Problematic Summer Romance (Not in Love, #2)

by Ali Hazelwood

“That’s not why Eli’s having a destination wedding, though. For one, he’s flying out everyone who can’t afford it.”

ugh he’s so perfect he’s the love of my life

The orbit of Eli’s life spins around a single center of mass: Rue,

But maybe this is the week I sanitize myself. Redact my life. Purge it all out—Conor, and all the bullshit between us. Like drinking bleach: it’s going to be unpleasant, might even kill me, but if it doesn’t, I’ll be so much stronger.

Jade is under strict instructions to wipe my devices the second I flatline.

I should act distant. Icily polite. The problem is, Avery seems really nice, and I like nice people.

Plainly, I don’t like who I used to be. I’ve been trying not to use my pain as an excuse: I behaved stupidly, and selfishly, and out of anger, and I regret a lot about my actions from approximately age twelve to…I might still be in my regret era. Certainly, I’m still trying to make amends.

Being on my own gave me the space I needed, forced me to grow up, and cleared my head in ways that I couldn’t have anticipated. At twenty, when I returned to Austin, I was a better person.

“You built a nice adulthood over the ruins of a shitty adolescence,” my therapist once said, and I enjoy the mental image of it. The idea of life as something I could choose, cultivate day by day, curate and nurture. Being mindful, instead of reactive.

I’ve always been stubborn, but this is twisted. Sclerotic. Toxic. My brain tripped on him when I was twenty, and here I am. Still. Despite all that has happened since. All those teachers telling my brother how smart I was, and here I am. So fucking dumb.

I do not sound like I want to gouge my spleen out and let the exsanguination take me, and I am proud of that.

I refuse to blame women for a dude’s worst behaviors—although

Eli met Rue and decided to cut his work hours in favor of…staring at her, I believe?

“The nice ones fall easily. And for some weird reason, the meaner I am, the harder they want me. Maybe I should just go for the third one.”

literally

I wait for a flutter of something to flap its wings in my stomach, a skipped heartbeat, a glimmer of interest—in vain. It’s been a recurring problem.

that’s so real

I never told Conor, but he had an instinct when it came to me. He knew that all I wanted was to not be alone. So he listened, and only once, late at night, a few weeks before putting an end to the calls, he said: “I wish I could bear this for you, Maya.” I believed him. Because I’m a fucking idiot.

He doesn’t deserve my emotional turmoil, or my time.

PERIOD.

“I…you’re getting a call,” I say, pointing to the phone at his side. He reaches for it, but only to turn it facedown.

She’s the first person I met who calls him Conor. Besides me, that is.

ugh i’m jealous FOR HER

They had no idea where you were, or why you were out this late. They were not worried that you weren’t answering your phone. And then I saw your face when you came in, and…” His expression is fascinating. A mix of tightly leashed control, utter chaos, and thirst for vengeance. “You know, I may have anger issues, too.” Laughter bubbles out of me. “You don’t say.”

“Oh, no,” I say. “Oh, no?” “This may have been a mistake.” “You said you loved Loudons.” “It’s not that. It’s just, you and I”—I gesture between us—“do we even have anything to talk about? I mean, you’re kinda advanced in age.” His forehead furrows, a deeply etched scowl. “I was promised food, not beration.” “Oh, I can deliver both.” I grin. Tilt my head. “It’s okay. We’ll find something. You can tell me how life was before electricity.” He gives me a stern, prolonged stare. “Just kidding. Age is nothing but a number, and all that.” He winces. “Don’t say that.” “Why?” “Because it’s what some piece of shit who hangs out in online forums with minors would say.” I laugh, but he doesn’t. Holds my eyes as he says, “Age is years of accumulated experience. Age is lessons learned.”

i love her sm she’s so funny she’s so me

“Maybe you’re about to see a lot more of me.” The thought feels oddly…organic. “We could stay in touch. Hang out. You can tell me everything about the maladjusted world of billionaire families, and I can let you know with whom my weekly boyfriend is cheating on me. That stuff.” He grins. The widest one I’ve gotten from him yet. “Sounds like a plan.”

“How long ago did you and Minami break up?” “In grad school. Well over ten years.” He rests his fork on the side of his plate. Sits back, like he’s waiting for me to continue my third degree. “Why?” “I asked her to marry me.” “Oh.”

the way my jaw just dropped to the floor

“How do you have four hundred and thirty-seven unread emails?” “I know, right? I’ve been pretty good at keeping the number low, lately.” He seems bemused.

