“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 tobeyour hot boyfriend.”
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 overme.”
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 Iwantedto 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.
