Loathe to Love You by Ali Hazelwood

            “God, she always picked—”

            “The Twilight Zone. Even though she already knew all the twist endings.” He rolls his eyes. Then his expression changes. “I didn’t know her health had gotten so bad. I called her two days before she died, exactly two days, and she told me . . . I shouldn’t have believed her.”

            My heart sinks. I was there. I know the exact conversation Liam is referring to, because I heard Helena’s side of it. The way she fielded questions and minimized the concerns of the person on the other side of the line. She lied her way through an hour of chatter—it was obvious that she was happy about the call, but she wasn’t honest about how bad things had gotten, and I felt uncomfortable about the deception. Then again, she did that with everyone. She’d have done the same with me if I hadn’t been her ride to doctors’ appointments.

            “I wish she’d let me be there.” Liam’s tone is impersonal, but I can hear the unsaid. How painful it must have been to be kept in the dark. “But she didn’t, and it was her decision. Just like leaving you the house was her decision, and . . . I’m not happy about it. I don’t understand it. But I accept it. Or at least I’m trying to.”

            For the first time, I realize what my arrival in D.C. must have been like from Liam’s perspective: Some girl he’d never even heard about, some girl who’d had the privilege to be with Helena during her last few days, suddenly showing up and forcibly wiggling her way into his home. His life. While he was trying to come to terms with his loss and mourn the only relative he felt close to.

            Maybe he acted like an asshole. Maybe he never made me feel welcome or wasn’t particularly nice, but he was in pain, just like me, and . . .

            What a total mess. What an obtuse idiot I’ve been.

            “I . . . I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean any of it. I don’t know you at all, and . . .” I trail off, unsure how to continue.

            Liam nods stiffly. “I’m sorry, too.”

            We stay there, in silence, for long beats. If I go back to my room now, Liam will order a pizza and I’ll be able to fall asleep without having to hunt down my stash of earplugs. I almost leave to do just that, but something occurs to me: Things could be better. I could be better. “Maybe there could be a . . . a truce of sorts?”

            He lifts one eyebrow. “A truce.”

            “Yeah. I mean . . . I could . . . I guess I could stop raising the thermostat to twenty-five degrees as soon as you turn around. Wear a sweater instead.”

            “Twenty-five degrees?”

            “I’m a scientist. We don’t really do Fahrenheit, since it’s a ridiculous scale and . . .” He’s looking at me with an expression that I can’t quite decipher, so I quickly change the topic. “And I guess I could lay off with the Disney soundtracks?”

            “Could you?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Even The Little Mermaid?”

            “Yes.”

            “What about Moana?”

            “Liam, I’m really trying here. If you could please—” I am ready to storm out of the kitchen when I realize that he’s actually smiling. Well, sort of. With his eyes. Oh my God, was that a joke? He jokes? “You’re not as funny as you think.”

            He nods, and doesn’t say anything for a moment or two. Then, “The Disney soundtracks are not that bad.” He sounds pained. “And I’ll try to be better, too. I’ll water your plants when you’re out of town and they’re about to die.” I knew he’d let my cucumber die on purpose. I knew it. “And maybe I’ll make a sandwich for dinner, if I get hungry past midnight.”

            I lift my eyebrow.

            Liam sighs. “Past ten p.m.?”

            “That would be perfect.”

            He crosses his huge arms on his equally huge, still bare chest, and then rocks a bit on his heels.

            “Okay, then.”

            “Okay.”