the triain she’s riding on could explode or someone could attempt assassination by air-born toxin. But she’s twenty-two, and she feels like her own person for the first time.
Her first contribution (aside from, you know, rent and all) is a coffee maker. She’s been elected to handle all the shopping because the other three really can’t be bothered. One day she brings home the expensive coffee brand she’s been drinking since she was twelve. When Caitlin points out that folgers is a fourth of the cost per pound, Meredith stares at her for a minute, then walks away. Yes, she’s willing to economize, but she’s only willing to sacrifice so much.
School begins, and she works her ass off. On the phone Pop asks her if she’s eating enough, and she’d be pissed if her well-documented history of malnutrition didn’t warrant the concern.
“I’m fine,” she says, and she’s not even lying. Much.
~*~
When she was twelve she won a snowman-building contest held at Boston College the week before Christmas. The night before, one of the other snowmen (built in the likeness of the then-president of the University) had been vandalised, leaving an unrecognizable lump. She was interviewed for the Globe and got twenty five pounds of chocalate (hidden by Pop deep in the cabinets when they got home).
She didn’t help destroy the snowman, and to this day she isn’t certain which of her family members were in on it. It was the only non-academic title she’d ever won, and she hadn’t been able to eat the chocolate without feeling sick.
~*~
Colin Swift, writer, works out of an office in the building across from the medical school. She knows better than to go directly from class, and goes one morning before she’s due in the library for work study. His is the only door without a sign, and it doesn’t even occur to her to knock before pushing it open.
He’s sitting on the floor, iBook on the coffee table, feet bare. On the stereo Lou Reed sings about pale blue eyes. When the phone starts ringing, she answers.
“Lawrence from Random House wants to have lunch tomorrow. Shall I write him in?” she asks after pressing the hold button.
He doesn’t look up from what he’s typing, “Fine.”
She writes down the appointment in the date book on the desk, her precise cursive complimenting what he’s written himself (“Finn’s book launch, 7.00 pm, Savoy,” “Databurst,” “Home, 9.00 am”). When she looks up, he’s staring at her as if he can’t remember where he should know her from.
“Charity didn’t send you, did she?”
She shakes her head, “Meredith Cuddy. Your new assistant.”
“I don’t need an assistant.”
“Secretary then.”
He frowns, “I don’t need a secretary, either.”
She raises one eyebrow. As if cued, the phone rings. She answers.
~*~
When she’s away from his office, she doesn’t think about Colin Swift. Much. She’s a compartmentalist, so when she litterally bumps into him while standing in line with Stella at the cafe, it takes her a second to place his face.
“Of all the java joints in all the world,” he remarks, looking as unamused as she feels. It’s why they hit it off so quickly–she’s a labeler and he’s a snob and she’s coming to realize how interchangable those two terms can be.
It’s over quickly, like tearing off a band-aid, and then Stella starts playing twenty questions. Meredith can tell that her stand-offishness is confusing Stella, who admitted last week that she’s never met someone she could imagine being with for any considerable amount of time.
“He reminds me of Captain von Trapp,” Stella says. Meredith knows exactly what she means.
~*~
In November she meets Dr. Rodney McKay, who is clearly his father though that word is never actually used.
“How long have you worked for Liam?” he asks, and Meredith can’t help shooting an “I so knew it was a psuedonym” look her boss’s way.
“Five months,” Liam answers for her. “Come on. I’ll take you out to lunch.”
Seeing him flustered (or mad, which is the closest he gets) makes her happy, and she waves cheerfully at Liam as they leave.
