“One could even say he’s good at getting it in,” Jenna chuckles.
“Okay, Jenna, we get it,” Molly says, dryly.
Abby stares at Jenna, affronted. “Don’t be disgusting - that’s Molly’s brother. What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m just stating the obvious. Chill.” Jenna shoots Abby a condescending look – watching them, it’s pretty darn obvious there is no love lost between these two. The fact is, they will argue about everything.
The last time they were together in a room (um, just last week) they got in to a huge disagreement because Jenna wanted to listen to Pandora, and Abby thought we should be listening to I (Heart) Radio.
Stupid.
Seriously though – I have trouble finding out where all the animosity stems from. I have a sneaking suspicion that at one point Abby had a small crush on Jenna’s ex-boyfriend, Alex, and blamed Jenna for breaking his heart during the break-up.
But whatever. Back to my problem.
Jenna takes a bag of Skinny Pop and rips it open, sending a few loose popped kernels scattering to the floor. She looks over the edge of the table, and gives a weak ‘Oh shit’ before stuffing a handful from the bag into her mouth. “Okay [crunch]. So what I want to know is [crunch, crunch] how the two of you ended up playing miniature golf in the first place. That is so weird.”
“Why is that weird?” I ask, rising from the table to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. “Does anyone else want anything while I’m up?” A chorus of ‘no’s’ fill the room before I shut door on the fridge and return to the table. “We went to play mini putt-putt because nothing else was open,” I laugh. “Scout’s honor.”
Jenna groans. “Ugh. I hate when people call it mini putt-putt. No offense…”
Abby gives me a ‘is she for real’ look before asking “So… I think we’re all wondering the same thing… what’s the magic word going to be?”
“Like I’m telling you guys that.”
Jenna leans in. “Is it something like… moist? Or gurgle?”
I roll my eyes.
“Jenna, be serious. My brother would never pick a word like that.” Molly rests her chin in the palm of her hand and pops another Jelly Belly into her mouth. “He’s pick something like… snoz berries. Or fucktard.”
“Um… what the hell are snoz berries?”
“It was only like, one of his favorite words growing up. Since he wasn’t allowed to swear, he’d say snoz berries instead.” Molly’s voice gets high pitched and nasally as she does an impression of Matthew as a kid. “Aw Mom - What do you mean I can’t have a new hockey stick? Ugh! Snoz berries!”
We’re all laughing now, including Abby, and Molly continues. “If you think he’s a moron now, you should have met him ten years ago. ‘Mommmm, Molly took my bike out of the garage and didn’t put it back. Mommm, Molly is cop-y-ing meeee.”
“Back then he was way douchier,” Jenna agrees. Abby shoots her another exasperated look while I take a sip out of my bottled water, and Molly digs through the candy bowl. We are quite the motley crew.
For a few seconds no one says anything.
But then… “You do know taunting him by licking his face was a terrible idea. I mean… it’s pretty much the worst thing you could have done.”
“Thanks Abby.”
“Yeah, but guys love that shit,” Jenna interjects with a knowing smile. Out of all of us, she’s the most experienced.
My best friend continues. “I mean. Licking his lips and walking away? That’s like poking a sleeping bear. With a blunt force object.”
“It was in the heat of the moment.”
“At a miniature golf course.” Jenna deadpans.
“Um, you mean mini puyt-putt,” Abby corrects her.
“Shut up, Abby.”
Even Abby’s laugh sounds sarcastic.
My phone, set in the center of the table, buzzes. Crap. Six eyes bore into me, and I fidget in my seat. Jenna, of course, breaks the silence. “Aren’t you going to see who it is?” Her lips are twitching, and I shit you not, her eyes are actually sparkling mischievously.
“Um…. No?
Molly snorts. “Oh please. Don’t lie. You’re dying to look at it.”
“Matthew hates it when you snort, by the way. He says it’s unladylike.”
My roommate just stares at me, her mouth slightly agape. “Matthew says it’s unladylike? My, my, my - getting real cozy, are we?” Her hand snakes across the table, inches from my phone. “If you’re not going to see who it is, I will.”
“Molly Wakefield, don’t you dare!” shouts my bestie, coming to my defense. Naturally, Abby always has my back.
They’re right though: I do want to see who it is.
“Go on. Go ahead…” Abby quietly prompts like she’s cajoling a kitten out of a tree, pushing my phone closer with her forefinger. Like a crack addict, my nose twitches and my fingers itch to grab it.