“It’s okay, but…?”

A deep sigh. He glances away, laughing, irritated, needled. I love him. He’s stubborn, thinks he always knows best, has no clue how to talk about his emotions, and he’ll probably be a pain to have as a boyfriend.

I cannot wait for our first real fight. I cannot wait for the rest of our lives.

“I just—” He stops. At last, restarts. “I just really need to be, at the very least, in the same fucking country as you.”

I smile. Hug my knees to my chest, trying to keep all the warmth his words generated inside me. “Tell me more,” I say.

Conor: You cannot do that

Maya: What?

Conor: You know what.

Maya: Do I?

Maya: Wait. Is this about the thing I sent?

Conor: You know it is.

Maya: So, I’m not allowed to send you photos?

Maya: I’m confused.

Conor: You have never been confused a day in your life.

I grin.

Maya: First time for everything.

Maya: I just don’t get what the issue is. Do you think this is a copyright infringement situation? Because maybe it’s not clear, since you can’t see my face, but the picture was a selfie. It’s my intellectual property.

Conor: Maya.

Maya: I own it. Legally. And I am of age.

Maya: Why? Did you not like it?

Maya: Are you saying that I’m ugly?

Conor: Are you trying to give me an aneurism?

Maya: Listen, use it as you will

Maya: If you don’t want to look at it, you can always delete it.

Conor: I’m not going to fucking delete it.

Maya: But what you’re saying is that I should absolutely not send you more, wearing less?

Conor: Fuck.

Eli and Rue return before Conor, tanned and relaxed and loose-limbed, smiling like they’re high on the most magical cocktail of uppers and downers, not yet ready to start keeping their hands off each other.

“I’m going back to my apartment,” I yell five minutes after Eli deposits his suitcases at the foot of the stairs. I stuff the bag of loukoumi they brought back under my arm, and sigh when I receive no acknowledgment.

“It’s so lonely at my place,” I tell Conor later, phone wedged between my shoulder and ear as I cut tomatoes. “The AC is about to crap out. I have no plants—no dogs. I should get one. Oooh, should I get a cat? Austin Pets Alive! always has the cutest—”

“Where’s Jade?”

“At her parents’ for the next two weeks.” I sigh. “It’s okay. I have plenty to do, I just miss having pets, and—”

“Go to my place.”

I stop midchop. “Do you have a secret ferret I don’t know about?”

“No.”

“Then how would that change anything? Your house is still deserted, and—”

“My AC works. And I have an alarm. It’d be safer. My bed is probably more comfortable than yours, housekeeping comes once a week, I have a large TV—”