The Anatomy of Emotion

Chapter Seventeen

He waits until she is fully cornered by a plate of mussels before he looks at her with the same seriousness he had at her gallery door.

"So, have you been seeing anyone lately?"

He pulls his fish apart with the tip of his fork. Maeva twists her lips over her wineglass,

"Just say whatever it is you want to say, Alex."

"So you've gotten the idea," he chews and considers. His eyes are dead even on hers, "listen, I don't know exactly what happened between you and Corin, but you need to do something about it, Maeva."

She sets her fork down a little bit too hard.

"This isn't my problem anymore, Alex. He wants things that I won't give, and he knows that. If he isn't dealing with it well, that's on him."

"Oh, he's dealing with it," Alex gives a sharp, bitter laugh.

It reminds her too much of the laugh Corin had left her with two weeks ago, when she'd asked if he was going to stay with her.

"What do you mean?" The question comes before she can pretend it doesn't exist.

"Look, you didn't know Corin in the really bad months," Alex drags his hands through his hair, "but I did, and the last two weeks have been like a replay of my worst nightmare. He's completely manic, and nothing is slowing him down."

"What do you want me to do about it, Alex? I can't just change the way I feel to make him happy."

"I'm not asking you to propose to him. But there needs to be some closure. If you're ending this, have that conversation, and cut it off for good."

"I can't do that."

"Why not? I thought you cared at least that much about him."

She rips a series of muscles from their shells, mangling them in the process.

"I do care about him, which is exactly why I can't talk to him. I'll stop the sex, alright? But I can't listen to him beg me or explain myself another time. He'll just find some way to convince me otherwise."

"Convince you..." he raises a brow, "so why can't you give him what he wants? He doesn't seem to want all that much."

Maeva stops chewing, a swirl of regret rising at the memory of her last words. She eases her mussel down her throat, stalls with a tug from her wineglass.

"He wants commitment and emotions, none of which I have to give."

"I'm inclined to think otherwise."

"Of course you are, you want your best friend to be happy."

"And you make him unbelievably so. I thought he made you happy too," Alex shrugs.

"That isn't the point. I can't—" she smacks her glass down, "you know what? It isn't any of your business. I will help Corin by staying the hell away, but that's all I can do."

Maeva picks at her last mussel while Alex rearranges the potatoes on his plate. When the waitress finally wanders back over, they split the bill and leave with much less chatter than there had been. The walk back is quiet until Alex yanks her toward a café, insisting he requires a latte. Maeva waits while he orders and stares like a begging dog at the espresso machine.