Bad Games

26



The clink of the champagne glasses was an hour ago. A near-empty bottle of Cristal sat in a small puddle of its own condensation on the kitchen counter. Patrick and Amy were taking their time getting dressed in the bedroom. Actually, Patrick was; Amy was keen on dressing and going for that moon-lit walk.

“I’m gonna put on some sweats,” Amy said. She went to roll out of bed and Patrick hooked her at the waist and pulled her back.

“Not yet,” he said, his lips going up and down her bare back and shoulders. “Just a little longer.”

Amy wiggled free and hopped out of bed, her naked body casting a dim, but enticing profile in the moonlight.

“Jesus, baby,” Patrick said, “if you want to get out this bedroom, I suggest you dress quickly.”

She laughed and hiked up a pair of blue sweatpants followed by a gray sweatshirt. “Think I’ll be warm enough in this?”

“If you wear a jacket.”

“Duh.”

He threw a pillow at her. She caught it and dropped it to the floor. “Now you’re pillow-less. Get up.”

He slapped his hands over his face and moaned.

“God you’re worse than Carrie on a school day. My sneakers are in the kitchen. I’ll be right back. Get up.”

Patrick groaned and got to his feet. He scanned the perimeter of the bedroom for discarded clothing that would suffice for a second round; the idea of rifling through drawers for new attire with champagne and recent sex still sapping brain cells was far too daunting.

“What should I wear?” he yelled into the kitchen. “Should I just throw on what I wore at the Mitchell’s last night?”

“No.”

“It was just jeans and a button-down.”

“No.”

He sighed and slumped down onto the corner of the bed. “Is the path around the lake muddy?”

“Huh?”

“Muddy. Are we gonna get dirty or something?”

“Patrick, just find something else to wear please.”

He rolled his eyes at no one, stood again, trudged towards the dresser. He tugged the middle drawer open. “Dog shit?” he called.

“What?”

“Think there’ll be dog shit?”

Amy re-appeared in the bedroom an inch taller, her sneakers snug to her feet. “How the hell should I know?”

“Well I’m sure Oscar isn’t the only dog around here,” he said.

“Well let’s just hope the people around here have enough decency to clean up after their pets. Besides, if you just look where you’re stepping you’ll be fine.”

“It’s dark out,” he said as he pulled on his own pair of sweats.

“The lake will have decent lighting from the surrounding cabins. I’m sure you’ll be able to detect the odd pile of poo if we happen to stumble across it.”

Patrick yanked down a blue sweatshirt, then ran a hand back and forth through his hair—a futile attempt at keeping his cowlicks from behaving after the earlier assault with hair gel. “Yeah, well, if I do step in some I’m gonna scoop it up with a stick and chase you around the lake with it.”

“Grade school reminiscing are we?” Amy pulled her hair into a ponytail and fastened a band around it. “What am I thinking? You need to graduate before you can reminisce.”

Patrick started putting on his sneakers. “And yet you married me.”

“I lost a bet.”

Patrick finished tying his shoes and stood. “I wonder where our dumb dog is anyway. Carrie said she couldn’t find him earlier. I haven’t seen him either. Have you?”

Amy was frowning.

Patrick said, “What?”

“Our dog?”

“He’s been great with Carrie. She loves him to bits.”

Amy’s frown was going nowhere. “There is no way on earth that dog is coming home with us. You know that right? Please tell me you know that.”

Patrick looked away and nodded.

“Patrick?”

“Alright, alright. I guess I’m just thinking about what to say when Carrie inevitably asks.”

“How about ‘no’?”

“Okay fine, but you’re the one who’s telling her.”

“Okay I will. But you know she’ll run right to you afterwards and try again. So prepare yourself, buddy boy.” She ended her spiel with a good-luck-with-that slap to his chest.

“Ouch—stop abusing your husband. He’s very delicate.”

“Well bring your delicate butt along—I want to get a romantic stroll in before the kids come back.”

“Patience, my darling. You can’t rush romance.”

“You can when you’ve got a four- and six-year-old headed back from the movies with sugar in their blood and cartoon animals bouncing around in their heads.”

“Good point. Let’s go.”