“You’re too kind.”

“Oh, I’m not. I’m not even kind enough. I’ve just made similar mistakes. What I don’t get is, why should you not feel angry about them bringing their relationship inside your house?”

“Because,” I say. I hope he reads in my tone that what I really mean is: fuck off.

“Because…?”

“I don’t know. I was—I shouldn’t have yelled at them.”

“Among all the blows being dealt, here, that seems like the least egregious.”

“I know, but…I have anger-management issues.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. With some people. Not everyone. I don’t, you know, get mad at the customer service guy at Costco.”

“Is Costco in Scotland?”

“Yeah. For a while now.”

“But you don’t berate their workers.”

“No, I…” I swallow. “It’s mostly with people I care about. When I feel hurt by them, I tend to lash back.”

“Hmm. Right. You drove Eli absolutely off his rocker when you were a teenager, didn’t you?”

I laugh. “I may have, and look where it got me. He and I barely talk. But when I moved here, I decided that I wanted to become a better version of myself. And since most of my issues boil down to how angry I always am, I started doing all that shit. Therapy. Journaling. Identifying triggers. And it works, for the most part. But now I…I’m furious at them, and I can’t figure out if this is me backsliding, or a righteous, legitimate feeling. Should I just bottle this up? I just…I wanted Scotland Maya to be grounded and easygoing and carefree, but…”

“It sounds like Scotland Maya is more like a plastic doll than a real person.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. The night air is getting cold. “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Scotland Maya is a bit of a pick-me.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s just a…” I sigh. What the hell am I doing, playing thesaurus for Conor Harkness? “Listen, I’m gonna hang up now. And…”

“Are you going to do something daft?”

“What? No. It’s not like that. I’ll just…I’ll go home, I guess.”

“To your roommate. And your ex.”

“Yeah. I…Yeah.” I rub my face. “Actually, maybe I’ll go to the library for a couple of hours. Just to maximize my chances that they’ll be asleep.”

“Maya.” It’s so weird, hearing him use my name. “I can find you another place to stay in a second.”

“Are you handy with Booking.com?”

“No, but I have an executive assistant at my beck and call.”

I shouldn’t laugh, especially considering that Conor Harkness must be a bitch and a half to work for. “The problem is, that is my apartment. And I have a couple of months left in the semester. And my graduation ceremony—I have first-class honors. I worked hard for it. I’m not going to drop out of my life, or even out of our shared D&D campaign. I’m n-not going to run away like I’m the one who s-should be ashamed.”

“You shouldn’t,” he agrees. Like no more obvious sentiment has ever been stated.