I try to appear stern as I perform this elegant maneuver, but it’s difficult, as Molly is so pleased with herself that she is literally crying with laughter.
I suppose this is my karmic punishment for playing her all that NSYNC.
“You think you’re very funny indeed, don’t you, Miss Marks,” I say, dabbing my napkin into my water glass.
“That’s what you get for trolling me.”
I shake my head gravely as I sponge the ketchup from between my nipples.
“I’m not trolling you. Place your bet.”
She rolls her eyes. “Seth, I hate to devastate you all over again, but this is the first and last time we’re having sex. Enjoy the afterglow.”
“I don’t know about that, Molls. I have more condom … ments.” Like the great dad jokers before me, I waggle a tiny jar of jam and a mini bottle of Tabasco at her.
“Don’t make me throw more eggs at you. I’m running out.”
I slide my plate across the table. “You can have mine.”
“Okay!” She immediately dumps them onto her plate and splats more ketchup over them. “Anyway, this will never happen again. Sorry.”
“And why is that?” I ask through a mouthful of croissant.
“Because you kind of hate me, and I kind of deserve it.”
She’s maybe a little bit right. But admitting it is not the point of this exercise.
Provoking her is.
“I don’t hate you!” I protest. “And you don’t deserve hatred. Well, possibly you do. Do you have a sideline in serial killing or design those tiny airplane seats or something?”
She smiles at me. “Both.”
“I can forgive you. At least for the murders.”
She leans back in her chair and crosses her legs, so that one thigh emerges from her silky robe.
“That’s actually the problem with us, Seth.”
I lean back too, aping her posture, and cross my arms. “What’s the problem?”
“I broke your heart too young. I’ll always be the one that got away. You’ll never really get over me. So we couldn’t date even if I wanted to, which I don’t. The power dynamic would be too lopsided. You’d always love me more.”
I can’t tell if she’s kidding.
“What a poignant monologue. I might cry.”
She nods solemnly and licks ketchup off her fork. “Yum.”
“You are so gross.”
“You like it.”
(I do.)
“Anyway, don’t be sad,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll find some poor woman you can trick into marrying you eventually. Can you pass the salt?”
“You are in an astonishingly good mood this morning,” I observe. “And I think I know why.”
“Because the reunion is behind me.”
“Nah. You always got uncharacteristically chipper after I gave you an orgasm. You’re happy cuz I fucked you senseless.”
She throws back her head and laughs. “You have a very high opinion of your sexual prowess.”
“You also have a high opinion of it, if I’m not misremembering last night.”
“Charming.”
“Anyway, we’re obviously sleeping with each other again at the twenty-year reunion. That’s my bet.”
“You think I can’t resist you?”
“I think you’re going to be my date.”
She smiles at me with exaggerated pity. “No, I’ll probably be there with my hot boyfriend.”
“I’m probably going to be your hot boyfriend.”
