by
Elif Batuman
“For you to assume I’m so heartbroken,” I said. “It is presumptuous.”
“Yeah, I get it.” He sighed. “My friend Imre said I was behaving really badly toward you. He said I was—what was it, it was a funny expression. Leading you on. He said I was leading you on.”
It felt like being hit again, this time in the stomach. Ivan was looking at me. With a sinking feeling, I realized he expected me to say something.