“What brings you here?” Emily asks.
“The Cubs, obviously,” Gloria says, gesturing at my jersey. “This rat has the nerve to root for the enemy on our turf, and not even call to say he’s in town.”
“Horrible man,” Emily agrees.
“I’m sorry!” I say. “I just got in this afternoon. I was going to text you, I swear. Do you think Idon’twant to hang out by your pool overlooking the canyons?”
“How do you know we have a pool overlooking the canyons?” Gloria asks. “Are you stalking us?”
“Yes,” I say solemnly. “I actually live in a car outside your house. I have this telephoto camera that lets me seerightthrough your windows.”
“Good,” Gloria says. “I was hoping for a reason to have you thrown in jail. Where all Cubs fans belong.”
I laugh, and it throws off my balance. I grip the plastic of my novelty beers harder. I can’t spill Coors Light on a pregnant lady.
“Who are you here with?” Emily asks.
“There you are,” a voice says from over my shoulder. “Sorry, the bathroom line was eleven point two million people long. Also the sinks are crusted in blue face paint.”
I careen around at the sound of that voice.
The pretzel flops onto my chest, smearing my shirt in mustard. I try to resettle it and the popcorn goes flying, raining down like edible confetti on myself and—who else?—Molly Marks.
“Fuck!” I cry. “I’m so sorry.”
One cup slips, and I try to catch it, but instead bat it in the air, spraying all eighteen ounces over the clavicle, cleavage, and Dodgers tee of a woman who told me to stop texting her after I told her I had feelings for her.
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.”
