She placed a hand on my arm, her expression melancholy. “Thank you, Hudson. See you soon.”
I watched after her as she drove off, wondering about the change in the dynamics of our relationship. Our mothers had been best friends since we were toddlers. Every major holiday and family function had been spent with the Werners. Our parents had even enrolled us in the same elite private high school. We knew each other well, though I seriously doubted that we’d have become more than acquaintances had we not been thrown together as we were.
She should have been the perfect pairing for me. A match made in heaven. We both came from money, were already close. Yet, I had never had the slightest inclination toward her. What was wrong with me that I couldn’t feel anything for her? For anyone?
“Do you like her?” Mirabelle’s small voice questioned from behind me.
I turned to find her sitting on the front steps, her arms wrapped around her knees.
My jaw tensed with irritation. I didn’t share the emptiness of my emotions with anyone. “It’s really none of your business if I do.” I strode past her, into the house.
Mirabelle jumped up and followed close at my heels. “She’s not for you, Hudson. She’s petty and shallow and not good for you at all.”
I kept walking, heading to the main staircase.
Mirabelle continued after me. “And you don’t like her. I can see it in your eyes. You have no interest in her at all.”
That was true, but it intrigued me to think my sister had noticed. What else did she see? What did she know about me? I stopped mid-step and turned to her. “If you already know I don’t like her, then why did you ask?”
“I wanted to be sure you knew too.”
Well, I do. I didn’t say it aloud. I turned away from her and jogged the remaining steps to the upper floor, then disappeared into my room.
For the rest of the day, I couldn’t stop thinking about Celia and her supposed boyfriend. My chest knotted tighter and tighter as I spun the information in my mind. It wasn’t jealousy—honestly I didn’t care one way or another about her love life. It was intrigue. Obsessive intrigue. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt it, nor, I was certain, would it be the last.
The idea of love and affection consumed me. I studied it on every occasion that I could. I didn’t understand it. I’d never been in love. I didn’t believe it was even a real thing. I wasn’t virtuous in any way, nor was I inexperienced. I’d dated a few girls. Or rather, I’d taken girls out to dinner and a movie with the sole intent of f**king them afterward. Sometimes I skipped the dinner and the movie and simply f**ked. But I’d never had any inclination to spend any real time with anyone. I’d never had feelings for them.
And even though Celia had set her sights on me the year before, I’d never assumed that she felt anything deeper than the silly crush she spoke of. We’d both been cut from the same cloth. We knew the ridiculousness behind romantic notions.
Or so I’d thought.
Now, she said she’d found the one. The idea boggled me.
It also challenged me.
What was it that made someone think they loved another? Could the emotion be manipulated? Forced? I decided an experiment was in order.
It was unfortunate that the results might not be too favorable for Celia. But on the other hand, if love was truly a myth as I believed, maybe I was simply saving her from a lie.
***
I was sunning with my laptop by the pool when Celia phoned me the next day to set up a date to get together. Feigning previous plans, I pushed our meeting off until the next week. I needed time to plan before I saw her. I was meticulous with my experiments, and this time would be no different.
I tapped my fingers rhythmically on the keyboard as I schemed. After the failure of my last study, I was eager to find success. Perhaps failure was too harsh of a word. My results hadn’t met my hypothesis, but I’d still gained information from the experiment, inconclusive as it was. I’d gotten the idea for the study after two classmates, Andrew and Jane, became engaged. They seemed to be lost for each other, dizzy in their haze of lust which they’d most likely mistaken for something more. I wondered—if they believed they were close enough that they should marry, did it mean their bond was unbreakable?
I set out to find the answer.
The three of us shared enough classes that it was easy to flirt with Jane in front of her fiancé. I did so casually at first, expecting some sort of reaction from Andrew. When none came, I upped my game. I touched Jane when we spoke, brushed my fingers against hers, played with her hair. I invaded her space. I whispered suggestive things to her—hell, dirty-as-fuck things that made her blush and her ni**les stand at attention. A whole semester of this behavior and neither Jane nor Andrew had told me to stop. Shouldn’t there have been accusations? If not at me, then at each other? Were they spoken behind my back, unbeknownst to me?
Or did the couple truly have enough trust and affection for each other to withstand jealousy?
Or maybe they were looking for a threesome.
The lack of a conclusive answer was why I’d considered the experiment a bust. This time I wouldn’t settle for ambiguous results. Which meant I better start with a solid hypothesis.
I opened up my digital journal and started a new section which I titled The Rebound. It was a perfect follow-up to The Engagement. That study had tried to break up a couple without any prior history on my part. This time, the subject, Celia, had a prior infatuation with me. The question was, and I typed it in as I constructed it, Could a prior infatuation affect the status of a new relationship, if the previous object of affection suddenly returned the emotion?
Next, I entered in my hypothesis: If the subject truly believes the affection is returned, then yes.
How would I be able to tell if I’d succeeded? I paused to watch my younger brother, Chandler, do a flip off the side of the pool as I considered. If Celia believed I was interested in her she’d likely either a) tell me to back off, b) consent to a summer affair, or c) break up with Dirk.
I would not sleep with Celia—that was non-negotiable. I couldn’t have sex with women that didn’t attract me, and I most certainly wouldn’t have sex with a woman that knew me personally. That would mean letting her get close. And I never let anyone get close.
The only success, I decided, would be a break-up in the relationship.
I entered that into my document and sat back.
Now, I simply had to figure out my intended process. This was my favorite part—coming up with the plan. My heart rate kicked up a notch with the thrill. I’d have to put some study into it. Casual flirting would not cut it with this subject—she was only The Subject in my eyes now; to think of her as anything else would weaken my objectivity. I’d have to make a real attempt to show affection. It would be a challenge, but with true effort, I was sure I could win the subject over. Perhaps I could watch a few romance movies. Or ask Mirabelle—she seemed to think she was an expert on romance.