Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

            “Millicent,” he says, stern. Amused. Must be a rich people thing, calling grandmas by their names. “Like I mentioned last week, and the ones before, you don’t need to trick me into spending time with you.”

            “Oh, Jack. But I have been burned. Many times.”

            “When was the last time you asked me to come over and I didn’t?”

            “Three years ago. On my birthday. It could have been my last.”

            “But was it?”

            “Hindsight, shmindsight.” She stares remotely into the distance. “I waited and waited for my one bearable grandchild to show up—”

            “I lived across the country.”

            “—but alas, you’d left me. Abandoned me. Moved to the West Coast in search of something elusive. A Nobel Prize, perhaps?”

            “I called you every day for seven years.”

            “How’s that Nobel Prize coming along, anyway?”

            He sighs. “You don’t have to trick me,” he repeats, and this time she grins at him, impish and mischievous, and I remember that she has always been my favorite of Greg’s relatives.

            “But it’s more fun this way.”

            I suspect this is an interaction they’ve had multiple times. I suspect Jack is trying to not smile. “I’m taking Elsie home. Then I’ll come back and—”

            “Elsie?” Millicent turns, as though noticing me for the first time. “Elsie.” She takes a step toward me, and I stop breathing, trying to make myself inconspicuous. Who needs oxygen? I’ll just photosynthesize from now on. “Why is Elsie so familiar?”

            I gulp. Comically.

            “Ah. Yes. You beat Jack at Go.”

            “We . . . tied, actually.” I glance at Jack, who’s smiling like my discomfort puts him in a good mood.

            “Indeed.” Millicent’s eyes laser-focus on me, and I wonder what I should say if she asks why I’m here. What’s the cover story? “You don’t look too good.”

            “Oh. I . . .”

            “She had a rough night,” Jack says mildly. “Let her be.”

            Millicent nods knowingly. “Dear, whenever they can’t get it up, they sit on the edge of the mattress with their heads between their hands and whine like babies and turn it into our problem, but—”

            I gasp. “Oh, no. No, no, that’s not what we—”

            “She just found out she didn’t get a job,” Jack explains, unruffled. “But thank you for the vote of confidence.”

            “If you say so.” Millicent seems unconvinced. Then her eyes light up with a glimmer of recollection “Wait. She’s not yours, is she? She’s the girlfriend of the one who always looks like he just stress-ate a crab apple over a trash can.”

            Jack rolls his eyes. “You mean Greg? My brother? Your grandson?”

            “How would I know? I have four children and seven grandchildren. How many names do you expect me to memorize?”

            “Eleven would be a good start.”

            “Bah.” Her eyes fix on me, sharp. “She is his, though.”

            “Not really,” Jack says. “It’s a long story.”

            “Perfect. You can tell me over coffee. Two sugars as always, Jack?”

            “Yup.” He turns to leave again. “I’ll have it when I come back from taking Elsie—”

            “Nonsense. Elsie must stay, too. I simply cannot let her leave.”

            “Yes, you can, because kidnapping is a serious felony offense.”

            “Pssh.”

            “I’m driving her home and—”