“Yeah, I remember that,” I tell her. “Well, it’s been great to see you, but we should really—”
Heather giggles again.
Oh, just make this stop.
I glance back at Ash to try to gauge her mood, but her expression is inscrutable.
“You were pretty convincing,” she says. “Not that I didn’t flirt right back.”
“Oh, really?” Ash asks. I cannot, for the life of me, tell whether hers is a teasing tone or an “I’m about to gut you right here and now” tone.
“Yeah, well, it’s good to catch up, but we’ve got to get this stuff in a refrigerator before it spoils,” I tell Heather.
She just giggles at me again.
This is exactly what I don’t need right now.
/> “Was the office behind a Sbarro or an Orange Julius?” she asks. “I don’t remember.”
“Pretzel Maker,” I answer, hoping I’ve sated her curiosity.
“I thought you two said you were in the food court,” Ash says. “What were you doing in an office behind a Pretzel Maker?”
Someone kill me.
Heather giggles again, and although I’m positive Ash pretty well has the basic idea down, she doesn’t say anything. Apparently, Heather isn’t so shy.
“I had just gotten out of a bad relationship,” Heather tells Ash. “The guy was a real jerk, but I could just never quite seem to put an end to it. Then, of course, he slept with my mom and my sister, and—”
“You slept with this woman’s mom and sister?” Ash interrupts.
“No,” I answer quickly. “No, absolutely not.”
“I’m talking about the guy I was with before I met Mason,” Heather explains.
How can she not get that she really needs to stop talking? She knows where this story goes and how she thinks it’s an appropriate conversational topic is beyond me. Still, she continues.
“Mason and I never really got to know each other that well,” Heather says, staving off my nervous breakdown for at least a few seconds. Of course, then she immediately undoes all the good that statement could have done. “I really needed a good lay with a stranger, and I don’t know how he knew, but he knew.”
“We’re talking about Mason now?” Ash says.
“Oh yeah,” Heather responds. The way she says it would be very flattering if I wasn’t standing right next to Ash. “He did things in that little room I can’t even begin to describe. I’ve got to thank you for that,” she says. “Before then, I didn’t know I was particularly flexible. Now, I do yoga.”
Seriously, take a knife and stab me. Take a gun and shoot me. Take a rope and hang me. Hire a hitman. I’ll pay for it.
Unfortunately, the only two people here that might be able to help me with any of the above are the person telling a story I really don’t want told and my girlfriend who seems determined to hear all of it. I guess I’ll just have to deal with it.
“You two used to date?” Ash asks.
“Briefly,” I answer.
“I don’t know if I’d call it dating as much as I would a sweaty romp in an empty office,” Heather laughs. I don’t laugh. Ash doesn’t laugh. Heather just keeps on going, “He was very smooth,” Heather says. “I didn’t even realize you were flirting with me at first, and by the time I did, I’d already started flirting back, myself. It was inevitable, once he sat down and we started talking.”
“Well, I really think we should get this food put away,” I say just a little bit too loudly, hoping to communicate to Heather that she needs to put an end to this.
She doesn’t pick up the cue.
“The way I was screaming in there, I’m still surprised security didn’t come in and bust us,” she says. “He’s really got a nice touch. You know,” she says, STILL TALKING, “up until that day, I always thought I was going to have a quiet life and if I ever did get married, it’d be to some jerk who never really fulfilled me, but after you bent me over that desk—”