Page 128 of Problematic Summer Romance

“You deserve it, since you made it your cause célèbre for this long.”

He can’t quite swallow his smile. And neither can I.

“Is it because of what Rue said?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“This morning, when she thanked Eli for being patient with her…Is that why you changed your mind?”

“No, Maya. Not at all. It was last night. Everything you said, I…” He shakes his head. “I think I knew all of it. The bits and pieces. When I told you that my decision to stay away from you was something that I had to renegotiate with myself every day, I didn’t lie. And every day my brain would come up with new reasons, insist thatmaybeI could allow myself to be with you, and I’d have to talk myself out of it. I’ve debated us in my head a thousand times, and I always took the side that wanted to shield you from a relationship with someone like me. And then, last night, you made me realize that none of my fucking bullet points mattered. I was trying to protect you from something that you never even considered a threat, when the only thing that really matters is…”

“The triumph of the free market?”

“You.” His laugh is soft. “The unregulated market can fuck a traffic cone, for all I care.”

I sit back in my chair. Study him. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Good.”

A slow nod. “Good.”

“So.” I try to sound solemn. Pretend there aren’t fireworks blowing up all over my body. “Since my brother is too busy sex-marathoning his new wife to assure the preservation of my honor, you’ll forgive me if I ask you a few questions.”

“By all means.” He gestures at me, confident.

“What are your intentions?”

A crease forms between his eyebrows. “Regarding…?”

“Well, we’re not dating, because you are too busy protesting American hegemony in all its forms and ideals. Am I your girlfriend, then?”

A nearly imperceptible pause. “If you want to be.”

“Stop saying—what wouldyoulike?”

“I…sure. I’d love for you to be my girlfriend.”

“Excuse me, but that doesn’t sound enthusiastic.”

“It is. I am.”

“If you just want to be fuckbuddies, you can say so.”

“I don’t—no, Maya.”

“I just don’t understand what it is that you—”

“I want to get married.”

All of a sudden, he’s leaning forward. A challenging, burning, searching light in his eyes.

I blink. Many, many times. “Well.”

“Yeah.” A sigh. “I’d love to get married tomorrow. But you are turning twenty-four in three months, and as I have been repeating ad nauseam, I am thirty-eight. The age difference is not your fault, and you shouldn’t be rushed into important milestones just because of…”

“Your geriatric status?”

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