A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
The banquet hall was filled with fifty round tables, each decorated with a low glass bowl containing white lilies and floating candles.
I sat at the edge of table twelve, positioned near the service swing doors where the waiters brought out the prime rib and roasted potatoes.
Anna was seated four chairs to my left, placed directly between Claire Vance and the dean, her emerald dress standing out against their dark academic suits.
“The model we used ten years ago relied on static cultures,” Anna said, her voice rising slightly above the clink of silverware. “But the new bioreactors should allow us to observe the cell division in real-time.”
“We have three of those units in the new basement lab,” Claire said, adjusting her glasses with her middle finger. “But the calibration is notoriously difficult to maintain over seventy-two hours.”
“It is a simple matter of fluid dynamics,” Anna said, pausing slightly before she continued. “We just need to adjust the flow rate to match the metabolic consumption of the media.”
The dean nodded, scribbling something on the edge of his paper napkin with a silver ballpoint pen.