SHES SO MEEE

“Here, look at this text. I’d forgotten that it’s my friend Sami’s birthday. We’re meeting at a pub to celebrate tonight—Alfie and Georgia included.” I give Conor my most sardonic smile. “I know, I know, you’re probably thinking—Maya, I cannot believe you get to have all the fun. But don’t worry, Sami has already heard about you and you are invited, so—” “I’ll go,” he says, before stuffing his face with a mouthful of toast. I slow-blink at him. “No, I didn’t mean…This is after you leave. And I’ll be fine. Last night I wasn’t doing so hot, but I’m feeling better. I can handle Alfie and Georgia—” “I don’t trust your friends.” God. I no longer do, either. “But what about your plane ticket? Can you change it that close to departure?” He stares at me, chewing, waiting for me to reach one of two realizations: either he doesn’t care about the money, or he chartered a plane. Fuck the plankton, I guess? “You…” Don’t have to, I start to say. But I bet Conor Harkness lives by the knowledge that he’s not forced to do shit. And if he stayed a little longer, if I got to hang out with him a few more hours… Wouldn’t that be fun?

i’m obsessed.

Then again, even as he helps her, his eyes are often on me.

mhm good😒

I can barely keep my eyes open, but Conor silently slides his sunglasses over the bridge of my nose. They probably cost more than my master’s degree. I debate accidentally stepping on them, just to see his reaction.

ugh enough i can’t take it anymore 😣🤚

Mount Etna. I think about the men and women who built this theater. The Greeks who sailed all the way over here and found the place too beautiful to leave, the Romans who joined them, the Arabs and the Normans and the House of Bourbon. The world is so big, and we are just clumps of atoms. What’s a tiny little bit of heartbreak, when faced with the vastness of mankind? Does it matter that a love is unrequited, if the universe started with a hot fireball and will end the same way?

The one thing I can control is being kind to those who are kind to me.

I’ve been developing a theory about him, which is still half-baked, but here goes: The smooth manner in which he conducts himself, the ease as he walks about the world, is only superficial. He has learned how to be congenial and businesslike, but that’s just the surfacing tip of the iceberg. Deep down there is something else. Wilderness, maybe. A block of ice. A lot of control, for sure.

The worst part is, I am the one he should be hanging out with. He keeps looking in my direction, maybe bored, maybe just checking in. We both know that if it was just the two of us, we’d be having way more fun. Like we did today. Sorry, I text him from my table. When he reads the message he turns toward me to mouth, You better be, and I don’t hide my grin.

ugh this is so cute whatever 😐.

we spent the day together. It wasn’t the plan. I stood from our table at Loudons expecting to go our separate ways. It wasn’t premeditated, the way I tugged at his shirt and asked, “Hey, there are usually rowers on the river at this time, on Saturdays. Want me to take you?” He did. We went. Sat on the grass a little off the walkway and criticized the rowers’ form. “I can’t believe the angle of their grip on the paddle,” I said, disgusted. “So amateurish.”

“Why do you do that?” he asked. “What?” “Interrupt yourself before finishing a thought.”

Maybe, I thought, I miss home more than I realized. He received a lot of calls throughout the day. Most he declined. Some, he sighed and said, “Sorry, I have to take this.”

She waves her palm, dismissive. “I refuse to acknowledge the existence of children unless it’s absolutely necessary. They produce terrible noises and even more terrible smells, but society lets them get away with it just because they’re cute. It’s obscene how whipped they have us.

“Did you know, Maya?” “Know what?” “That Tamryn is Hark’s stepmother.” “I…” I shake my head, disoriented.

I FUCKING KNEW ITTTTTT

“Dude, this is what I hate about rich old white men.” Nyota sags forward. “They never fail to embody the stereotype, and they’re so damn boring. They have their little midlife crises, and do they decide to invest in sustainability projects? Do they publicly advocate for women’s reproductive rights? Nope, they get married to a girl who was barely potty trained by the time they’d embezzled their first million.” Her gaze sharpens. “It wasn’t a love match, was it?” “I highly doubt it,” Tisha says. “Then, please, tell me that she did it.” “Did what?” “Killed him. Tell me that stepmommy sprinkled arsenic and cinnamon on musty grandpa’s oatmeal.” Tisha snorts. “From everything I’ve heard about the guy, he had it coming.” “Then I hope it was slow and painful and undignified. And I hope her name was all over the will. Being a trophy wife should always be a well-remunerated job, but being a trophy wife to a dickhead? I need her to be filthy rich.”

i love Nyota so much

“Nice to see that people are recovering,” I say, pouring myself some freshly squeezed orange juice. “I don’t know.” Tamryn shrugs. “I miss feeling one with the plumbing system. The sense of belonging that came with it.” “Really made me reconnect with my spirituality,” Nyota agrees.

