Page 165 - The Love Hypothesis

“It couldn’t. It can’t.”

“Ol, I know where you’re coming from. I get it.” Malcolm’s hand
tightened on hers. “I know it’s scary, being vulnerable, but you can allow
yourself to care. You can want to be with people as more than just friends or

casual acquaintances.”
“But I can’t.”

“I don’t see why not.”
“Because all the people I’ve cared about are gone,” she snapped.

Somewhere in the coffee shop, the barista called for a caramel
macchiato. Olive immediately regretted her harsh words.

“I’m sorry. It’s just . . . it’s the way it works. My mom. My
grandparents. My father—one way or another, everyone is gone. If I let
myself care, Adam will go, too.” There. She’d put it into words, said it out

loud, and it sounded all the truer because of it.
Malcolm exhaled. “Oh, Ol.” He was one of the few people to whom

Olive had opened up about her fears—the constant feeling of not belonging,
the never-ending suspicions that since so much of her life had been spent

alone, then it would end the same way. That she’d never be worthy of
someone caring for her. His knowing expression, a combination of sorrow

and understanding and pity, was unbearable to watch. She looked elsewhere
—at the laughing students, at the coffee cup lids stacked next to the counter,
at the stickers on a girl’s MacBook—and slid her hand away from under his

palm.
“You should go.” She attempted a smile, but it felt wobbly. “Finish your

surgeries.”
He didn’t break eye contact. “I care. Anh cares—Anh would have

chosen you over Jeremy. And you care, too. We all care about one another,
and I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s different.”
“How?”
Olive didn’t bother answering and used her sleeve to dry her cheek.

Adam was different, and what Olive wanted from him was different, but she
couldn’t—didn’t want to articulate it. Not now. “I won’t tell him.”