Page 77 of Problematic Summer Romance

So, yeah. She knew. I wonder if I have forgiveness in me, and…Yes. I do. But it might be wasted on this specific set of people.

On my way home, I call Conor. We’ve been on the phone a lot, mostly when I’m in my apartment, mostly for show. Our calls tend to last a while, but when Rose wanted to know what Conor and I “talk about, all the time?” I couldn’t come up with an answer.

Everything. Nothing. Some things.

“What’s up?” he asks, groggy.

“Were you sleeping?”

“I was, yes. Because it’s five in the morning.”

“Why did you pick up, then?”

“Because you called.”

“Okay, listen. I know you didn’t grow up with any digital literacy, so I’ll hold your hand as I say this. But—”

“I’m hanging up.”

“—there is this magic trick you can do with your phone, which is called silencing your notifications—”

“I gave you an emergency bypass.”

My heart skips so violently, I have to stop. Here, in the middle of a busy sidewalk. “You better take it off, or I’m going to abuse my privileges.”

“How about you just don’t, Trouble?”

“Doesn’t sound like me, though. Anyway, I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“Nah, it’s five a.m. I might as well go for my run.”

“A sentence you will never hearmeutter.” I resume walking. “Do you happen to have a chia protein smoothie before your morning exercise?”

“No.”

“After?”

No response. Yes, then.

“So, do you have a personal trainer?”

“Just a lurid student athlete past.”

“You know how to squat, hmm? That explains it, because you’re really fit—”

“Maya—”

“For your age.” A faint, rumbling grunt. I smile. “Hey, Conor?”

“Yes, Trouble?”

“I think I want to knoweverythingabout your exercise routine.”

“Why? So you can make fun of me?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He sighs.

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