Later, Maya went to discuss bakery donations with the tournament organizer. Noah watched her walk away, then sat beside me with the weary purpose of someone about to perform an unwelcome service. “You know you’re an idiot, right?” he asked, and I told him that opinion had been well represented lately. He didn’t smile, which meant he was serious enough that I needed to stop treating the conversation as another opportunity to be entertaining.
He said Maya liked me, I liked her, and if the possibility of future pain was the only obstacle, I had discovered relationships. I started to say I wasn’t afraid of being hurt, but he shook his head before I finished. “You’re afraid of losing the version of your life where she’s guaranteed to be there,” he said. Across the grass, Maya laughed at something the organizer said, and I realized how often I had mistaken her willingness to stay for something I could preserve without her permission.
