She laughs. “You’re funny.”
“I agree, but in this case I’m not joking. You see, I’m prime boyfriend material. Emotionally available and well-adjusted and open to commitment. But you, very sadly, are damaged. Because you never got over me.”
I don’t actually believe this part. I’m merely playing her game. The way she would take the negative and I’d take the affirmative in speech and debate, and we’d argue until our faces were blue about things we didn’t really care about.
“And what makes you think that?” she says. “The fact that I haven’t spoken to you in fifteen years?”
I giggle. It’s so mean it’s adorable.
“You’re very cruel,” I say. “And you take such delight in it.”
“I know. You really want to date a wicked, self-amused woman?”
“Oh, Molly. You poor thing. I didn’t say I wanted to date you. I’d be doing it as an act of charity. A mercy case.”
She slurps down some coffee she’s put so much milk and sugar in that it’s basically tiramisu.
“And what is it you pity me for, that you would extend me such magnanimity?”
“Well, darlin’, I’m obviously the nicest boy you’ve ever known. Our magical night together is going to rekindle your feelings for me. You’ll remember what it’s like to feel something. You’ll go home and pine. Drag out your high school yearbooks and read my notes to you. Beg your mom to send you pictures of us from homecoming. Eventually, you’ll get so desperate you’ll show up at my door and plead with me to take you back. And because I am a generous soul, and I want to afford you some dignity, I’ll agree to go out with you. Just long enough for you to have a date for our high school reunion.”
“And then what?”
I smile, take her hand, and kiss her knuckle. “I’ll break your heart.”
She rolls her eyes at me, stands up, collects my shirt off the floor, and drops it in my lap with two fingers. “Okay. Breakfast is over. See you in five years.”
I dress, kiss her on the cheek, demand that she give me her contact info, and make my way back to my room, humming.
When I get there, I can’t resist writing her an email.
From: sethrubes@mail.me
To: mollymarks@netmail.co
Date: Sun, Nov 11, 2018 at 9:54am
Subject: You’re welcome
Hey Marks—
Good to see you and know you biblically last night. Since I know you’re a person of little integrity, here are the terms of our bet. No weaseling out of it, my slippery beauty.
By the way, I still have sand in my teeth.
—Seth
I paste in the list of our wagers, hit send, and begin packing up. It’s not until later, when I’m at my parents’ house, that I get a response.
From: mollymarks@netmail.co
To: sethrubes@mail.me
Date: Sun, Nov 11, 2018 at 12:56pm
Re: Subject: You’re welcome
Wow Seth, you really could not WAIT to email me. You know emails are time-stamped, right? Anyway, I’m glad the sand is in your teeth and not, like, your urethra.
See you in five years!
xo
Molls
PART TWO
December 2018
CHAPTER 11 Molly
“We’re here!” Dezzie calls as she lets herself in through the kitchen door of my mother’s huge, vulgar mansion.
“Desdemona!” my mom says, rushing to embrace her on a cloud of jasmine perfume, trailed by the silk swirls of her flamingo-printed caftan. “You look stunning as always.”
Dezzie’s wearing a severely low-cut black one-piece bathing suit under a sheer cream linen dress. Her only nod to the fact that this is a Christmas party are her shoes, a pair of towering crimson espadrilles. Rob, by contrast, is sporting reindeer swim trunks and a Santa coat, complete with a bulbous belly.
“Merry Christmas, Miss Marks,” he says, setting a box of Dezzie’s elaborate Christmas cookies and a huge bag of liquor down on the kitchen island. “I brought ingredients for my famous polar punch.”
