Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

            “That night I get home. Go to bed. Cannot sleep till I admit to myself that I’m jealous. Or envious. A mix. My brother’s settling down, keeping secrets, and we’re close, so I’m not used to it. And the girl . . . Maybe it’s how good she is with the person I care about the most. Maybe I have a type, and she just happens to embody it. But . . . well, I’m reacting to her more than I can remember ever doing. With anyone. I’m having some . . . complicated feelings, but I force myself to get over them. Push them out of my head. I am, briefly, successful. Then there’s Labor Day.

            “She passes out in my arms. No explanation. She acts like nothing happened, and goes back to that personality twisting of hers. She does beg me not to tell Greg, though, and it has me wondering if this is not a solid relationship.” His voice is getting lower, deeper, and his eyes move into the middle distance, like he’s taking a step backward inside himself. Our hands must have shifted, because my palm is flat under his. I wonder whether he’s aware. I wonder why I don’t pull free. “And that’s when I realize how much of a piece of shit I am. Because she’s obviously good for my brother, but I am relieved that their relationship might not go anywhere. And I’d love to lie to myself and come up with a valid excuse, but the truth is, it’s because I’m a shithead. It’s because I want her for myself. I want to . . . I don’t even fucking know. I want to take her to dinner, make sure she’s relaxed, make sure she doesn’t feel like she needs to think two steps ahead. I want to know why she can hold a Go stone. And I really, really want to . . . well. I’ll spare you the graphic details. I’m sure you can imagine.”

            His smile is small and rueful. My stomach is tight, tied in a million knots, and I’m hot. Hot all over.

            “Avoiding her is the best course of action. I don’t mind skipping family functions, and my brother never talks about her. It’s like he forgets that she exists, which is weird, because I can’t stop thinking about her. I ask questions, even though I shouldn’t. I have a couple of really wrong, really messy dreams—about my brother’s girlfriend. When I see her again after a while, at my grandmother’s birthday, it’s not any better. It’s worse—but I’m never going to act on it. It’ll go away, I know it. When I find out that she’s not who she said she is, I’m mad—really mad, because Greg’s the best person I know and does not deserve this shit. But I’m also a little relieved.” He looks at me again. “You know why, Elsie?”

            There’s something disarmingly, devastatingly self-confident about Jack. About the way he laid out all these facts without hesitating, as though owning his feelings is first and second nature. I study the glint of the lamp hitting his golden hair and wonder why this man would even bother thinking of me. He’s figured out my entire game. I came to him empty handed.

            My muscles feel numb. I shake my head with difficulty.

            “I’m relieved because whatever thing I have for her, it’ll go away. It won’t survive knowing that she lied. Except that I didn’t account for having to watch her talk about physics, or read her work. I didn’t account for having to spend two days with her and finding out that she is . . .” He smiles at me. Gentle. Resigned. “Spectacular.”

            There is a loud noise, but neither of us looks that way. We’re locked too tight into each other, bound to whatever this thick, starved, voracious moment between us is.

            Until we hear, “Guys, why does pee smell bad after you eat asparagus?”

            I glance at Greg, who is—

            “Naked!” I yelp, twisting my neck to turn away.

            “Dude.” Jack’s voice is hoarse. He’s shaking his head. “Where the hell are your clothes?”

            “Lost them. Hey, remember when we tried to see who could piss the farthest away?”

            Jack winces and takes a step away from me. His hand holds on to mine for just a second longer, and then, all of a sudden, the room is cold and drafty.

            “I should probably . . .” I start.

            He gives me a weighty look. “Go home.”

            “Yup.” I find my phone while Jack whispers “Let’s take this to the bathroom, buddy?” and I slip out as I hear something about “asparapee.”

            No, thank you.

            The second the front door closes behind me, I slump against it. I take a deep breath and stare for a long, long time at the glow of Christmas lights the neighbors forgot to take down.