Page 130 of Problematic Summer Romance

“Oh, yeah.”

“Like what?”

“I believe it’s called gerontophilia?”

“Fuck off, Maya.”

I try to keep my laughter down, but it’s not working. The waiter turns to us, a confused smile as he watches Conor rub his eyes. Me, cracking up.

“Just to clear the air,” I whisper, leaning closer, “I’m not really a gerontophile. You’re the only older person I want to have sex with.”

“Yeah? Good.” His cheeks are still pink. “I also haven’t fantasized about getting other women pregnant.”

“Really?” He shakes his head. “Never?”

“Never.”

“Did you and Minami not…?”

“No. We were younger when we were together—even though…” He snorts. “Still older than you are right now? But she had a pregnancy scare once.”

“And?”

“It turned out that she was just late. Constantly overworked and stressed out by our supervisor. But it got us thinking about families, and we talked about it. I realized that I didn’t think I wanted kids.”

“But…now you do?” I try to wrap my head around it. “Do you think you just weren’t ready?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just that when I think about doing something with you, it feels like an adventure. Climbing a mountain, having a family, moving to another country…I don’t do well with change, Maya. I like to control my environment and limit the unknown. But I woke up a couple of years ago and realized that you’d completely flipped that for me.”

“Why?”

“Because no matter what, or where, or when, you would make it spectacular. Whatever situation, you’d make it worth living. I’d get up and you’d be there, looking beautiful and saying the most annoying things and driving me nuts and making me laugh. And I would love every second of it. Because it’s with you. And you are…” The way his lips curl is internal. Like he’s sorting out the thoughts in his head. “You’re trouble. Aconstantstream of trouble.”

It’s my turn to lower my eyes. To take a deep breath. “You know, Eli came to see me last night. Before we…Before. He told me to go easy on you.”

Conor sighs. Amused. Unbothered.

“Do you feel…Now that he finally knows, do you feel safer? Like that guardrail is finally in place?”

“No. I don’t. I never…It was a stupid idea, that the people around me could protect me from my feelings. But in my defense,for a while there, I didn’t think I was in love.” My eyebrow must arch, because he continues: “It was too all-consuming. Too gut-wrenching. And I thought—I thought, ‘I’ve been in love before. This is not what that felt like.’

“And then I realized that I simply hadn’t known what love was supposed to feel like, but I still couldn’t accept the risk of being with you and screwing up your life, so I told myself that love wasn’t enough. I kept moving the goalpost. I kept drawing new lines. And…you asked what changed between last night and this morning: you made me realize that some lines should be left where they’ve been drawn. And if we move past them…” His fingers curl around my cheek, thumb brushing back and forth. “Then so be it.”

The city centeris beautiful, even if overrun with tourists. A rabble of unique objects everywhere I turn, mosaics and churches, fountains and vistas, religious shrines covered in flowers and the most gorgeous foods. Stray cats nap on their windowsill perches. Hand-painted signs beckon us toward trattorias and stores selling jewelry made of dark, volcanic stone. After lunch, Conor buys me marzipan and lemonade, and a dozen new trinkets with the tripod flag on them.

“It’s my new favorite thing,” I explain. “I’m going to bring back one for everyone I know. And five for Jade.”

“You are…”

“What?”

“A deeply weird person,” he says, and then he’s kissing me again, one hand on the small of my back, the other at my nape.

“My friend Des taught me how to haggle,” I offer. “I could get it cheaper.”

“Absolutely no.”

“But it’sfun.” He nods when I gasp, point at a street performer, say, “Ilovethis piece. Do you have any cash?”

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