Page 72 of The Love Operation

I want him to be excited. I want him to put on the damn tie, something he wears every day for work. But now that I need him to, suddenly he isn’t in the mood to dress up or socialize. His whole outfit is wrinkled from being caught in the rain, and he still hasn’t changed.

“I know,” he says, voice flat. He exhales slowly, then drops his hands into his lap. “But you don’t have to go to every one of these things. There’ll be another. I can meet your family another time.”

Another time. A dull sting spreads in my chest.

“This is important to me. It’s a part of my career, my life. Don’t you want to be part of that?”

He rubs the back of his neck and says nothing.

“Jonathan.” My voice wavers, concern creeping in, then frustration. “I went to that stupid car show with you last weekend. Because it mattered to you. This isn’t just an event; it’s about supporting research that’s actually making a difference. Supporting people who need it.”

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “And there it is.”

I frown. “What?”

“You’re implying I don’t care about people.” He stands now, his movements clipped, the fatigue in his features giving way to something sharper. “Just because I don’t want to spend another night shaking hands with donors and pretending I care about the details of their groundbreaking research.”

“That’s not what I’m implying at all, and you know it. And you should care about research. Research makes society better.”

His jaw tightens. Then he shakes his head.

I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes, but then I drop the ties, and my features soften. “I don’t want to fight,” I say gently.

He’s making this so much harder than it needs to be, but he’s also tired, and I know how these events go. He’s not entirely wrong. It can be a lot. But I want us to be a team.

“Neither do I,” he says.

For a moment, I think we’re getting somewhere.

I sigh, trying to meet him halfway. “It’s one night, Jonathan. One dinner.” I don’t add, You don’t see me skipping things that matter to you, do you? Because I know that’ll only make things worse.

His face softens slightly, but there’s still distance, like there’s an invisible wall between us.

“But it’s not just one night, is it?”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head. “Never mind. Hand me the damn tie.”

I wanted him to want to go. But since that’s clearly not happening, I tell myself that once he’s there, he’ll feel better.

He takes the tie, starts putting it on, and—I can’t believe I’m going to have to say this . . .

“You can’t wear that shirt,” I say. “It’s wrinkled.” It’s not just wrinkled. It looks like it’s been at the bottom of a hamper all week. It looks like he doesn’t care, like he’s not even trying.

His shoulders drop, and he sighs, long and heavy. “Seriously?”

“At least put in some effort.” I know it’s the wrong thing to say the second the words leave my mouth.

His face hardens. His hands ball into fists. “You want effort?” His voice drops. “Then find somebody else.”

I close my eyes.

“Fine,” I say, giving up. “If you feel this strongly, I’ll just go alone. You can meet my family when you feel better.” I try to smile. “Okay?”

I open my arms out and move toward him, wanting to smooth this over, to reestablish the connection I know we have.

But he steps to the side, away from me.