Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

            “It’s fine,” I interrupt. They both look at me, stunned by my capacity for speech. “I don’t mind staying.”

            “See? She doesn’t mind!” Millicent claps her hands and drops any pretense of helplessness, pulling three mugs from a cupboard that’s much higher than the one with the sugar. Jack hesitates, though. He takes a step closer and scans my face for traces of my little untruths.

            “Really,” I say only for Jack’s ears, “it’s fine.”

            “Fine? Spending unremunerated time with two Smiths?”

            Staying perfectly suits my yellow-brick quest for the lesser evil, because it allows me to postpone informing Dr. L. of what happened or even dealing with the consequences of it. As long as I’m here, time is suspended. The past is set, and I didn’t get the job. Any future, however, is possible: AOC will rise to power to forgive my student loans. My pancreas will produce its own insulin. I’ll retire to the countryside, live off the land, and spend my days thinking about the kinematics of crystal-rich systems.

            And Jack knows, because his bullshit detector works like a charm: he sees that I really want to stay and pulls back a chair for me; then our coats are off, we’re sitting across from each other, and I’m glancing around to avoid noticing that he’s focusing on me like I’m the key to understanding the free-fall acceleration of antimatter. Millicent begins transferring fancy jam thumbprint cookies from a fancy box to a fancy plate. I scan the wrapping for nutritional values, finding none.

            “So,” she asks conversationally, “how long have you two been doing it?”

            I gasp so hard, I nearly choke. Jack calmly pours his coffee, unruffled. “We’re not,” he says.

            “You’re not what?”

            “Doing it.”

            Millicent looks between us. “Not even a little bit?”

            “Nope.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “I think I’d know if we were.” Jack piles sugar in his mug, and I want to fling myself into an active volcano.

            “I certainly hope so. Oh well.” She shrugs quaintly. “I guess it’s for the best. You were always so protective of your brother—it would be a tad out of character for you to seduce his girlfriend.”

            “Let’s not use the word seduce before eleven a.m., ’kay?” Jack stands and starts moving around the kitchen. “And let’s talk about something else, since Elsie’s in the middle of an anoxic event.”

            I absolutely am. My organs are shutting down.

            “What else shall we discuss? I am but a helpless elderly lady. Nothing ever happens to me. Ah yes: the neighbors’ dog has been defecating on my lawn again. I’m considering hiring someone to go defecate on theirs. Would either of you be interested?”

            “I’m a bit busy,” Jack says. A second later, a steaming mug appears in front of me. Jack cages me from behind, one hand next to mine on the table, the other fussing with something papery. He steeps a tea bag in the hot water, and I feel his chest brushing against my back and hair as he says, “But Elsie is in the market for a new job.”

            I twist around to glare at him, but he’s already back to his seat. Millicent, on the other hand, is giving me an expectant look.

            “I—sorry, I . . . I can’t, and . . .” It’s probably illegal? “Sorry.”

            “Second job offer she’s refused this morning,” Jack murmurs.

            “Mmm. Picky. No matter, I’ll ask my other grandchildren, then. Perhaps strongly hint that their inheritance will depend on it?”

            “Less helpless elderly lady and more bitter old hag territory,” Jack says fondly.

            “Perhaps. What’s with the tea?” she asks Jack.

            “Elsie doesn’t like coffee.”

            “Oh.” There’s something loaded in that oh. “You could have said so, Elsie.”

            “No, she couldn’t.” Jack’s eyes hold mine from above his mug. The dimple appears, making my heart stutter. The air between us smells like Earl Grey, raspberry jam, and early Sunday morning. “But we’re working on it.”