The Love Hypothesis

by Laura Steven

  Instead we chat about MIT while we watch a program on the Great Filter.

  If you haven’t heard of it, the Great Filter is a theory about why the universe seems so filled with potential for life, yet we haven’t really found any outside our own. It posits that somewhere between pre-life and an advanced civilization capable of colonizing the stars, there’s a Great Filter that stops them and ends life.

  This could mean one of three things. Either we’ve already passed the Great Filter, unlike other civilizations on other planets. Or we’re the first, meaning conditions in the universe are only now life-friendly, and we’re among many on our way to the capability of colonization. Or we haven’t hit the Filter yet, meaning we are, for lack of a better word, fucked. If this one is true, it means finding life or proof of life on Mars or Europa would be awful news because it would almost certainly mean the Filter is still ahead of us instead of behind us.

  Caro Kerber-Murphy: here with your daily dose of existential doom.

  A bit like my obsession with black holes, Leo loves theories about other life forms in the universe, and the reason we haven’t made contact with aliens yet. His favorite is the Fermi Paradox, which goes like this: say there’s an anthill in the middle of the forest. And right next to the anthill, humans are building a ten-lane super-highway. Would the ants be able to understand what a ten-lane super-highway is? Would the ants be able to understand the technology and the intentions of the beings building the highway next to them? Probably not.

  So, when humans are searching for alien life, we’re the ants. It’s not that we can’t pick up the signals from Planet X – it’s that we can’t even comprehend what the beings from Planet X are, or what they’re trying to do. Our brains and our technologies just aren’t advanced enough.

  Honestly, my brother has a lot of flaws, but a low IQ is not one of them. I’m always surprised he chose ChemEng over physics, because he’s like me – obsessed with big ideas and how we can prove them.

  Big ideas like love, and what it really is.

  I remember what I hypothesized earlier, about love being a form of dark energy; an indecipherable catalyst for growth. I posit my theory to Leo, keeping Keiko’s name out of it, maintaining perfect academic objectivity. Kind of.

  Leo is silent as he mulls this over, the light of his TV flickering over his face. His emotional intelligence is not great, so I’m genuinely curious as to what his reaction will be. Eventually, he rubs the bridge of his nose and says, ‘I believe it was Professor Lawrence Krauss who once stated that we kill the universe every time we look at dark energy. According to his theory, we keep the universe unstable and decrease its lifespan as we continuously observe it.’

  His meaning goes unsaid: we do the same to love. The more we study it, poke holes in it, try to reduce it to a formula . . . the more damage we do.

  Whoa.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say quietly. ‘That helps.’

  ‘Are you in love, Caro?’ he asks, and it surprises me, because he’s not theorizing about my molecular makeup but instead about an actual human experience.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘Maybe I’ve been overthinking it.’

  The next day, my heart hammers in my throat as I walk down the hallway to my locker.

  Nobody looks.

  Mateo, Nafisa and Zane are arguing about a chess tournament outside study hall, and none of them see me as I pass.

  Samira and Khalil continue to make out without interruption.

  Ryan delivers the egg and cheese bagel to Gabriela’s locker. He doesn’t look up as I walk past, but she does, and smiles kindly before turning back to him. I remember what I thought back in the diner, about how you can still appreciate someone’s beauty even if you have a romantic partner. It’s when you act on it that it’s a problem. And even though Ryan was kind of a jerk that night, in more ways than just ogling me, I’m glad their relationship survived it. Gabriela deserves to be happy, and most of the time, that’s exactly what Ryan makes her.

  Mr Chikomborero nods to me, but in a way that suggests he’s impressed by my running and/or the ability to channel the Holy Spirit – not because he’s aroused in any way.

  The pills are out of my system. Everyone ignores me the way they used to.

  And it feels strangely like . . . a relief. Like I’m free to just exist.

  A deep sense of rightness comes over me. This is how it was always meant to be. Some of the tension, the pressure, that has been building in me over the last however many weeks starts to dissolve.

