Page 90 of Love and Other Paradoxes
“Does it make you happy?” He nodded. She smiled, the wide, generous smile he’d fallen in love with. “Then it’s good.”
“Greeney! Campbell!” Rob swooped down, clanking with bottles. “See you got started without me.”
Esi took out another mug and poured him a drink. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” They clinked their mugs together. Before Joe could drink from his, Rob grabbed it, squinting at the image on the side. “Why are you drinking out of a cup with your own face on?”
Joe looked down at the mug, then up at Rob. A reasonable explanation completely failed to come to him.
Rob took the mug from his unwilling hand. He inspected it, then turned to Esi, eyes wild with speculation. “Campbell. Is this your doing?”
She blinked at him, the picture of innocence. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been gathering evidence for a while.” Rob started counting off on his fingers. “You treat technology like a personal insult. You don’t understand contemporary slang. You wear normalclothes like they’re a costume. And now you’ve somehow come into possession of a picture of Greeney where he is visibly decades older?” He shook his head. “There’s only one possible conclusion. You’re a—”
“Master Assassin!” someone was yelling across the grass. “All Master Assassins, come and assemble for your photo!”
Rob hovered, torn between the present moment and posterity. “We are resuming this conversation the instant I return.”
Esi watched him go, shading her eyes. “So we’re telling him?”
“Guess so. Hope you weren’t enjoying talking to Rob about anything other than quantum mechanics.” Joe frowned, watching his friend take his place in the lineup. Rob, who had got a First in physics apparently without even trying. Rob, who was the most likely person he knew to do a PhD. “Who invented time travel?”
Catching his meaning, she shook her head. “Not Rob.”
“Maybe not in your universe.”
She sent a wicked smile in Rob’s direction. “You think knowing a time traveller might give him a head start?”
Their eyes met. She laughed, and he slid across to her, embracing her from the side, inhaling the scent of her. How absurd, that he had thought he needed to be in love to write great poetry. Now he was in it, he knew he could never capture the fundamental wordlessness of this feeling, that any time spent not touching her was a tragic waste of seconds. He buried his face in her neck and made a soft, frustrated sound. “I’m so in love with you.”
He felt her smile. In a teasing voice, she said, “You going to write a poem about it?”
“Maybe later. Right now I have better things to do,” he said, and fell back with her onto the grass, giving in to the glory of the present.
