Page 104 of Problematic Summer Romance

“If you don’t let me go—”

“Maya.”

“Conor. If you—”

“Will you focus on me for just a second? Please?”

I do. Gradually, the rest of the world—waves, shrieking seagulls, Bitty’s playful nipping of Tiny—recedes.

“What the hell is going on?” Eli asks, but it comes from a distance. Easy enough to ignore.

“I’m not going to force you to stay here,” Conor murmurs, bending down to my temple. “But you’ve told me several times that when you get angry at someone you love, you often wish it occurred to you to take a deep breath.”

I blink. It takes a moment, but I can register the meaning of his words over the sharp, toxic rush of my blood.

I hesitate. Nod once, brusque.

“Will you look me in the eye?” he asks.

I do, sullen. And immediately feel…grounded. “When the anger comes,” my therapist always says, “focus on the things around you. Name them. Try to be more in your body, and less in your head.” And I do see Conor. I see the balustrade. I see the ocean, and therosemary, and the red Fiat, and this beautiful place where my brother gathered us for his wedding—

“He’s being a dick,” I say, harsh.

“Yes. He is.”

I bite my lip.

“But you’re not being wholly reasonable, either.”

I close my eyes.

After a few laps of the waves against the shore, Conor adds, “From the outside, this looks like two people overreacting. You and Eli are not enemies.”

It’s that simple, really. I love Eli so much, and…

I turn back around. My brother is glancing between me and Conor, clearly baffled by our interaction. But now that I’m thinking more clearly, I can tease apart the different emotions on his face. Irritation, yes, certainly. Anger. But also worry, and anxiety. Above all, confusion.

I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be…”

He shakes his head. “No, I—me neither. I didn’t mean to act like…”

Our sentences swing aimlessly between us. If we were less stubborn, we’d be laughing at ourselves and at each other.

“Can you just tell me what’s going on? I’m…” He widens his arms. “Worried. Not because I think you’re a child. Because I don’t understand.”

It’s okay. I’m not fifteen. I didn’t just beat up some guy who hit on me because “crazy girls give great head.” Eli is not trying to ground me. He’s on my side. “I don’t want it, Eli. Not right now. Maybe not ever.”

He nods. Even as he asks, “You don’t want…?”

“Either. I’m just…I’m not sure, yet. I don’t know if I want tobe in academia, because I don’t like it. It’s a competitive, ultra high-pressure, deadline-heavy environment that sometimes seems more aimed at perpetuating itself than at any kind of scientific improvement. Scientists are barely in the position of doing their job, and many of them seem miserable, and if I only have one life, shouldn’t I spend it doing something that will bring me joy?” I scratch my forehead. “Not that a corporate position would do that, since it has all the downsides of academia plus the goddamn fact that sometimes there’s no room for ethical considerations or to assess the social impact of—” I stop. Rub a hand down my face. Wait until I feel calm before saying, “I had two great offers. And I know you were proud of me because of it. But neither is what I want. Not right now. I’m just…not ready to commit to either career, yet.”

Eli blinks. “Maya, if you…If you need to take some time off, I can help you—”

“I’ve accepted another position. Before coming here. And for the first time in months, I’m actually excited about next year.”

“What position, Maya?”

“I’ll be teaching at an elementary school.” I swallow. “I got my certification, and…”

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