“Hey Anne,” David the arch nemesis said, holding a card and envelope in his hand.
“Hey?” Anne said, standing in the Walgreens, holding bleach and a bottle of wine.
“Don’t switch the labels,” he said, pleased with himself for being so funny. “Haha.”
“Sorry, bad joke. Bleach humor.” Though he said it was a bad joke, in truth he thought he was god’s gift to comedy.
“Right. Well, this has been a good talk, but–”
“You’re smart,” he blurted.
“Can’t take the credit,” she said. “Genetics was–”
He interrupted Anne. Again. She began wondering if acid would burn through his pretty boy flesh. If not, she figured she’d just have to come up with something stronger.
“I know we’ve had a lot of differences in the past, but–”
This time she interrupted him. It felt good: “You punched me in the face and had me arrested.”
“You built a giant death robot.”
“Death mech,” she said. “Robots don’t have pilots, mechs do.”
“Right,” he said. “Either way, you caused a lot of property damage.”
“True,” she said, “but it was cool.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry that I punched you in the face, and that you got thrown in jail. Back in high school, things seemed a little–”
“Simpler?” she asked.
“Right,” he said, looking at her like this was the first thought he’d ever had in his life. “Simpler. I should’ve tried to help you, after everything you–”
“It’s fine. This was nice and all, but I’ve got some laundry that I want to do. So I’m going to go buy this stuff now and be on my way.”
“It’s Ricky’s birthday today.”
Ricky AKA The Exxterminator, AKA the guy she’d just killed.
“What’s that got to do with me?” she snapped.