  And yet despite it all, I’m desperately afraid. I’m afraid that this self-worth I’ve found will fade over time without the pheromone boost. I’m afraid that being rejected by Haruki will reopen old wounds, and send me back to square one. And most of all, I’m afraid that Keiko’s feelings for me will disappear too.

  I’m so fucking scared.

  My hand shakes as I swivel my locker combination, screwing it up at least four times before it finally opens and sends textbooks careening out of the locker and all over my feet. I bend down to pick them up, and as I’m doing so, a pair of gray trainers I immediately recognize appear beside me. Before I know it, Haruki is next to me on the dirty-ass hallway linoleum, handing me a cinnamon roll and scooping the textbooks up into his arms.

  As I take the warm cinnamon roll, I remember all those weeks ago promising myself I’d never take it for granted. But I have been. I do. It’s crazy what becomes normal, and how fast it does.

  This might be the last cinnamon roll he ever brings me. After our night in the observatory, the thought breaks me in two.

  ‘You know, since we’re in love and all, we really need to exchange numbers.’ He stands up and grins, and I catch a whiff of his clean laundry smell, cut through with expensive aftershave. ‘I’ve been going crazy not being able to talk to you since Wolfendale.’

  ‘There’s always Instagram,’ I point out, trying to keep my tone neutral, braced for what’s about to happen.

  He winces as he puts my textbooks back in my locker. ‘Yeah, but our last conversation on there was so awk—’

  As he turns to face me, he stops and frowns. He tilts his head to the side and looks me up and down, and I swear I can almost feel the head-scratch brewing.

  The temptation to stare at the ground is overwhelming. The temptation to slip back into my old ways, to be apologetic, to hide. But as painful as it is, I won’t let myself. I’ve come too far to dissolve in front of my own boyfriend – if that’s even what he is anymore. So instead I force my chin up, stop slumping my shoulders, meet his eyes. Smile like everything is fine. Like I’m the me he’s spent the last several weeks starting to really like.

  And preparing myself to be fine either way. Because as long as I’m respecting his boundaries, I know I’m being a good person. A better person than I have been for some time now.

  ‘Everything okay?’ I ask breezily. (I know. Things always go so well when you attempt breeziness.)

  Haruki narrows his eyes. ‘Yeah, it’s just . . . you seem different.’

  Don’t flinch, don’t flinch, don’t flinch. Think of bones and stardust. ‘Different how?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says slowly.

  ‘Okay!’ I chirp, and busy myself rearranging my locker, giving him space to work through what’s happening.

  ‘Did you cut your hair?’ he asks, still in some kind of weird confused trance.

  ‘Nope,’ I say. ‘Same split ends as ever.’

  ‘Did you do a makeup?’

  ‘. . . Do a makeup.’ Seriously. Why are boys.

  ‘Yeah. You know, like Gabriela and her thing.’

  I shake my head. ‘Also nope.’

  I close the locker slightly too sharply, and Haruki flinches a little. It seems to snap him from his reverie, and his strict posture relaxes somewhat, like he’s melting into the moment. He smiles and says, ‘Whatever it is, I like it.’

  Wait. What?

  I blink. ‘You do?’

  ‘Y
eah. I feel like . . . I dunno.’ His cute dimples materialize. ‘Like I’m properly seeing you or something. I know that sounds . . . yeah.’

  The nervous cramping in my chest dissolves into something soft and fluttery. ‘No, it’s sweet. Really sweet.’

  How is this happening?

  Has Haruki Ito actually developed real feelings for me?

  If so . . . how? Why?

  And in that moment I know – I really, really know – that it’s because I have a sense of self-worth I’ve never had before.

  There’s no reason he shouldn’t develop real feelings for me.

  Not all that long ago, I was so hung up on the Matching Hypothesis. The idea that two people are more likely to form a successful relationship if they’re equally desirable. Yet maybe a more accurate thesis is that two people are more likely to form a successful relationship with someone who believes themselves to be equally desirable.

  Stop hypothesizing! I yell at myself internally.  Remember what Leo said!

  Just be here, with Haruki, right now, and let yourself feel how you feel.

