Love, Theoretically

“Milk?” “Whole?” Jack asks. “Two percent.” “Keep your white water.”

“I think,” he drawls, “I just heard your head explode.”

There is no universe in which I’m going to let you go. I want to be with you, on you, every second of every day. I think—I dream of crazy things. I want you to marry me tomorrow so you can go on my health insurance. I want to lock you in my room for a couple of weeks. I want to buy groceries based on what you like. I want to play it cool, like I’m

“They had some . . . disagreement over their joint research. He was intensely controlling. She refused to abide. You can imagine the rest.”

“You could be my entire world,” he whispers in my ear before moving to my collarbone. “If you let me.”

“I just look. Try to pay attention to what people want.” “That’s what I do. Except that I don’t care much about most people, but I can’t stop paying attention to you.” He shrugs. There is something so utterly, disarmingly honest about him. “So I look.”

Ah yes: the neighbors’ dog has been defecating on my lawn again. I’m considering hiring someone to go defecate on theirs. Would either of you be interested?”

“I didn’t know you two talked,” Monica says, looking skeptically between us. “I learned a few years ago,” Jack tells her calmly, staring only at me. She’s little more than a fly buzzing around us. “And Elsie’s in the process of mastering the art of speaking for herself.”

“Say it,” he orders. “What?” “What you’re thinking.” “I’m not—” “Say it.” “Really, I’m—” “Say it.” “Cheese,” I almost yell.