Chapter 35
Chapter 35
Ten months earlier
Austin, Texas
It’s been two weeks since Conor and I had our late-night talk about Alfie, and love, and Conor’s relationship with Minami.
We haven’t spoken since then, which is a first in our friendship. Conor has been busy, traveling, covering for Eli when he and Rue took off for a long weekend. Harkness is expanding and their roles are changing and goal-directed supervision is crucial in this transitional stage and blah, blah, blah.
I don’t care too much, because seven days ago I saw him in person. In a church parking lot, of all places. He was wearing a slate three-piece suit and sunglasses, shaking his head at the rest of us as we shifted uncomfortably on our feet. We looked up at the steeple, and I felt a little queasy at the brick-and-mortar reminder that religion is a thing that exists.
“ You look surprisingly at ease ,” Eli told him as he led us up the steps of the church.
Conor snorted. “ You know that Irish Catholic guilt you’ve been making fun of me for? ”
“Yeah?”
“This is the upside of that.”
I smiled, then turned to Minami and Sul. Said, “ I’ve never been to a christening .”
They answered, in unison, “ Neither have I .”
They weren’t planning to have one for Kaede. But Sul was raised by his grandmother, who is “ very Catholic ,” and the whole baptism business is “ very important ” to her, even though Sul himself is “ very indifferent ” to the whole thing.
“Last I checked,” Minami whispered at me, “I was allergic to frankincense.”
“ What I’m hearing is, we are all going to burst into flames when we step into that church.”
Conor was holding the door open for all of us, but I saw the little twitch in his jaw, the curve of a smile, and my blood bubbled in my veins.
Is it love if watching him almost laugh at my jokes turns me on ten times more than the professionally filmed and heavily filtered thirst-traps dudes send on apps?
“ Careful there, Trouble ,” he murmured, and that was the extent of our exchanges. After the ceremony, we sat at opposite ends of the restaurant table. I stole a grand total of three glances at him, and every time he was talking with a different person. Eli, Rue, Sul’s adorable grandma. I watched him stand and wander around with Kaede, to give Minami and Sul a chance to eat. Had the stupidest thought: he’d be a great dad. I’m not proud to admit it, but it wasn’t even the first time.
I bet some people would disagree. Say that he’s too cold, too arrogant, too focused on his job. But he’s a caretaker. Has that deadpan sense of humor that sends children in a tailspin. Yes, there’s a bit of a Teflon shell coating his entire soul, but he’d let a baby in. Would show his real self: a neurotic perfectionist who cares too much to let go of anything.
After dinner, he went to the airport, and then he was off to the Midwest for one of those agtech deals that he told me are his favorite. The following day he called Rue to ask for advice, because she’s really good at what she does, and occasionally consults for him. They talked about aquaculture for nearly an hour. Eli and I smiled as we made tortilla soup from the recipe McKenzie had texted me, listening to them argue, equally stubborn. Almost too cute.
Maybe we share a type, after all.
I miss Conor. A lot. I could pull out my phone, any day, any time, and I know he would pick up before the first ring is even over, but I don’t want to force him to make time for me. And in the end it’s okay, because a few nights later, he calls.
“How did the Zoom go?” he asks, like my little grad school meetings are as important as his million-dollar deals.
And they fucking are. I’m glad he knows it.
“It went well. We talked about this fluid astrophysics CERN project that sounds interesting. And it’s Jack Smith.”
“Jack Smith.”
“Yeah.”
“You just made that up.”
“No. Well, his actual name is Jonathan Smith-Turner. He runs this research center in Boston. He’s one of those…He calls, you go. And I like him.”
“You like him,” he says. A blank slate of a tone.
“In the sense that I wouldn’t mind working with him. Not in a I cannot wait to bang him on the Hadron Collider way.”
“Mmh.”
“He’s married. To this theoretical physicist who works with Georgina Sepulveda.”
“Oh, yeah. George. You did that internship with her last year, right?”
“Yup. And even if he weren’t…he’s old . And I’m not in the habit of consorting with the elderly.” A beat. “Though I make an exception for you.”
I wait for him to choose from his usual array of retorts— Shut up, Trouble. I feel the same way about you infants. This is why I call, you keep me humble. But he remains uncharacteristically quiet, so I continue, “The girl who was leading this CERN project had a family emergency, which means that someone from her team is stepping up to fill her role. It leaves a research position unfilled, and you know what they say about the allocation of academic budgets and farm pigs.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Nothing can go to waste.”
