Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

            I tense. Maybe I should have asked Greg for talking points. “Oh, yeah, true. Now that you mention it—”

            “Remind me, Elsie.” He takes a tiny step closer to the board, towering over me like a towering tower. But I’m not short. I refuse to feel short. “What’s Woodacre, again?”

            Crap. “It’s”—I try for an amused expression—“Woodacre, of course.”

            Jack gives me a Don’t bullshit me look. “That’s not an answer, is it?”

            “It’s . . .” I clear my throat. “A thing Greg’s working on.” The extent of what I’ve been told about Greg’s job? That he’s a data scientist. “I don’t know the details. It’s complicated science stuff.” I smile airily, as though I don’t spend my life building complex mathematical models to uncover the origins of the universe. My heart hurts.

            “Complicated science stuff.” Jack studies me like he’s peeling off my skin and expects to find a banana rotting inside.

            “Yeah. People like you and I wouldn’t understand.”

            He frowns. “People like you and I.”

            “Yeah. I mean.” I hold his eyes and put down another stone. “What even are numbers—”

            I snap my mouth shut. We must have reached for the same square. My fingers brush against Jack’s, and something electric and unidentifiable licks up my arm. I wait for him to pull away, but he doesn’t. Even though it was my turn. Wasn’t it my turn? I’m pretty sure—

            “Well, if it isn’t a draw.”

            I yank back my hand. Millicent is next to me, staring at the board. I follow her gaze and nearly gasp, because . . . she’s right.

            I just not-thrashed Jack Freaking Smith at Go.

            “It’s been a long time since Jack hasn’t won a game,” Millicent says with a pleased smile.

            It’s been a long time since I haven’t won a game. What the hell? I look up at Jack—still staring, still furrowing his brow, still judging me silently. My brain blanks. I panic and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “There are more legal board positions in Go than the atoms in the known universe.”

            A snort. “Someone’s been telling me since he was barely out of diapers.” Millicent glances shrewdly at Jack, who is still. Staring. At. Me. “You and Elsie make for a very good couple. Although, Jack, my dear, she should still sign a prenup.”

            I don’t immediately understand what she’s saying. Then I do and turn crimson all over. “Oh, no. Mrs. Smith, I’m—I’m dating Greg. Your other grandson.”

            “Are you sure?”

            What? “I—yes. Of course.”

            “Didn’t seem like it.” She shrugs. “But what do I know? I’m a ninety-year-old bat who frolics in mud.” I watch her shuffle toward the canapé table. Then I turn to Jack with a nervous laugh.

            “Wow. That was—”

            He’s still staring. At me. Stone faced. Intent. Sectoral heterochromic. Like I’m interesting, very interesting, very, very interesting. I open my mouth to ask him what’s going on. To demand a rematch to the death. To beg him to quit counting the pores in my nose. And that’s when—

            “Smile, guys!”

            I whip my head around, and the flash of Izzy’s Polaroid instantly blinds me.



* * *



            • • •

            “My parents’ anniversary next month should be the last time I need to take you along.” Greg signals right and pulls into my building’s parking lot. “After, I’ll tell Mom you broke up with me. I begged you not to. Serenaded you. Bought you my weight in plushies—all in vain.”

            I nod sympathetically. “You’re heartbroken. Too inconsolable to date someone else.”

            “I might need to find solace in a Spotify playlist.”

            “Or frost your tips.”