The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

“There are things you can do about that, if you want. It just
takes practice. Making sure your thoughts are organized. Stuff
like that.”
“I know. And I try to do that—I did it before my meeting
with Tom. And I still stammered like an idiot when he asked
me a simple question.” And then you helped me, ordered my
thoughts, and saved my ass, without even meaning to. “I don’t
know. Maybe my brain is broken.”
He shook his head. “You did great during that meeting with
Tom, especially considering that you were forced to have your
fake boyfriend sit next to you.” She didn’t point out that his
presence had actually made things better. “Tom certainly
seemed impressed, which is no small feat. And if anyone
screwed up, it was definitely him. I’m sorry he did that, by the
way.”
“Did what?”
“Force you to talk about your personal life.”
“Oh.” Olive looked away, toward the blue glow of the
vending machine. “It’s okay. It’s been a while.” She was
surprised to hear herself continue. To feel herself wanting to
continue. “Since high school, really.”
“That’s . . . young.” There was something about his tone,
maybe the evenness, maybe the lack of overt sympathy, that
she found reassuring.
“I was fifteen. One day my mom and I were there, just . . . I
don’t even know. Kayaking. Thinking about getting a cat.
Arguing over the way I’d pile stuff on top of the trash can
when it was overflowing and I didn’t want to take it out. And
next thing I knew she had her diagnosis, and three weeks later
she’d already—” She couldn’t say it. Her lips, her vocal folds,
her heart, they just wouldn’t form the words. So she
swallowed them. “The child welfare system couldn’t figure
out where to send me until I became of age.”