“We should get some sleep,” he says. “The boys will be up at five, and we can only hold them back so long.”
I can’t wait. I love Christmas here. We didn’t grow up religious—my mom’s a lapsed Catholic and my dad’s a secular Jew—so as kids, the holidays were mostly about presents and latkes. But Clara, my sister-in-law, is a big Christmas person. She has three trees of varying themes, pays professionals to cover their entire house in twinkle lights, and hosts Christmas dinner for twenty.
I am not quite ready for bed, however.
I want to gloat.
“Hey, guess what,” I say.
“What?”
“Molly Marks emailed me.”
After we hooked up at the reunion, Dave told me I’d never hear from her again.
I enjoy it very much when he’s wrong. Especially when the matter concerns girls I have crushes on.
His face immediately darkens. “No.” He shakes his head so vigorously it’s like he’s been possessed by the devil. “Delete it. She’s not good for you.”
The extremity of his reaction gives me pause. Objectively speaking, he’s almost certainly right. But that’s not enough to dampen my excitement. Molly’s thinking of me. That means something.
“It’s been fifteen years,” I object. “You can’tknowshe’s bad for me.”
“Yes, I can. She treated you like shit. She doesn’t get a second chance after that.”
His protectiveness is heartwarming, but I’m not convinced he’s right. People can change.
“We were kids when that happened. I had fun with her at the reunion.”
“And then she blew you off. A nice little reminder that she’s still the same person.”
“She didn’t blow me off, she just said she’d see me in five years. Would it besobad to just—”
“Okay, yeah, write her back. Hell, fly her out here. Get married by a justice of the peace on Christmas morning. I’m sure you two will be very happy.”
I sigh. It is my opinion that he is not giving me, or her, enough credit.
“You don’t get it,” I say. “You have a wife and family andloveand Ihave… lots of friends and a gym membership and a really big office at a law firm. I’m lonely. So why not take chances when they present themselves?”
He inhales long and deep, like we’ve already had this conversation two hundred times.
Which, of course, we have.
“Your problem,” he says, “is that you think a woman is going to miraculously make you happy. You keep jumping into all these relationships, talking yourself into thinking you’re in love when you’re not. I’m tired of watching you get yourself hurt.”
“Well, what do you suggest I do? Stop dating?”
“No. I want you to find someone. We all want that. But you act like love is going to solve all your problems, so you make bad choices. And Molly Marks? That’s a bad choice.”
I shouldn’t have said anything to him.
I hold up my hands in defeat. “Okay. Point taken.”
He nods warily and says good night.
I wait for him to close the door and then immediately pick my phone back up to exercise my allegedly terrible judgment.
From: [email protected]
