The Love Hypothesis

Here they were. Doing this, again. Dammit.

She let her eyes wander away, because—no. Not anymore. “How was the interview?”

“Good. Just day one, though.”

“Of how many?”

“Too many.” He sighed. “I have grant meetings with Tom scheduled, too.”

Tom. Right. Of course. Of course—this was why she was here. To explain to him that—

“Thank you for coming out,” he said, voice quiet and earnest. As though by hopping on a train and agreeing to see him, Olive had given him a great deal of pleasure. “I figured you might be busy with your friends.”

She shook her head. “No. Anh’s out with Jeremy.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking genuinely regretful for her, and it took Olive several moments to recall her lie, and his assumption that she was in love with Jeremy. Only a few weeks earlier, but it already seemed so long ago, when she hadn’t been able to imagine anything worse than Adam discovering her feelings for him. It sounded so foolish after everything that had happened in the past few days. She should really come clean, but what was the point now? Let Adam think what he liked. It would serve him better than the truth, after all.

“And Malcolm is with . . . Holden.”

“Ah, yes.” He nodded, looking exhausted.

Olive briefly fantasized about Holden texting Adam the equivalent of what Olive and Anh had been subjected to for the past two hours, and smiled. “How bad is it?”

“Bad?”

“This thing between Malcolm and Holden?”

“Ah.” Adam leaned his shoulder against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. “I think it can be very good. For Holden, at least. He really likes Malcolm.”

“Did he tell you?”

“He hasn’t shut up about it.” He rolled his eyes. “Did you know that Holden is secretly twelve?”

She laughed. “So is Malcolm. He dates a lot, and he’s usually good at managing expectations, but this thing with Holden—I had a sandwich for lunch and he randomly volunteered that Holden is allergic to peanuts. It wasn’t even PB and J!”

“He’s not allergic, he fakes it because he doesn’t like nuts.” He massaged his temple. “This morning I woke up to a haiku about Malcolm’s elbows. Holden had texted it at three a.m.”

“Was it good?”

He lifted one eyebrow, and she laughed again.

“They are . . .”

“The worst.” Adam shook his head. “But I think Holden might need it. Someone to care about, who also cares about him.”

“Malcolm, too. I’m just . . . concerned that he might want more than Holden is willing to offer?”

“Believe me, Holden is very ready to file taxes jointly.”

“Good. I’m glad.” She smiled. And then felt her smile fade, just as quickly. “One-sided relationships are really . . . not good.” I would know. And maybe you would, too.

He studied his own palm, undoubtedly thinking about the woman Holden had mentioned. “No. No, they’re not.”

It was a weird kind of ache, the jealousy. Confusing, unfamiliar, not something she was used to. Half cutting, half disorienting and aimless, so different from the loneliness she’d felt since she was fifteen. Olive missed her mother every day, but with time she’d been able to harness her pain and turn it into motivation for her work. Into purpose. Jealousy, though . . . the misery of it didn’t come with any gain. Only restless thoughts, and something squeezing at her chest whenever her mind turned to Adam.

“I need to ask you something,” he said. The seriousness of his tone made her look up.

“Sure.”