Loathe to Love You by Ali Hazelwood

            He looks away. Down, to his shoes. “If I spend more time with you, I’m only going to like you more.”

            “Nah.” I snort. “That’s not the way it usually works.”

            “It does. It will, for me.” He sounds so solidly, irrefutably sure, I cannot do anything but stare at him. His lips are bee-stung, and everything about him is beautiful, and he looks so quietly, stoically devastated at the idea of fucking me with no strings attached that I should probably find this comical, but the truth is that I can’t remember ever being this attracted to someone else, and my body is vibrating for his, and . . .

            Maybe you could go out with him. Just this once. An exception. Maybe you could try it out. Maybe it could work. Maybe you two will—

            What? No. No. What the fuck? Just the fact that I’m contemplating it scares the shit out of me. No. I don’t—I’m not like that. These things are a waste of time and energy. I’m busy. I’m not cut out for this stuff.

            “I’m sorry,” I force myself to say. It’s not even a lie. I’m pretty fucking sorry right now. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

            “Okay,” he says after a long moment. Accepting. A bit sad. “Okay. If . . . if you change your mind. About dinner, that is. Let me know.”

            “Okay.” I nod. “When are you leaving? What’s my deadline?” I add, attempting some lightheartedness.

            “It doesn’t matter. I can . . . I travel here a lot, and . . .” He shakes his head. “You can change your mind whenever. No deadline.”

            Oh. “Well, if you change your mind about fucking . . .”

            He exhales a laugh, which sounds a little like a pained groan, and for a moment I feel the compulsion to explain myself. I want to tell him, It’s not you. It’s me. But I know how that would sound, and I know better than to put the words out there. So we regard each other for a few seconds, and then . . . then there’s nothing left to say, is there? My body goes through the motions automatically. I slide off the desk, take a moment to straighten the monitors behind me, the mouse, the keyboards, the cable, and when I walk past Ian through the door he follows me with his solemn, sad eyes, running his palm over his jaw.

            The last words I hear from him are, “It was really good to meet you, Hannah.” I think I should say it back, but there’s an unfamiliar weight in my chest, and I can’t quite bring myself to do it. So I make do with a small smile and a halfhearted wave. I stuff my hands in my pockets while my body is still thrumming with what I left behind, and wander slowly back to the Caltech campus, thinking about red hair and missed opportunities.

            He’ll make for a great boyfriend, I tell myself, leaning back in my bed and staring up at the ceiling. There is a weird green thing in one corner that I suspect might be mold. Mara keeps telling me I should just move out of this shithole and find a place with her and Sadie, but I don’t know. Seems like we’d get too close. A big commitment. It might get messy. He’ll make for a great boyfriend. For someone who deserves to have one.

            The following day, when Mara asks me about my meeting with her cousin-or-something, I say only “Uneventful,” and I don’t even know why. I don’t like lying, and I like lying to someone who’s rapidly becoming a friend even less, but I can’t make myself say any more than that.

            A couple days later, when I get an email from [email protected], my heart stumbles all over itself. But it’s just an empty email, no text, not even an automatic signature. Just an attachment with his NASA application from a few years ago, together with a handful of other people’s. More recent ones that he must have gotten from his friends and colleagues, a few more examples to send me.

            Well.

            Two weeks later, I turn in a reflection paper as part of my Water Resources class requirements.

                             I must admit, Dr. Harding, that I initially thought this assignment would be a total waste of time. I’ve known I wanted to end up at NASA for years, and I’ve known that I wanted to work with robotics and space exploration for just as long. However, after meeting with Ian Floyd, I have realized that I’d love to work, specifically, on Attitude and Position Estimation of Mars rovers. In conclusion: not a waste of time, or at least not a total one.



            I get an A- for the class. And in the following years, I don’t let myself think about Ian too much. But whenever I rewatch video recordings of mission control celebrating Curiosity’s landing, I cannot help but look for the tall, red-haired man in the back of the room. And whenever I find him, I feel the ghost of something squeeze tight inside my chest.