He chuckles, low and husky. My hand clutches my phone like it’s a lifeline. “You should do it,” he says.
“Hmm. Yeah, I definitely should. I mean, I’d have to move to Switzerland for a while, and I know people your age struggle with the logistics of calling foreign countries, but before I leave we can meet and I can set up your cellular thingamajig—”
“Actually,” he interrupts.
And that’s when I know. If not the details, the gist of what’s about to go down.
“Oh, no. Did you drop your calling machine into the toilet again?” Me, trying to stop it with a joke.
And him, overruling me. “Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, if we…decreased the frequency of our communications.”
He sounds like he’s drafting an intercompany memo. A touch too detached.
Stay calm, I tell myself . Nothing bad is happening. Take a deep breath, don’t be reactive. “Are you out of data?”
A heavy silence. “There is someone, Maya.”
Okay. So, something bad is happening. Doesn’t mean that I should stop breathing. Calmly, I say: “There are about seven billion someones in the world, so you’re going to have to be precise about—”
“I’m going to start dating a woman.”
I don’t recall sitting down, but the angle from which I can see the neighbors’ yard through the window has changed, and there’s something soft under my thighs. “Ah.” I sound surprisingly calm. “When did you meet her?”
“I’ve known her for a while.”
“I see. Out of curiosity, how old is she?”
I can practically hear him close his eyes. That put-upon, paternal irritation he reserves for me only.
“Just wondering. I know how important that is for you.”
“She’s certainly not in her twenties.”
I nod, and if he cannot see it, that’s his problem. A small, leaden weight coalesces at the bottom of my stomach. Rolls and churns around. “I don’t…you and I are not romantically linked, Conor. We have periodic check-ins in which you make sure that I’m not desperately in love with you, that I understand the score. That we’re just friends . I didn’t hallucinate them, right?”
“No.”
“Are you going to quit talking to Eli and Minami? They’re your friends, too.”
“It’s not the same.”
“You’re right, it’s not. You and Minami were in a years-long romantic relationship. Your new girlfriend”—the word tastes like manure—“would probably insist on you cutting ties with her. But why would she care about me?”
The quiet on the other end is so deep, I wonder if he hung up. Then: “Maya, have you been seeing anyone?”
Every relationship has a few potentially inflammatory topics to steer away from. For some it’s politics, or fracking, or ethical hunting. But Conor and I share a lot of values. We see eye to eye on most issues, with some nuance that drags us into hours-long rabbit holes of arguments and Come the fuck on and Ha, gotcha! I enjoy them. He does, too.
What we never, ever talk about is whom we see when we’re not together. Not that I have anything to share.
“Where is this coming from?”
A beat. “Last week, Eli was talking about you with one of the junior analysts.”
“Who?”
“Cameron,” he says. “I forget his last name. He has an interesting background. Started out as a physicist, ended up with us.”
“I did not know about the physics-to-hedge-fund pipeline.”
“For the last time, we do not run a hedge fund, Maya.”
“Sure. And how is this related to you no longer wanting to be my friend?”
“Eli offered to see if you were interested. Maybe set you two up. Said that you hadn’t dated anyone in years.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck . “Thank you for thinking of me, but I don’t need to be introduced to someone who studied physics. I live my entire life surrounded by physicists. If I wanted to date one, I would simply wander UT’s hallways and help myself to the first relativistic mechanics freak who also happens to be unable to change a flat tire—”
“That’s not it.”
I don’t like what I’m hearing in Conor’s voice. I don’t like not knowing what the it in question refers to. “I do not keep Eli abreast of all my romantic activities. Not to mention, I’m not interested in most of the guys around me—”
“I think you should be. I think that you should…we both should focus on forming relationships with people who are more appropriate—”
“Age-appropriate?”
“That, too. Maya, let’s be blunt. Our relationship may not be romantic in nature, but the way it’s structured makes it hard to explain to others.”
“Which is the reason I’ve asked you to keep it a secret.” He insisted on coming clean. He was the one who wanted to tell Eli and the others. “ They could be a guardrail ,” he said—as though we needed someone to come between us. As though he were a car driving too fast, and I, the abyss waiting to swallow him ahead of a particularly sharp curve.
