Spectacular.
Molly stands there, shocked and silent, for about fifteen seconds. And then she looks down at the beer dripping into her bra, dabs a drop with her finger and delicately puts it to her tongue.
“Hmmm,” she says. “Taste of the Rockies?”
“Oh my God,” I moan, unsure what to do to help this situation, as my hands are covered in mustard.
“I would have pegged you for an IPA man,” Molly says, dripping.
“They don’t have it in the collectible cups,” I say, wanting to actually weep.
“I’ll go get you some napkins,” Gloria says. She darts off toward the snack bar.
“Do you want me to help you wash off in the bathroom?” Emily asks Molly.
Molly laughs. “I’m afraid the public restrooms at Dodger Stadium are not equipped with showers. But it’s fine. I enjoy smelling like the bar. It reminds me of my youth.”
“Molly, I cannot apologize enough,” I say. “I’m going to buy you a new shirt.”
“Yeah, and maybe also yourself one,” she says.
I look down at my mustard-stained torso. “Why is it that whenever I get near you I find myself smothered in condiments?”
“Oh, the mustard’s fine. I was referring to your Cubs jersey. You’ll be taking that off as your punishment for ruining my outfit.”
Gloria returns with the napkins and hands them to Molly, who begins cleaning herself up.
“Don’t worry about me,” Molly tells her. “You’ll miss the beginning of the seventh. Seth here is going to give me carte blanche at the Dodgers merch store. I’ll meet you back at the seats.”
“Seth, I’ll text you,” Gloria says. “We’re having a baby shower on Saturday. If you’re still in town you should come.”
“I’d love to,” I say miserably.
“Don’t cry,” Molly says with mock solemnity. “You’re going to get through this. Come on.”
She grabs my hand and starts leading me through the crowd along the curved walkway of the stadium toward, I assume, the gift shop. The intimacy of this gesture confuses me. Which is not to say I don’t like it.
“So why are you here, anyway?” she asks.
“To watch the Cubs beat the Dodgers.”
“No chance.”
“Want to bet?”
“I don’t gamble.”
“Except on your friends’ relationships.”
She frowns. “I suppose you must feel quite smug. Two to zero. For now.”
I’m confused. “Uh, what?”
“Well, Emily and Gloria seem quite happy and are with child. And Marcus and Marian are always posting lovey-dovey updates on Facebook.”
I smile the way a man does when a person he feels mild animosity toward does not know something he does.
“Molly, Marian is in a relationship, but it’s not with Marcus.”
“Oh. Then who is it?”
I squint out at the game on a nearby flatscreen and locate the Cubs’ star outfielder. A ball comes flying at him and he leaps and catches it right against the stadium wall. The camera zooms in on his handsome face, grinning.
“That guy,” I say, pointing.
Molly cocks her head like a confused parrot. “Javier Ruiz?”
“Yep,” I say.
“You have to be fucking kidding me. Isn’t that guy worth like two hundred million dollars?”
“Yep,” I say.
“Okay, wait. How does Marian even know a professional baseball player?”
“Marcus introduced them. He’s Javier’s agent.”
“Jesus Christ. But she doesn’t even live in Chicago.”
