He laughs.
“And, anyway, knowing you, I’d think I should check back with you infiftyyears, not ten. Given your extreme terror of commitment, I wouldn’t want to cause you undue stress.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Good idea. I’ll unleash my super-sperm at eighty. That way, when I go to the drugstore, I’ll be able to buy diaper cream and denture cream at the same time. One-stop-shopping.”
I laugh. “Awesome. You’re gonna win so hard at the game of life, dude.”
He laughs. “‘Hey there, whippersnapper! I can’t find my teeth! Let’s make a baby!’”
I laugh again. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure your twenty-six-year-old tramp is gonna go weak in the knees over your eighty-year-old ball sack and wrinkled ass. Talk about a gold-digger—we both know that poor girl’s gonna be looking at her watch every five minutes, just waiting for you to die.”
“Well, my future gold-digging spawn-carrying twenty-six-year-old might not get weak in the knees over my saggy ball-sack, I’ll grant you that, but she’s gonna cream her panties over my wrinkled ass, I guarantee it. I mean, seriously, who could resist a wrinkled ass stamped with ‘YOLO’?
I burst out laughing. “Oh my God, Josh. Fifty years from now, your twenty-six-year-old spawn-carrier won’t even know what YOLO stands for. By then, YOLO will be the equivalent of ‘Daddy-o’ or ‘far out.’”
Josh puts on his “old man” voice again. “Damn kids. Back in my day, YOLO ass-tattoos were the bees’ knees.”
“That statement will be a bald-faced lie—I don’t care how far into the future you make it.”
“Aw, come on. Just wait. I’m a trendsetter, baby. Sure, the trend hasn’t caught onyet,but it’s coming, you’ll see.”
We share a huge smile.
“I really think we’re on to something here, Kat. If I wait ’til after I’m diagnosed with dementia to have my first kid, then I can have him and forget he was ever born all in the same day.”
“Brilliant. Talk about a surefire way to solve your fear of commitment.” I take a long swig of my very strong drink. Wow, the vodka’s really hitting me hard.
Josh blanches. “Why do you keep saying I’m afraid of commitment? You said that earlier, too. I’m not.”
I don’t reply. Oh shit. He looks genuinely offended. “Oh,” I begin, at a loss. “I’m sorry. I thought I was saying something that’s just a basic fact, like, ‘Your eyes are blue.’”
“I had a girlfriend for three years, Kat,” he says. “I’m not the least bit afraid of commitment.”
I feel the urge to laugh out loud, so I drain my drink.
“I had a girlfriend forthreeyears,” Josh repeats. “I know how to commit.”
Fuck it. The vodka is giving me liquid courage. “Honesty-game?” I ask.
He makes a face like he’s just bitten into a lemon. “Yes?”
“You’re a commitment-phobe, Josh,” I say simply. “Text-book.”
“No, I’m not. Absolutely not.”
“Yep.” I take a swig of my drink. “You are.”
“A three-year relationship isn’t a commitment? What’s the longest relationship you’ve had?”
“About a year—with Nate.”
“Ha! You’re one to talk.”
I take another swig. “This isn’t about me and my horrible relationship skills.” Oh wow, Josh puta lotof vodka into my drink, didn’t he? “We’re talking aboutyouand yours—and the fact is you’re deathly afraid of commitment in any form. Yes, you had a girlfriend for three years—and certainly that meantsomething, I’ll grant you that, but it sounds like it was three years of a whole lot of nothing. I’m sorry to break it to you, but you and your girlfriend apparently nevertalkedabout anything real. You couldn’t be yourself around her at all—and the minute you revealed who you really are, what you really want, she shamed you and ran off with Prince Harry. So, yes, you were in a relationship for three years, and, yes, it shows you have character and integrity, but it doesn’t prove you’re not afraid of commitment. I mean, in a way it proves your fear of commitment even more so.”
“More so? Really? How do you figure?”
“Because you must have stayed with a woman like that for a reason. You must have known deep down she was every bit as incapable of emotional intimacy as you are. You liked that she never required you to reveal a goddamned honest thing about yourself in three freakin’ years.”
