“Have you considered that maybe you’re already the way I want you to be? That maybe there are no signals because nothing needs to be changed?”

I scoff. Here he is, the Jack I’ve come to know and loathe. “Right. Sure.”

“Once again,” he says, tone oddly gentle, “what happened to you, Elsie?”

“Seriously? What happened to—” My hand is still under his. I lift my chin, bringing our faces that much closer. “This is what happened to me, Jack: a little over six months ago, I go meet my date’s family for the first time. And maybe we aren’t really together, but you know what? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that since the very start, my date’s brother is an absolute prick. He keeps staring at me like I’m Ginger Spice crashing the royal wedding. He asks his brother questions about me because he thinks I’m inferior and unworthy. He acts unfriendly and suspicious whenever I’m around. I think we can both agree that given the opportunity, he’d want to change the shit out of me.”

The last part comes out more aggressively than I meant, but—whatever. I’m mad now, growing exponentially madder as I watch Jack nod slowly, as though considering my words. “Well, that’s an interpretation.” Heat radiates through me from his grip. It warms my belly, licks up my spine, reminds me how close we’ve somehow gravitated.

“It’s facts,” I hiss.

“You’re a physicist, Elsie. You should know better than to throw around the word fact when quantum mechanics exists.”

“What’s your interpretation, then?”

He says nothing for a long moment, as if collecting his thoughts or deciding whether I’m worth his words. Then something shifts. The air in the room becomes thicker. His Adam’s apple bobs, his eyes fix on mine, and he starts talking.

“A little over six months ago, I go to a family birthday expecting the usual night of misery. I’m only there for my brother, because I can count on two fingers the relatives I care about, and he’s one of them. We usually stick together, but this dinner is different. My brother brings a date. A woman he’s never spoken about—weird, since we talk nearly every day. The family, especially his mom, are thrilled.” Jack’s grip on my hand shifts. Softens. My fingers are still on his chest, half-pressed against his heart. My own has begun to thump in a hesitant, bracing way.

“She’s beautiful, the girl. Really beautiful. There are lots of beautiful women in the world, and if you can believe it, it’s not something I usually notice, but I’m paying more attention to her than I otherwise would. Someone pulls Greg away before he has a chance to introduce me yet. But I watch her touch my grandmother’s Go board and pick up one of the stones the traditional way, index and middle finger. I watch her sneak a bite of cheese. At some point, I’m almost sure she says something that no one but me understands as a Heisenberg principle joke. And then, when my brother comes back . . . that’s when it starts for me. Because I watch her run interference between him and my family in a way I’ve never managed—and believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve spent thirty years of my life trying to protect him from their bullshit, and this girl. She just does it better. I’ve never seen him so . . . happy’s not the right word, but he seems at ease. And as the night goes on, I can’t stop looking at her, and I realize something: she’s hypervigilant. Constantly thinking two steps ahead. Anticipating others’ needs, like people are equations that need to be solved in real time. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and . . .” He shrugs, free hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. Like he’s still puzzled. My chest is getting heavy, the air in my lungs suddenly leaden.

“That night I get home. Go to bed. Cannot sleep till I admit to myself that I’m jealous. Or envious. A mix. My brother’s settling down, keeping secrets, and we’re close, so I’m not used to it. And the girl . . . Maybe it’s how good she is with the person I care about the most. Maybe I have a type, and she just happens to embody it. But . . . well, I’m reacting to her more than I can remember ever doing. With anyone. I’m having some . . . complicated feelings, but I force myself to get over them. Push them out of my head. I am, briefly, successful. Then there’s Labor Day.

“She passes out in my arms. No explanation. She acts like nothing happened, and goes back to that personality twisting of hers. She does beg me not to tell Greg, though, and it has me wondering if this is not a solid relationship.” His voice is getting lower, deeper, and his eyes move into the middle distance, like he’s taking a step backward inside himself. Our hands must have shifted, because my palm is flat under his. I wonder whether he’s aware. I wonder why I don’t pull free. “And that’s when I realize how much of a piece of shit I am. Because she’s obviously good for my brother, but I am relieved that their relationship might not go anywhere. And I’d love to lie to myself and come up with a valid excuse, but the truth is, it’s because I’m a shithead. It’s because I want her for myself. I want to . . . I don’t even fucking know. I want to take her to dinner, make sure she’s relaxed, make sure she doesn’t feel like she needs to think two steps ahead. I want to know why she can hold a Go stone. And I really, really want to . . . well. I’ll spare you the graphic details. I’m sure you can imagine.”

His smile is small and rueful. My stomach is tight, tied in a million knots, and I’m hot. Hot all over.

“Avoiding her is the best course of action. I don’t mind skipping family functions, and my brother never talks about her. It’s like he forgets that she exists, which is weird, because I can’t stop thinking about her. I ask questions, even though I shouldn’t. I have a couple of really wrong, really messy dreams—about my brother’s girlfriend. When I see her again after a while, at my grandmother’s birthday, it’s not any better. It’s worse—but I’m never going to act on it. It’ll go away, I know it. When I find out that she’s not who she said she is, I’m mad—really mad, because Greg’s the best person I know and does not deserve this shit. But I’m also a little relieved.” He looks at me again. “You know why, Elsie?”

There’s something disarmingly, devastatingly self-confident about Jack. About the way he laid out all these facts without hesitating, as though owning his feelings is first and second nature. I study the glint of the lamp hitting his golden hair and wonder why this man would even bother thinking of me. He’s figured out my entire game. I came to him empty handed.

My muscles feel numb. I shake my head with difficulty.

“I’m relieved because whatever thing I have for her, it’ll go away. It won’t survive knowing that she lied. Except that I didn’t account for having to watch her talk about physics, or read her work. I didn’t account for having to spend two days with her and finding out that she is . . .” He smiles at me. Gentle. Resigned. “Spectacular.”

There is a loud noise, but neither of us looks that way. We’re locked too tight into each other, bound to whatever this thick, starved, voracious moment between us is.

Until we hear, “Guys, why does pee smell bad after you eat asparagus?”

I glance at Greg, who is—

“Naked!” I yelp, twisting my neck to turn away.

“Dude.” Jack’s voice is hoarse. He’s shaking his head. “Where the hell are your clothes?”

“Lost them. Hey, remember when we tried to see who could piss the farthest away?”

Jack winces and takes a step away from me. His hand holds on to mine for just a second longer, and then, all of a sudden, the room is cold and drafty.

“I should probably . . .” I start.

He gives me a weighty look. “Go home.”

“Yup.” I find my phone while Jack whispers “Let’s take this to the bathroom, buddy?” and I slip out as I hear something about “asparapee.”