giant Where’s Waldo puzzle. The dying horses, the men impaled by bayonets in isolated skirmishes, the pockets where the hopeless French fight on despite Wellington having already won.” She twirled the shot glass on the table. “Napoleon’s remaining men were like French lavender tossed across an angry British sea, surviving one wave, maybe two, but due to succumb by nightfall.”
“You have an appreciation for history.”
“With human history as crazy as is, how could you not?”
“The fight to save the polar caps today feels like one of your devastation paintings,” he said. “With us being the French, of course.”
Maggie’s hand massaged the back of her neck. “Look who’s the poet now.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t sound like what you do.”
“No kidding. I realized I was a good dancer when I was seventeen. My way of being creative, you see.” She took a sip and grimaced at the whiskey’s potency. “And now you’ll ask me how many people I’ve slept with.”
“I don’t judge you, Maggie.”
“Yes, you do.” Her quiet words cut off his next sentence. “The only reason you’re here is screw me for a couple of hundred bucks and jerk off in my face, before the door hits your judgmental ass on the way out.”
“I’m sorry I came.” Colton stood up, unsure where to put his hands. She took them in hers.
“If I ask you not to judge me, the least I can do is offer the same in return. And stop being so serious, you wouldn’t be here unless I wanted you to be.” She slurped at the last of her whiskey and looked at him. For the first time, Colton didn’t avert her gaze. “Answer me a question, Mr. I-Know-Defiance-Day-Cold.”
“Who’s making fun of who now?”
“When everyone votes for someone else to die, wouldn’t everyone die?”
“Wouldn’t that be a snag,” he said. “And you’d be right, but for the Sacrifice votes.”
“So what?”
“So those who receive a Sacrifice will survive Defiance Day. And the future will be populated by silver-spooners. Other than the children, of course. I’m sure you’ll sacrifice for your son.”
“Lying about being a mom is a part of my gig in the club.”
Colton smiled. “You’ll make a great mom one day. When you get around to it.” He squeezed her hand, which still held his. She didn’t squeeze back. “This stripper gig you do,” he said. “You’re better than that. If I were fifteen years younger, I wouldn’t need a lap-dance to ask you out.”
“You’re asking me out?”
“Sure I am. Let’s do lunch, sometime. You know… as if I were your old and funny uncle or an even older friend.”
Her hand pulled away. “What if your niece has had four abortions and more failed relationships than she cared to remember?”
“We’ve all messed up. But we do carry on.”
“Do me a favor?”
“What is it?”
She exhaled. “I want you to kiss me. On the mouth. Like you kissed your ex-wife.”
“It’s been ages since I kissed anyone. Sarah and I stopped –”
“On the mouth,” she repeated.
Colton met her halfway around the kitchen table. He pulled at the tiny waist and kissed her with eyes closed, once. Like he’d kissed Sarah countless times. In this moment, he could swear Sarah’s breath hit his face and his tongue nudged between the gap of her front teeth. Then he opened his eyes and saw Maggie.
The twenty-four-year-old ran a tongue over the trail of their kiss on her lips. “I should have been born a hundred years earlier…” she said, half to Colton, half to the empty room, “when people had a future to look forward to, instead of this...” Her eyes smiled at him and her hand caressed his hair. “Give me a moment,” she said, turned around and slid out of the room.
He returned to the table, counting the color pots over the stove. One blue, one green, two yellow… The sound of shattered glass jolted him erect and he rushed out of the kitchen and into the bedroom but Maggie
“You have an appreciation for history.”
“With human history as crazy as is, how could you not?”
“The fight to save the polar caps today feels like one of your devastation paintings,” he said. “With us being the French, of course.”
Maggie’s hand massaged the back of her neck. “Look who’s the poet now.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t sound like what you do.”
“No kidding. I realized I was a good dancer when I was seventeen. My way of being creative, you see.” She took a sip and grimaced at the whiskey’s potency. “And now you’ll ask me how many people I’ve slept with.”
“I don’t judge you, Maggie.”
“Yes, you do.” Her quiet words cut off his next sentence. “The only reason you’re here is screw me for a couple of hundred bucks and jerk off in my face, before the door hits your judgmental ass on the way out.”
“I’m sorry I came.” Colton stood up, unsure where to put his hands. She took them in hers.
“If I ask you not to judge me, the least I can do is offer the same in return. And stop being so serious, you wouldn’t be here unless I wanted you to be.” She slurped at the last of her whiskey and looked at him. For the first time, Colton didn’t avert her gaze. “Answer me a question, Mr. I-Know-Defiance-Day-Cold.”
“Who’s making fun of who now?”
“When everyone votes for someone else to die, wouldn’t everyone die?”
“Wouldn’t that be a snag,” he said. “And you’d be right, but for the Sacrifice votes.”
“So what?”
“So those who receive a Sacrifice will survive Defiance Day. And the future will be populated by silver-spooners. Other than the children, of course. I’m sure you’ll sacrifice for your son.”
“Lying about being a mom is a part of my gig in the club.”
Colton smiled. “You’ll make a great mom one day. When you get around to it.” He squeezed her hand, which still held his. She didn’t squeeze back. “This stripper gig you do,” he said. “You’re better than that. If I were fifteen years younger, I wouldn’t need a lap-dance to ask you out.”
“You’re asking me out?”
“Sure I am. Let’s do lunch, sometime. You know… as if I were your old and funny uncle or an even older friend.”
Her hand pulled away. “What if your niece has had four abortions and more failed relationships than she cared to remember?”
“We’ve all messed up. But we do carry on.”
“Do me a favor?”
“What is it?”
She exhaled. “I want you to kiss me. On the mouth. Like you kissed your ex-wife.”
“It’s been ages since I kissed anyone. Sarah and I stopped –”
“On the mouth,” she repeated.
Colton met her halfway around the kitchen table. He pulled at the tiny waist and kissed her with eyes closed, once. Like he’d kissed Sarah countless times. In this moment, he could swear Sarah’s breath hit his face and his tongue nudged between the gap of her front teeth. Then he opened his eyes and saw Maggie.
The twenty-four-year-old ran a tongue over the trail of their kiss on her lips. “I should have been born a hundred years earlier…” she said, half to Colton, half to the empty room, “when people had a future to look forward to, instead of this...” Her eyes smiled at him and her hand caressed his hair. “Give me a moment,” she said, turned around and slid out of the room.
He returned to the table, counting the color pots over the stove. One blue, one green, two yellow… The sound of shattered glass jolted him erect and he rushed out of the kitchen and into the bedroom but Maggie
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