Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood

            A cold shiver runs down my spine. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Actually, Levi hated me,” I say stubbornly.

            “I doubt it. Not by any definition of that term. He just really—” She shakes her head firmly. “This isn’t what I came to talk about, I don’t know why I’m going on about stuff that . . .” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

            I could pretend not to know what she’s apologizing for. I could pretend that I didn’t think about her every day for the last two years. I could pretend that I don’t miss the way we’d make each other laugh until our abs ached, but it would be exhausting, and even though it’s eleven fifteen in the morning, I am already so very tired.

            “Why?” I ask. A question I rarely allow myself when it comes to Annie. “Why did you do it?”

            “I don’t know.” Her eyes close. “I don’t know, Bee. I’ve been trying to figure it out for years. I just . . . don’t know.”

            I nod, because I believe her. I never doubted Annie’s love for me.

            “Maybe I was jealous?”

            “Jealous?”

            She shrugs. “You were beautiful. The best in the lab. With the glamorous globe-trotting past. You were always good at everything, always so . . . so happy and cool and fun. You made it seem effortless.”

            I was never any of those things. Not by a long shot. But I think of Levi—impenetrable, cold, arrogant Levi, who turned out not to be impenetrable, cold, arrogant at all. Being so dramatically misunderstood doesn’t seem that unlikely.

            “And you and Tim . . . You and I were always together, but in the end, you’d go home to Tim and I’d be alone, and there was this . . . thing that I was never part of.”

            “Were you trying to . . . to punish me?”

            “No! No, I was just trying to feel . . . more like you.” She rolls her eyes. “And because I’m a dumbass, I picked the worst part of you to do that. Fucking Tim.” She lets out a bubbly, moist laugh. “We never . . . It lasted a week between us. And I—I never liked him, you know it. I despised him. You were so much better than him, and everyone knew it. I knew it. He knew it, too. The moment I did it, while I was doing it—I thought of you the whole time. And not just because he was a lousy lay. I kept wondering if doing such an unspeakably bad thing would . . . elevate me, somehow. Make me more like you. God, I was messed up. I still am.” She wipes her tears with two fingers. There’s already more, flowing down. “I wanted to apologize. But you blocked my number, and I told myself I’d give you space and see you at Vanderbilt. Then the summer passed, and you weren’t there . . .” She shakes her head. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, and I think about it every day, and—”

            “I’m sorry, too.”

            She gives me an incredulous look. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

            “I may not have fucked your fiancé, but I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you felt like you weren’t good enough. You were my best friend, but I always thought you were . . . invincible.”

            We are quiet until she says, “This is in no way meant as self-congratulatory, but I’m glad you didn’t marry Tim. I’m glad you’re with Levi. He’s the kind of person you deserve.”

            I don’t see the point in contradicting her. Not when I agree with everything she’s said, including things that aren’t quite true. So I nod and make to leave.

            “Bee?” she calls.

            I turn.

            “Would you mind it if I texted you, once in a while?”

            I should probably be thinking big thoughts about forgiveness, and punishment, and self-preservation. I should throw the question back at her and ask if she’d let me text her if our situations were reversed. I should reflect on this when my brain is not a mushy mess. But I forget all the “shoulds,” and tell her the first thing to cross my heart. “We could try.”

            She nods, relieved.

            Levi is outside the bathroom, a hulking mountain leaning against the wall. I don’t have to ask to know that he saw Annie come after me, and decided to follow in case I needed him. I don’t have to lie or reassure him that I’m fine even as I wipe my cheeks. I don’t have to explain anything.