  And I feel . . . wrong. Because even though I’m deliriously relieved and happy that he loves me without the pills, I know I still need to tell him the whole truth. If I don’t, Gabriela will.

  So I tell him. All of it. The rest of the world disappears as I do.

  He listens, and watches, and thinks. I can’t gauge his reaction at all. I can’t tell if he’s furious or hurt or confused, or a combination of all three. I can’t tell if he sees it just like perfume, like Keiko did, or whether his mind goes straight to the moral implications, like Gabriela.

  When I finally finish, the bustling corridor reappears around us, and yet I still can’t read his expression.

  ‘Thank you for telling me the truth.’

  ‘I owed you that much. I’m so sorry, Haruki.’

  ‘And they’re out of your system now? The pills?’

  ‘Yeah. Totally. Talk to me. Are you angry?’

  ‘I don’t know. Yeah. A little.’

  ‘You have every right to be.’

  ‘Did you just view me as a science experiment?’

  ‘What? No! God, no. Of course not. I’ve always . . . this makes me sound creepy, but, yeah. I fell in love with you long before you fell for me. It was always real, for me. And you were never, never an experiment.’

  ‘God, I’m so confused.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. Because, like, on one hand it feels like you tricked me. I didn’t want a relationship.’

  ‘I know. And it’s fucked up that –’

  ‘I didn’t want a relationship, but now the thought of not being with you is . . . god, I can’t bear it. I meant every word of what I said at Wolfendale.’

  ‘I did too.’

  ‘This sucks.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But I still want you. Want to be with you.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Do you mind if I kiss you?’ Haruki asks softly, stepping in until I can smell the vanilla latte on his breath.

  ‘Yes. I mean. No. I –’

  The kiss is tender and sweet, with heat underneath that I can’t identify as anger or passion or both.

  There’s a clatter at my feet, and I look down in surprise. It’s a Tupperware box, filled with half-baked brownies. Walking away in the other direction are lilac hair and soft curves.

  She saw.

  There’s a clawing sensation in my chest, a ravaging panic that feels feral.

  What if I’ve lost her what if I’ve lost her what if—

  And that’s when I realize. I never felt this level of carnal fear at the thought of losing Haruki. It was a sad resignation, but it didn’t feel like this. It didn’t feel like my own heart was about to destroy me unless I fixed it. It didn’t hurt.

  Deep in my soul, I know I have to make the painful decision.

  I know it, but that doesn’t make it less horrible.

  I pull away from his embrace slowly. Slowly, because I know this is probably the last time our lips will touch, and even though I know now that he isn’t the one, kissing him is still a very pleasant thing. There’s just someone I’d rather be kissing instead.

  ‘Haruki . . . ’ I whisper in a pained voice. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t do this.’

  He frowns again, like he did earlier, like he doesn’t fully recognize me. Like he’s trying to understand why. ‘Wait. What? What’s wrong?’ He touches his thumb to his lips almost absentmindedly. ‘Did you not want me to? Your answer was a little ambiguous.’

  ‘No. Yes. I mean –’

  A raised eyebrow. ‘Do you see my issue?’

  I laugh, but the guilt cuts through it and I stop. I force myself through this awful conversation. ‘I mean I can’t do this. Us.’ A beat, as I figure out how much I should tell him.

  ‘But I forgive you,’ he says, and I hate the note of pleading in his voice. ‘All of it, Caro. Yeah, the pills were kinda messed up, but what I feel for you –’

  I have to tell him the full truth. I’ve come this far. So I swallow the lump in my throat, and say, ‘I like someone else, and it’s not fair on you.’

  As I say the words aloud, I swear the external volume in the hallway is turned down to mute. There are hundreds of kids swarming around us, and it’s like every single one of them stops talking at once. They don’t, of course. It’s just the sheer terror and guilt fucking with my eardrums. But still.

  ‘Oh. Wow. Okay.’ Haruki nods, even though it’s at odds with what he’s saying. ‘That’s . . . not what I was expecting.’