“ Are you afraid of me? ” I asked him once. And when he said, “ Yes ,” without hesitating, I took it as a win. A sign that things would soon change.
I’m a fucking idiot.
I take a deep, bracing breath. “This woman…Are you in love with her?”
He laughs. He actually laughs , and the hollow sound of it reminds me of who I thought Conor was before getting to know him. “Maya. Don’t misunderstand what—that’s not what this is about.”
I get no satisfaction from hearing that. “So you are kicking me out of your life for someone you don’t even love.” I close my eyes, feeling like I’m being swept under by a wave of something viscous and suffocating.
“If things do work out with her, and if it becomes serious—”
“So many ifs. You don’t sound very sure about this girl. Since you’re so unenthused, maybe you should date someone else?” The knot of lead inside me is expanding outward. My entire body feels heavier, toxic. Poison, that’s what this conversation is. “And since you think you can’t date someone and stay friends with me at the same time, maybe you should date me .” My delivery is light, but by now he’s skilled at catching the tides of my anger.
“Jesus.”
“Why not? Is she smarter than me? Is she funnier? Is she prettier than—actually, don’t answer, I don’t want to—”
“No one is, Maya,” he says, with some anger. Like I just tore the truth from him.
A rare moment of honesty between us: I bared my cards. He showed his. Now what?
“You like me,” I say, firm. I may be crying, but he doesn’t need to hear the tears in my voice. “You like talking to me. You like the way I look. You care about me. You tell me things you are unable to put into words when you are with others. You—this, what we have, as odd and limited and unusual as it may be, is the best part of our lives. Perhaps I’m just an idiot, but I cannot understand why you’d rather deprive us both of it than—”
“Because you are twenty-two years old , Maya. Because you have a whole life ahead of you. Because every last fucking thing about this is problematic. I’ve been desperately trying to navigate the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me and still be fair to you, and I can no longer see a way to do it without taking something from you. If our relationship is keeping you from experiences that you should be having at your age, then I am taking advantage, and I can no longer allow myself to—”
“I love you,” I interrupt him. Calm. Even.
I think I hear him die. “Maya.”
“I love you.”
“No.”
“I love you. And you are my best friend.”
“No.”
“I don’t care that you’re older. I don’t care that you work all the time. I don’t even care if your weird brain wants to pretend that we’re just platonic pen pals until I hit thirty. I will wait for it. I will wait for you .”
“No.”
“The only thing I care about is: Are you in love with me?”
The sound of breathing. A hitch, barely audible. “That’s irrelevant, Maya.”
I laugh. And for a split second, I actually feel happy. Hopeful. Fucking elated . All that running he’s been doing, and he can’t even lie to me. He can’t bring himself to say the one untruth that would shut me up. “Nice try.”
He ignores me. Composes himself. “Everything you just said, that’s the exact reason this needs to stop. You need to be with someone your age. Someone who doesn’t come with sets of issues that span generations. Someone who—”
“Someone who’s in his original condition! Pristine! Someone who has never experienced suffering! I need one of those collectible action figures, the ones that never get taken out of the box! Shall we check eBay?”
He steamrolls me. “It’ll be good for you, some time away from me. You’ll have room to explore—”
“I have no interest in the Camerons of this world. I have no interest in anyone but—”
“You don’t know what you’re interested in, Maya. You are far too young, and our relationship is limiting your opportunities to fully grasp the extent and variety of your options. Whatever you think you’re feeling about me—”
“I’m in love with you, Conor.” The words slip out thick, watery, and I hate it. “So please, say that, instead of this whatever-you’re-feeling bullshit. At the very least do me the favor of acknowledging my words.”
An exhale. A ragged one. “I know you think that you are in love with me, but if you give it time, it will run its course. And the kindest thing I can do for you at the moment is to free you from me.”
He used the word kind . And I want to take it from him and use it to stab him. “And what about you, Conor? Will it run its course for you, too?”
A terrible silence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
That’s where my hope dies. Something selfish and dark swells within me—something murderous and cutting and vengeful, at the knowledge that he trusts himself and me so little, he’s not going to let us have this. He’s going to take it away. And he’s not even going to admit that he…
The anger is high up in my throat. And it always leads down the same path. “Conor.”
“Yes, Maya.”
“Genuinely, from the bottom of my heart…Fuck off.”
I hang up.
We don’t talk for the following ten months.