Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

            “Yes, he was. His career was hugely impacted by—”

            “He wasn’t unintentional.”

            “He . . .” I stop pacing. The words don’t immediately sink in. And when they do, I’m still left confused. “What?”

            Jack wets his lips. “Laurendeau was the target.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “I wrote the article because I wanted Laurendeau’s career to be over.” His throat moves. “It was everything else that was unintentional.”

            My mind spins a million circles, then halts abruptly. “Everything else?”

            “I didn’t want to become the poster boy for the rift between theorists and experimentalists.” He throws up one hand, impatient. For a moment I sense hesitation, but his eyes harden, stubborn in a way that’s almost . . . young. Seventeen again. “I wasn’t making a statement. All I wanted was Laurendeau out of physics—and I failed, clearly. Since after screwing over my mother, he’s been busy fucking up the life of the single person I’ve ever been in love with.”

            What did he . . . His mother? The single person he . . .

            “I—”

            “He was my mother’s main collaborator, Elsie. He was the reason she couldn’t go back to work after I was born. He was the reason she felt—it was the most important thing for her, Elsie. Her work defined her, and he took it away and—” His voice rises and rises and then abruptly stops, like he suddenly realized how loud he had gotten.

            “Why did he . . . ?”

            “Because he was envious. Because he felt superior. Because of control. He’s like that with you, too.”

            “What?” I shake my head. “No. No, he helps me.”

            “To the point that you don’t feel allowed to accept your dream job without his permission? This is not a normal mentor-mentee relationship.”

            “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jack simply doesn’t get it. Dr. L. is the only reason I was able to get into grad school. The reason I was able to pursue my dreams. The reason I’m not currently unemployed.

            Jack takes a step forward. “Laurendeau has isolated you and made it impossible for you to realize it. Just like he did with my mother.” He rubs his forehead, and I wonder when he last talked about all of this. “It’s all in her diaries.”

            “Oh my God.” I cannot believe it. “Is that why you wrote the article? Because of those diaries?”

            He exhales a humorless laugh. “No. I wrote it because I went to Northeastern and tried to report Laurendeau. I was told that I couldn’t file a complaint, because I wasn’t the victim. It fizzled into nothing. And Elsie, I was . . .” His eyes hold mine for a second, and I see everything. He was young and he was tired. He was sad. He was angry. He was lonely; he was alone; he was the odd Smith out. He was helpless. He wanted revenge. “Then I wrote the article.” His big shoulders rise and fall. “I used what I knew of physics to make it believable, and I still didn’t think it’d get accepted. But somehow it did, and when I read that Laurendeau was removed as editor . . .” He shakes his head. “It didn’t make me feel any better about the fact that I couldn’t remember shit of my mother, or about the things Caroline did to me.” His eyes are full of sorrow. “So I stopped thinking about it. And whenever someone reminded me, I ignored them. Until I met you.”

            My expression hardens. “Because I kept bringing it up.”

            “No, Elsie.” His voice is calm, firm. “Because the idea of Laurendeau doing to you what he did to my mother terrified me.”

            I scoff. “Why didn’t you warn me, then? We talked about him. About your mother. You had countless opportunities.” There’s a piece of me, somewhere in the back of my head, that knows how much Jack’s admission of vulnerability must have cost. But the larger piece thought this was the first relationship in my life based on honesty, and now . . . I feel incredibly stupid. “You lied to me. Over and over.”

            “Would you have believed me if I’d told you?” he asks, taking a single step closer. “In fact, do you believe me now?”