And today, after nearly a year of silence, he finds my eyes and says carefully: “Avery and I have not been together in months.”

“I know.” I smile through the acrid taste in my mouth. “Interesting story: Minami and Sul came over a couple of weeks ago. They started talking about you two. How it was a shame that it didn’t work out. How they thought it was just a timing issue. They’re sure that this trip will reunite you.”

Conor closes his eyes, nostrils flaring in anger. His temper, after all, is almost as quick as mine. “They all need to mind their goddamn business.”

I force myself to shrug. “I get where they’re coming from. Avery’s really nice. Age appropriate, too.”

“Maya.”

“How old is she, by the way?” It’s my turn to fold my arms. Shift into his space. This is a dangerous line of conversation. On my quest to make him hurt as much as I’m hurting, I may have misplaced my self-preservation. “I’m only asking because we both know that you consider a nonexistent age gap the core requirement of a successful relationship.”

“Maya.”

“What?” I tilt my head. “We’re friends. I think it’s only normal for me to be curious. I’d love to know what my friend likes about this girl who—”

“That’s precisely it—she’s not a girl.” Conor’s jaw shifts. When he continues, I can feel the frequency of his anger in his tone. “None of this is relevant. Avery and I are colleagues, and friends. The reason I’m here is to celebrate Eli’s wedding. I have no more interest in resuming my relationship with her, than I have with you.”

It’s a punch in the stomach. I order every muscle on my face to play statue, but that last word hits me so forcefully, I stagger backward a little.

Conor notices. He turns away, the tendons in his neck in sudden relief. “For fuck’s sake, Maya.” He runs a hand down his face. For a heartbeat, he looks as torn apart as I feel. “We last spoke almost a year ago. You were abroad for months. You are…You have everything going on for you.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” I hate how small my voice sounds.

“I expected you to have moved on.”

“Moved on from what?”

“From caring about—”

“About you, Conor?” I shake my head, laughing. Genuinely amused. “Out of curiosity, do you think that my brain is not yet able to form long-term memories? Or just that I don’t have the capacity for sustained emotions—”

“Enough,” he interrupts, sharply. Locks eyes with mine and says, “I’m going to walk out of this room with the assumption that you are high.”

“I’m not—”

“And”—he cuts me off—“by the next time we cross paths, I expect you to have come down from whatever this is and to stop acting like the childish brat you so love to remind me you aren’t.”

He spins on his heels and marches to the door.