12. Law
12
Law
Raising the Stakes
I decided against flowers because I remembered Greta had a bowl full of individually wrapped chocolates on her kitchen counter when I came over to hang her TV. It was nearly empty the last time I was at her place.
“Knock, knock. I hope you’re not on some weird sugar detox.” I hold up the bag.
“You’re refilling my bowl?”
“Unless I got the wrong ones.”
“You got it right. Thanks.” She opens the chocolate and dumps it into the bowl. One gets stuck in the bag, and she tosses it to me after she shakes it out.
“I have to unwrap it myself?”
“You want me to feed it to you, too?”
“I mean, if you’re offering.”
“I’m not.” She takes a chocolate for herself. “I probably should be detoxing from these things, but they’re my gold stars.”
“You use them as a reward system?”
“Yeah. It’s motivating to know you get a reward when you complete a task.”
“If you’re in kindergarten.”
“There is no age limit for task completion rewards.” She sticks her tongue out at me, and then she pops the candy into her mouth. “I got you something, too.”
“You better have. If you didn’t get my chips, you’re going to have to finish paying me off with your own menial labor.”
“Like what, doing your laundry?”
“For starters.”
“I got your chips, but I am never doing your laundry.” She opens her fridge and pulls out a six-pack. “And I got you real beer. You’re welcome.”
“You got that beer because you like it better than the stuff you used to buy. Admit it.”
“I admit nothing.”
She unwraps another chocolate.
“What task are you rewarding yourself for now?”
“Remembering to buy the chips.”
“Do you get a reward for getting out of bed in the morning?”
“Some days I do.”
“Was today one of those days?”
“It started out a little rough. What did you break that made you yell like that so early in the morning?”
“I didn’t break anything. The area’s hottest up-and-coming country singer broke a glass, and the outburst that woke you up was his.”
“Ah, a singer. No wonder he has such strong lungs.”
“That’s about all he’s got going for him.”
“How old is he?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Were you so wise and responsible at twenty-one?”
“No, which is exactly why I know how badly he’s about to fuck up.”
“Well, if you’re going to fuck up, your early twenties is the time to do it.”
“Some of us fuck up worse than others.” I open both the beers she’s set on the coffee table. The caps twist off, but she always waits for me to open them. I know she could open her own, but it’s become part of our routine for me to do it. And I like it.
“I bet you weren’t so bad,” she says.
“You’d lose that bet. I bet you never fucked up on any level.”
“And you’d lose that bet.”
We clink the necks of our bottles together and settle back against her couch cushions to watch the ballgame. My ’Stros are going to blow her Cards out of the water.
“Speaking of bets, care to wager on the game?” I ask.
“Hmm, what’d you have in mind?”
“If the Astros win this game by more than five, you have to cook me dinner tonight. If not, I’ll cook.”
“Why such low stakes? Not showing much faith in your team there. If the Astros are up on my Cardinals by more than five runs at any point in this game, I’ll not only cook you dinner, I’ll serve it to you naked.”
“Whoa. That’s a lot of confidence in a team you weren’t even a fan of until a few weeks ago. Playing a sport you’d never watched. You sure you want to risk that much?”
“Go big or go home.”
She extends her hand, and I shake on the bet. But I never want her to go back home. Not that Agate Ridge is home for me, either. I’m not sure where home is for me, anymore.