The one person I can always count on is Jade. We’ve been close since our figure-skating days, and even though we fell off while I was in Edinburgh, she never seems to hold it against me. Sometimes we fight, but we always get over ourselves. She is what Minami and Conor are for Eli: My ride or die. The one I’d do an airport run for. The one I’d drop everything for if she asked me to be there, whether it’s to help her bury a body, or to be her witness when she elopes with…a toadstool, probably.

“Listen, choose MIT. Come to Boston. You’d be an obnoxiously close train ride to New York and to me. We’d hang out every weekend. Being spotted with an academic would considerably lower my social cachet, but I’d take the hit for you.”

“When I was your age I made a lot of stupid decisions, mostly out of fear and pressure.” I sit forward, elbows on the table. Study the crawl of freckles on her cheeks. “Did it feel like it, at the moment? Like you were making the wrong choice?” “Funny you should ask, because…Yeah. A little. This nagging feeling that…it didn’t feel natural, if you get my meaning. It’s so easy to mess up, if you’re not listening to yourself.

Her expression clears, and she leans closer. “Sorry, I…we just met, and I shouldn’t speak like I know you. But Conor told me a lot about you.” I let out a scoffing laugh. “I’m surprised. That he speaks about me.” “Are you?” Her eyes meet mine, knowing. Level. There’s a shared secret there. Her voice is low, for me only. “You shouldn’t be, Maya. I’ve known about you for years. Conor and I are very close. What’s important to him, he tells me.”

i love her she’s such a girls girl

As I vomit in Conor’s pristine bathroom, he holds my hair back and rubs his large palm against my spine.

don’t pmo 😔.

He lets out a single, bitter laugh. Takes several angry steps closer, pointing his finger at me. “Of course I fucking want you. You are stupidly beautiful, and too fucking smart for your own good, and I refuse to go there, Maya.”

omgggg

Eli’s purpose in life appears to be keeping Rue happy, rested, and well fed, so I’m not surprised when his activity of choice for the night is a pasta-making lesson.

what a man

How. Dare. He. But in the following days, the gifts continue. A necklace. Three fantasy books. New Post-its and a fancy umbrella. Flowers. A set of plush towels. An Xbox. Sneakers that, the internet informs me, I could resell on eBay if I ever wanted the starting capital for a new life.

goals

“When I said to call me if you need anything, I meant—” “If I needed a kidney, or a rec letter for an internship, or five hundred thousand dollars. I know. But what if I want to…” A dramatic pause, for effect. “Talk.” “We shouldn’t—” “Talk?” I can almost see him leaning back in his chair. How long does it take to memorize someone’s mannerisms? Could it be less than forty-eight hours? “This is highly…” “Fun? Joy-inducing? Welcome?” “Problematic.” I huff. “What does ‘problematic’ even mean? It’s way too broad a term. Variable definitions.” “You know exactly what it means.”

On my way home, I call Conor. We’ve been on the phone a lot, mostly when I’m in my apartment, mostly for show. Our calls tend to last a while, but when Rose wanted to know what Conor and I “talk about, all the time?” I couldn’t come up with an answer. Everything. Nothing. Some things.

“Were you sleeping?” “I was, yes. Because it’s five in the morning.” “Why did you pick up, then?” “Because you called.” “Okay, listen. I know you didn’t grow up with any digital literacy, so I’ll hold your hand as I say this. But—” “I’m hanging up.” “—there is this magic trick you can do with your phone, which is called silencing your notifications—” “I gave you an emergency bypass.” My heart skips so violently, I have to stop. Here, in the middle of a busy sidewalk. “You better take it off, or I’m going to abuse my privileges.” “How about you just don’t, Trouble?” “Doesn’t sound like me, though. Anyway, I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“I think I want to know everything about your exercise routine.” “Why? So you can make fun of me?” “Yeah, of course.” He sighs. And then he tells me.

The first option requires courage, the second, maturity, and the third, wisdom. I lack all three.

yk what me too girl