Page 103 of Problematic Summer Romance

I look up from my canine masterpiece of a photo shoot. “What? No way.” It must have come out a little aggressive, because he looks at me befuddled, but I don’t back down. “Get in line, Paul. If anyone who’s not Tiny gets Bitty, it’s me.”

“He’d be closer to Tiny, with me,” Paul quips back, teasing, flirty, and I’m genuinely outraged. There was a time, when I was eleven or twelve and so lonely that I could feel it in my bonemarrow, that I dreamt of some kind of serendipitous meeting like the one with Bitty. I’d rescue a pet, and we’d be inseparable forevermore.

Middle school fantasies die hard, and Paul isnotgetting this dog. “No, he wouldn’t. Plus, he likes me.”

“California’s a lot closer to Texas than Massachusetts. It would be easier to visit—”

To his credit, he immediately realizes that he fucked up. It must be my expression—the way I’m staring at him like I plan to vacuum his heart out of his mouth.

“I…Warren—we had a call this morning. He mentioned that you formally refused Sanchez’s offer. I assumed that…”

“What?” Eli asks.

Paul flinches. “Oh, crap. I’m sorry.”

I don’t relax my glare.

“I didn’t—I figured that ifIwas told, I must be the last one to know.”

My eyes narrow to slits, and he takes a few steps away, clearly terrified of me. “I can’t believe I used to have a crush on this guy,” I mutter to myself.

“In your defense, you were very young,” Eli says dryly. “Now, if we can go back to the major life decision you forgot to share with the class…”

“It’s not like that.”

“Did you turn down Sanchez’s offer?”

I try to stop my throat from convulsing. “I was going to…I was waiting till after the wedding to tell you.”

“Okay.” Eli’s eyebrow lifts like nothing about this is even remotely okay. “But why? Is there a reason why you didn’t want me to know?”

“I—Eli, I never said that I didn’t want you to know.”

He blinks like I’m a riddler guarding a treasure room. “I don’t…I thought you were past the stage of your life where you hide things from me.”

“I’mnothiding anything.”

There is a touch of hurt in his brief, single laugh. “Clearly thereissomething you’re hiding, since I found out that you’ll be moving to Boston from Axel’s brother—”

“I’m not moving to Boston, and Paul doesn’t know shit.” I shiver as fire climbs up my throat. That combination of hot and cold that I’m all too familiar with.

Eli crosses his arms, impatient, and this is how it’s always been between us. My anger and his, fueling each other. These standoffs, they would happenevery daywhen I was teenager. And now…I don’t want to fall back intothat.

“Listen.” I take a deep breath. Another. Five fingers. “I don’t think this is the best time to discuss this. Can we please both take a step back and—”

“Why is it such a big deal, letting me know about the MIT position? I told you from the start that I would support you no matter—”

“Because Ididn’taccept the MIT position,” I nearly scream. “Ideferred. I called Jack, and he said that he’d try to keep my position open for another year, but that is contingent upon the funding situation at the research center, and the Fermilab spot is going to go to someone else. There, now I told you. Are you happy?”

Eli looks at me like…Like I’m still twelve, and he decided out of the blue that I could no longer watch my favorite show because it was too violent, that I needed to have a bedtime, that I couldn’t hang out with my friends because they were too old for me. I can barely breathe. “What the hell is going on, Maya? Why are you being so childish?”

“Why areyoutreating me like I’m some adolescent who needs tokeep you apprised of—” A dam bursts, and anger bleaches my brain. All I see is red. All I hear is my heartbeat. This rage—sometimes I feel like it’s what I’m made of. A bunch of crimson molecules scouring through me, leaving nothing but resentment behind. “You know what, Eli? Screw you. I’m not going to let you talk like that to me.”

I stalk away, down the stairs of the patio, hating Eli, hating Paul, above all, hating myself for the way—

Something blocks my path, and I nearly trip.

When I look down, I see Conor’s forearm. It strains against my belly like a damn turnstile.

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