Page 1 of Problematic Summer Romance

Prologue

It shames me to admit it, but for a brief period I seriously consider not showing up to my brother’s wedding.

“Does Eli know?” my friend Jade asks.

“That I’d rather hug the floor of a lavatory than be present while he exchanges vows with the love of his life?”

“No. That youoverheardhim.”

I shake my head, eyes glued to my skates. I like to pretend that the ice is the thing I would have been better off not knowing, and that I’m stabbing it over and over with my blades. A little violence never failed to brighten my mood.

“Maya, just don’t go. It should be easy enough to skip. Isn’t that the whole concept behind having a destination wedding? You discharge your familial duty by inviting everyone you’ve ever met—including creepy, doll-collecting aunts and the third cousin who gives sweaty hugs—while fully expecting that ninety percent of your acquaintances will send their regrets and refuse to show up.For real, if people had thousands of dollars to blow on a vacation, they wouldn’t use it to go eat shitty fondant cake at a location picked by someone else.”

“In theory, yeah.” It would be so much more satisfying if the ice bled, just a little. “That’s not why Eli’s having a destination wedding, though. For one, he’s flying out everyone who can’t afford it.” Which is me, mostly. My brother is older than I am, and has a very remunerative job—two qualities he shares with every other person on the guest list.

Not everyone can be like me, part of the glitzy, rarefied world of graduate students.

“Hang on. Isn’t the wedding in fucking Italy? That’s a lot of money.”

“Yeah, well. He has it.”

“Still. Can’t he just hoard it?” She pretends to gag. “I hate generous people.”

“Un-fucking-bearable.” I spin backward, arms out angel-wide. “It’s an intimate thing, anyway. Less than a dozen close friends for the week leading up to the wedding. About thirty more flying in for the rehearsal dinner. The other day I had this moment of weakness—notproud of it—and lied to Eli about having to stay longer in Austin for my final interview for that MIT project. Told him that I’d only be able to join them later, for the ceremony.” I sigh. Let myself fall back in step with Jade. The rink around us is nearly deserted, and the ice gleams white under the ceiling lights.

“And?”

“And, he stared at me like I’d pinched his dog, told him that the tooth fairy doesn’t exist, and tried to slide my foot up his ass. All at once. The look of sheerbetrayal.”

“Howdarehe value your presence to this extent?”

“I wasenraged. Here I am, thinking that my brother and I are both soulless, pragmatic people who don’t put stock in ceremonies. It’s not like I’mnotplanning to harass him and his new bride for the next five to eight decades.”

“Clearly, being in love has mellowed him past your direst suspicions. But do not fret, my friend.” Jade swirls to a stop in front of me, blocking my path. “You’ve come to the right person. I haveplentyof experience in bullshitting my way out of things.”

“Right. Let’s hear it.”

“The most effective way to avoid a commitment is an ailment—one that meets threeC’s.” She ticks off her finger. “Cringe. Contagious. And, above all, quick.”

I blink. She does not falter.

“Your illness must befall you so suddenly, you could not have anticipated it. It must be transmittable to others and prevent you from traveling. Most important, it must be embarrassing. I’m talking purulent itches. Odors.Fluids. It has to be so devoid of grace, no one would believe that you’re telling a lie, because why would you destroy your own good name—”

“Jade.” I take her hands in mine. “Thank you. This ispricelessinformation.”

“You’re welcome. I’ve been thinking of running a workshop.”

“But, I didn’t tell you about this because I wanted to brainstorm ways to avoid showing up.”

“Oh. Really?”

I take a deep breath. “If my brother wants me at his wedding, I’m going. End of story.”

“Ah. I see.” A deep sigh. “Remember when you used to hate him?”

“Yup. I miss those times more than ever.” I force myself to shrug. “But it’s just a week. Honestly, I’m being a crybaby.”

“You sure?”

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