Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

            I swallow. “This is a very intrusive question.”

            “Is it. Hmm.” He shrugs graciously.

            “And anyway, Greg is thirty years old. He doesn’t need you to run his life.”

            “Greg is thirty years old, and you are the first person he’s been in any kind of romantic relationship with.” His eyes harden. “Considering the lies you’ve been feeding him, it seems that he does need someone looking out for him.”

            “If you just called him—”

            “He won’t be back until Sunday.”

            “Have you tried to get in touch with him?”

            “No.” His eyes darken. “I’m not going to tell my brother that his girlfriend is secretly a liquid crystal theory superhero on the phone. I’ll do him the favor of breaking his heart in person.”

            “So you can pat him on the back? Say ‘there, there’?”

            “I’m serious, Elsie.”

            I cock my head, picturing an empty auditorium. Greg dressed like the apostle Peter. A single person in the audience, clapping loudly after every song. My best friend. “You really care about Greg.”

            “Yes,” he says like he’s talking to a child, “I care about my brother.”

            “It’s not a given, you know.”

            “Do you not care about your siblings? Or do your siblings not care about you?”

            I shrug, remembering my phone calls with them this morning after they didn’t bother answering the phone last night. Lucas picked up half-asleep. Not only didn’t he recognize my voice, he also asked, Elsie who? “I don’t think they are fully aware that I exist in a corporeal form,” I murmur, almost thinking out loud. I regret it instantly, because Jack nods in a way that has me wondering if he’s filing away the information. Future ammo?

            “I’m sorry your brothers are assholes.” He sounds surprisingly sincere. “But given your history with lies, you can’t blame me for being concerned about mine.”

            “You didn’t know that I was lying when we first met.”

            “No, I didn’t.” Jack’s expression sharpens. He straightens and leans forward, elbows on his desk. The entire room shifts and thickens with tension. “I did know, however, that there is something about you. That you tirelessly study people. Figure out who they are, what they want, and then mold yourself into whatever shape you think will fit them. I’ve seen you play half a dozen different roles for half a dozen different situations, switching personalities like you’re channel surfing, and I still have no idea who you are. So I think it’s within my right to be concerned for my brother. And I think it’s within my right to be curious about you.”

            I freeze.

            Did he just—

            He didn’t. He doesn’t know me. I must have misheard. Misinterpreted. Misunderstood. Mis—fuck.

            “I—” My hands tremble, and I slide them between my thighs and chair, like a child. I feel bare. Head spinning, I blurt out, “I don’t know what you—”

            The phone rings. Jacks lifts one finger to signal me to wait and picks up. “Smith-Turner. Hi, Sasha. Yes. She’s here. She was just about to . . . Ah. I see. Yeah. No problem. I can take care of it.” I’m too shaken by what he just said—mold yourself into whatever shape you think will fit—to eavesdrop. Which makes it all the more stupefying when Jack says, “Volkov’s in the middle of something and cannot give you a tour of the department.” The faint, crooked smile reappears. “But don’t worry, Elsie. I’m happy to take over.”





7


            ELECTRICAL RESISTANCE


            I repeat to him “There’s no need” so many times, the words lose meaning like in a tongue twister. It’s all in vain.

            “Jack, I’m sure you have lots of things to do,” I say as he ushers me out of his office, arm brushing against mine.

            “Like what?”