Chapter 10. Seth
If you have never experienced a gorgeous, half-dressed woman flicking a giant forkful of ketchup-drenched scrambled eggs at you, you’re missing out.
The only bad part is picking the egg bits out of your chest hair.
I try to appear stern as I perform this elegant maneuver, but it’s difficult, as Molly is so pleased with herself that she is literally crying with laughter.
I suppose this is my karmic punishment for playing her all that NSYNC.
“You think you’re very funny indeed, don’t you, Miss Marks,” I say, dabbing my napkin into my water glass.
“That’s what you get for trolling me.”
I shake my head gravely as I sponge the ketchup from between my nipples.
“I’m not trolling you. Place your bet.”
She rolls her eyes. “Seth, I hate to devastate you all over again, but this is the first and last time we’re having sex. Enjoy the afterglow.”
“I don’t know about that, Molls. I have more condom… ments.” Like the great dad jokers before me, I waggle a tiny jar of jam and a mini bottle of Tabasco at her.
“Don’t make me throw more eggs at you. I’m running out.”
I slide my plate across the table. “You can have mine.”
“Okay!” She immediately dumps them onto her plate and splats more ketchup over them. “Anyway, this will never happen again. Sorry.”
“And why is that?” I ask through a mouthful of croissant.
“Because you kind of hate me, and I kind of deserve it.”
She’s maybe a little bit right. But admitting it is not the point of this exercise.
Provoking her is.
“I don’t hate you!” I protest. “And you don’t deserve hatred. Well, possibly you do. Do you have a sideline in serial killing or design those tiny airplane seats or something?”
She smiles at me. “Both.”
“I can forgive you. At least for the murders.”
She leans back in her chair and crosses her legs, so that one thigh emerges from her silky robe.
“That’s actually the problem with us, Seth.”
I lean back too, aping her posture, and cross my arms. “What’s the problem?”
“I broke your heart too young. I’ll always be the one that got away. You’ll never really get over me. So we couldn’t date even if I wanted to, which I don’t. The power dynamic would be too lopsided. You’d always love me more.”
I can’t tell if she’s kidding.
“What a poignant monologue. I might cry.”
She nods solemnly and licks ketchup off her fork. “Yum.”
“You are so gross.”
“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 to be your 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 over me.”
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 I wanted to 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.
From: [email protected]
Date: Sun, Nov 11, 2018 at 9:54am
Subject: You’re welcome
Hey Marks—
Good to see you and know you biblically last night. Since I know you’re a person of little integrity, here are the terms of our bet. No weaseling out of it, my slippery beauty.
By the way, I still have sand in my teeth.
—Seth
I paste in the list of our wagers, hit send, and begin packing up. It’s not until later, when I’m at my parents’ house, that I get a response.
From: [email protected]
Date: Sun, Nov 11, 2018 at 12:56pm
Re: Subject: You’re welcome
Wow Seth, you really could not WAIT to email me. You know emails are time-stamped, right? Anyway, I’m glad the sand is in your teeth and not, like, your urethra.
See you in five years!
xo
Molls