  ‘Honestly, me neither.’ I keep my voice low, so paranoid about being heard it’s like I’m smoked a thousand joints all at once. ‘I’ve liked you for so long. I’ve loved you, even. But this other . . . person? They’ve caught me off-guard. And I need to see what it is. What it could be.’

  His dark eyes scan mine. They look dangerously shiny, but it could be the strip lighting. ‘It’s Keiko.’

  ‘How did –’

  ‘At the gig. I knew then, I think. I just didn’t want to admit it.’ He gestures at the brownie box. ‘And like . . . she’s not exactly subtle.’

  I chuckle to try and dissipate some of the tension. ‘You could’ve given me a heads-up, dude. It’s taken me until now to figure out.’

  ‘That you’re bi?’

  The word catches me out. It sounds ridiculous, but I hadn’t thought of it in those terms. Maybe because my feelings for Keiko have shapeshifted so much in the last few months that they’ve been impossible to pin down to a set definition. Maybe because I only fully confirmed them about forty seconds ago.

  What I do know is that I want to be with her. And I wanted to be with Haruki too. A girl and a guy. Bisexual.

  It seems like too simple a word for how I feel about Keiko, or about Haruki, or about myself. But it’s a start.

  ‘I . . . guess so,’ I say. ‘I guess I’m bi.’

  And then I smile. The cool thing about having gay dads is that I’m excited to tell them. Vati is always complaining about how basic the Straights are.

  ‘Good for you, Caro,’ Haruki says, and not in a patronizing way. ‘You’re more true to yourself than anyone else I know. I always did like that.’ Then he hangs his head, as though the reality of the break-up just hit him, and starts to walk away.

  With a hollow pang, I realize how much I’ll miss hanging out with him, talking about science and HEMA and the milkshake hierarchy. I’ll miss the feeling of being around him, being seen by him, being loved by him. But asking for friendship after I just dumped him seems hella selfish, and I need to honor his lines, so I swallow my own sadness and resign myself to a Haruki-less life once more.

  ‘Haruki!’ I call after him, because there’s something else I need to make sure of.

  He stops a few feet away from me. ‘Yeah?’

  I chew my lip. ‘Don’t tell people, okay?’

  ‘Oh.’ He seems surprised. ‘I mean, sure. But it’s not a b
ig deal. I hope you know that.’

  ‘It is and it isn’t,’ I say softly. ‘I can’t explain.’

  Haruki smiles warmly, if still with dejection. ‘Of course.’

  23

  Keiko is nowhere to be seen all day. She’s not in the auditorium, or the soundproofed music booths she sometimes uses to rehearse over free periods. She’s not in the cafeteria at lunchtime, nor in any of the classes she’s supposed to have.

  Because I’m just generally Like That, I enjoy speculating over where she could be instead in order to make myself miserable. Maybe she bunked off to spend the day with Marieke! Maybe they’re having sex right this second!

  I picture them frolicking at the beach, or hunting the mall for a new outfit for Keiko’s gig tonight. She’s playing at a bigger venue in the city, which her manager set up in order to raise her profile, and they’re sending a photographer to take some actual professional shots of her performing. She outgrew the website Gabriela and I made for her reeeeal fast.

  In any case, I feel a little lonely after my break-up with Haruki. Gabriela is hanging out with the cheer squad, and I don’t want to ping off a message to the group chat about what happened. They probably knew it was coming anyway, since I’ve stopped taking the pills, and besides, I want to tell Keiko face to face that I’m all hers – if she wants me.

  After a bit of a blah day without my favorite people, I arrive home to a snoozing Sirius – the height of luxury after being humped senseless for weeks on end – and heated voices in the kitchen. I hover just beyond the doorway, true to sneaky form.

  ‘You went into my personal files? And sent my incomplete manuscript to a literary agent?’ Dad’s voice is quiet and cold, which is how you know he’s absolutely furious. ‘How could you do this? You have made me look a fool. The book is not ready. This is a betrayal of trust, Felix, and frankly –’

  In a way so playful it’s almost mocking, Vati says, ‘Oh, Michael, stop playing the insulted sausage.’