The True Love Experiment

Juno scrunches her nose. “I don’t like bruised bananas,” she says.

“Well, now I’m tired and hungry,” I say, putting my hands on Stevie’s shoulders and trying to steer her toward the door. “Let’s get out of here so we can grab something to eat.”

“Fizzy got pizza!” Stevie says, pointing excitedly to the kitchen. “There’s a ton left because she always orders too much.”

“It is one of my many superpowers,” Fizzy agrees, and I feel the way she’s staring at me, willing me to look at her, but I just can’t. Not after the emotional gut punch of the confessional earlier today.

“I’m good.” I shake my keys in my pocket. “Come on, Sass.”

“Connor,” Fizzy says in this low voice that feels like seduction. It’s too familiar, so knowing. “You don’t have to rush out. There’s tons of food. Come sit for a bit, you had a long day.”

“Thank you, but I’m good,” I say again.

Juno stands, following Stevie to where she’s shoving stuff into her bag. Her little husky voice is hilariously incompatible with whispering: “Is your dad one of the guys dating my Auntie Fizzy on that show?”

I resist the urge to groan, pretending I haven’t heard this. With Fizzy’s eyes on me, I pull my phone from my pocket and open the first app my thumb finds on the home screen, simply needing something to do. Calculator. I punch in a few random numbers and divide it all by two.

“No.” God. Stevie’s whisper is just as bad. Under any other conditions, Fizzy and I would be making eye contact and absolutely losing our shit. “He’s the producer.”

“What does that mean?” Juno asks.

Trying to look very preoccupied, I randomly multiply everything by four and subtract 15.6.

“He makes it,” Stevie whisper-yells. “He’s the boss.”

Thanks, Stevie, but I don’t feel like the boss of anything right now. I feel like I’m a weather system, under pressure, about to crack wide open.

“Do they hate each other or like each other?” Juno asks, and my stomach drops.

Before Stevie can field this one, I call out from the doorway. “Squirt, let’s go.”

Finally, Fizzy climbs from the couch and pads over to me. She’s wearing sweats and a Wonderland hoodie and looks like brunch and holiday and post-sex euphoria rolled into human form. My body and brain had already started paving the road ahead together and it’s so hard to put the entire operation in reverse. I had already committed.

She tilts her head to meet my gaze, and after a split second of her concerned eye contact, I look back down at my screen.

“Are you…” Fizzy comes around to my side and looks down at my screen. “Why are you doing math?”

With a grimace, I slide the phone back into my pocket. “Just fidgeting.”

“You’re standing here doing math and being grumpy,” she says, and the sunshine in her voice makes me want to kiss her once, lick her lip, so sweet.

Finally, Stevie jogs over, grinning up at me. I see the question in her eyes and pour every bit of love into the smile I give her so she knows I’m okay. “Say thank you to Miss Fizzy.”

“Thank you, Auntie Fizzy.”

Auntie Fizzy.

I smile at Juno as Fizzy kisses Stevie’s forehead and then steer my kid out the door. Bad news: this heartache feels like a permanent stain in my thoughts. Good news: only a few more days of this and I never have to see Fizzy again.





forty-four FIZZY




I stare after Connor and Stevie as they climb into the car, wondering if terse silence is going to be our new vibe from here on out. I have to admit, I don’t love it. Turning, I close and lock the door before facing the mess of our girls’ night shenanigans. I’m aware that a pair of eyes tracks me across the room when I go to fold up the blankets. Most kids are barely aware of how many grown-ups are in a room, let alone what interpersonal sparks are flying. But Juno Merriam is an incredibly perceptive child, and there is no way I’m getting out of this night without some interrogation.

“Mom said she’d let me watch your TV show when it was done,” she says, squinting down at a colorful eraser in her hand as if it requires careful consideration.

Here we go.

“Oh yeah?” I tilt my head for her to follow me into the kitchen. “It’s pretty tame. Stevie’s watching it. Why’s she making you wait?”

She jogs after me and grabs a cookie before I can put the box away in the cupboard. “She wants to see how it all turns out first.”

“Her and me both, kiddo.”

Juno takes a bite and chews, biding her time like a velociraptor. “So, whoever wins this weekend will be your boyfriend?”

“Only if he and I decide we want that.” I pull out a chair at the small kitchen table and practically crumple down. I am suddenly pass-out exhausted.

She sits down across from me and draws spirals on the tabletop with her fingertip. “Do you like the boys that are left?”

“I do…” My voice trails off, and the Just not in that way follows in a droopy echo.

Juno nods for a few long seconds. “What’re their names?”

“Evan and Isaac.”

“Do you like one of them more than the other?”

Her very normal question makes me sad again. “Isaac, I guess.”

“What’s he like?”

“Nice,” I say, and look up to the ceiling, thinking. “Attractive.” God, pull it together, Felicity. Isaac is an amazing man and you’re describing him the way you would a new couch. I look at Juno and take a deep breath, trying to infuse some enthusiasm into my words. “He’s a scientist, just like your dad.”

“He’s a geneticist, too?” she asks, squinting skeptically.

She’s smarter than I am. “No, I think he makes robots or makes sure robots don’t take over the world or something related to the reason I’m nice to my Alexa.”

Juno laughs. “That’s not the same thing as genetics, Auntie Fizzy.”

I throw a wadded-up napkin at her. She ducks out of the way and the flash of her laughter propels her question out, so sneakily: “Do you think Mr. Prince wants Isaac to win?”

I hold on to my smile, leaning closer. Juno is a worthy sparring partner. Pride and unease battle it out in my pulse. “I don’t think Mr. Prince cares who wins as long as the show is successful.”

“I think he cares who wins.” She goes for broke: “I think he likes you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. Like at the concert? I could tell he liked you. He stared at you the whole time.”

“That’s because I’m fascinating, Juno. Keep up.”

She giggles. “I bet he doesn’t like seeing other boys on dates with you.”

I hum, studying her. She doesn’t flinch or shrink at all. “And—okay, you know Aiden R.?” she continues. I nod, because there are, like, four Aidens in her class. “He likes Stevie, and they always sit together at lunch, but today Stevie was assigned to Indonesia for World Cultures Day with Eric, and Aiden was quiet-sad the same way Mr. Prince was tonight.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

She points to her face. “You know how boys clench their jaw like this?” She does a pretty solid impression. “He was doing that and just, like, ignoring her at lunch. But it wasn’t like Stevie had a choice about who she does World Cultures Day with. It’s assigned.”

“Right,” I agree sympathetically. Ugh, this metaphor is pretty great. I redirect: “Who did you get assigned to work with?”

“Kyle Pyun,” she says, and gives a vague grimace. “He’s really hyper but at least he gets good grades.”

“Totally.” I lean in, grinning. “Is he cute?”

Juno looks genuinely disgusted. “Auntie Fizzy, we’re in fifth grade.”

“I’m not asking if you’re engaged, Junebug, just whether he’s got potential.”

“Mom says boys are dumb until high school.”

“Wow, that’s generous.”

“So if Isaac wins,” Juno says, doing her own redirection, “does he get money or something?”

“In theory he gets me.”

She laughs like this is funny. “Yeah but… you know. Like a real prize.”

Pressing my lips together, I give her a flat “I get to choose who I’m taking to Fiji, and there’s a cash prize for the Hero who wins the most votes, if that’s what you mean.”