Problematic Summer Romance (Not in Love, #2)(83)

“That’s not it.”

I don’t like what I’m hearing in Conor’s voice. I don’t like not knowing what the it in question refers to. “I do not keep Eli abreast of all my romantic activities. Not to mention, I’m not interested in most of the guys around me—”

“I think you should be. I think that you should…we both should focus on forming relationships with people who are more appropriate—”

“Age-appropriate?”

“That, too. Maya, let’s be blunt. Our relationship may not be romantic in nature, but the way it’s structured makes it hard to explain to others.”

“Which is the reason I’ve asked you to keep it a secret.” He insisted on coming clean. He was the one who wanted to tell Eli and the others. “They could be a guardrail,” he said—as though we needed someone to come between us. As though he were a car driving too fast, and I, the abyss waiting to swallow him ahead of a particularly sharp curve.

“Are you afraid of me?” I asked him once. And when he said, “Yes,” without hesitating, I took it as a win. A sign that things would soon change.

I’m a fucking idiot.

I take a deep, bracing breath. “This woman…Are you in love with her?”

He laughs. He actually laughs, and the hollow sound of it reminds me of who I thought Conor was before getting to know him. “Maya. Don’t misunderstand what—that’s not what this is about.”

I get no satisfaction from hearing that. “So you are kicking me out of your life for someone you don’t even love.” I close my eyes, feeling like I’m being swept under by a wave of something viscous and suffocating.

“If things do work out with her, and if it becomes serious—”

“So many ifs. You don’t sound very sure about this girl. Since you’re so unenthused, maybe you should date someone else?” The knot of lead inside me is expanding outward. My entire body feels heavier, toxic. Poison, that’s what this conversation is. “And since you think you can’t date someone and stay friends with me at the same time, maybe you should date me.” My delivery is light, but by now he’s skilled at catching the tides of my anger.

“Jesus.”

“Why not? Is she smarter than me? Is she funnier? Is she prettier than—actually, don’t answer, I don’t want to—”

“No one is, Maya,” he says, with some anger. Like I just tore the truth from him.

A rare moment of honesty between us: I bared my cards. He showed his. Now what?

“You like me,” I say, firm. I may be crying, but he doesn’t need to hear the tears in my voice. “You like talking to me. You like the way I look. You care about me. You tell me things you are unable to put into words when you are with others. You—this, what we have, as odd and limited and unusual as it may be, is the best part of our lives. Perhaps I’m just an idiot, but I cannot understand why you’d rather deprive us both of it than—”

“Because you are twenty-two years old, Maya. Because you have a whole life ahead of you. Because every last fucking thing about this is problematic. I’ve been desperately trying to navigate the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me and still be fair to you, and I can no longer see a way to do it without taking something from you. If our relationship is keeping you from experiences that you should be having at your age, then I am taking advantage, and I can no longer allow myself to—”

“I love you,” I interrupt him. Calm. Even.

I think I hear him die. “Maya.”

“I love you.”

“No.”

“I love you. And you are my best friend.”

“No.”

“I don’t care that you’re older. I don’t care that you work all the time. I don’t even care if your weird brain wants to pretend that we’re just platonic pen pals until I hit thirty. I will wait for it. I will wait for you.”

“No.”

“The only thing I care about is: Are you in love with me?”

The sound of breathing. A hitch, barely audible. “That’s irrelevant, Maya.”

I laugh. And for a split second, I actually feel happy. Hopeful. Fucking elated. All that running he’s been doing, and he can’t even lie to me. He can’t bring himself to say the one untruth that would shut me up. “Nice try.”

He ignores me. Composes himself. “Everything you just said, that’s the exact reason this needs to stop. You need to be with someone your age. Someone who doesn’t come with sets of issues that span generations. Someone who—”

“Someone who’s in his original condition! Pristine! Someone who has never experienced suffering! I need one of those collectible action figures, the ones that never get taken out of the box! Shall we check eBay?”

He steamrolls me. “It’ll be good for you, some time away from me. You’ll have room to explore—”

“I have no interest in the Camerons of this world. I have no interest in anyone but—”

“You don’t know what you’re interested in, Maya. You are far too young, and our relationship is limiting your opportunities to fully grasp the extent and variety of your options. Whatever you think you’re feeling about me—”