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Sigrid sighs into her cup of coffee. “That did not go as planned. I’m blaming you.”
“Hey, don’t blame me!” Moonchild giggles. Her voice is too chipper and high-pitched for seven-thirty on a Monday morning. “It’s not my fault your husband’s got eyes for everyone but you! You know, I could take care of that problem for you…”
“Thank you, but then it wouldn’t be… real.” Sigrid pours two aspirin into her hand and washes them down her throat with a swallow of coffee. “I’m so discouraged. Your plan seemed brilliant at the time.”
“We were all very, very intoxicated,” Moonchild says. “Every plan seems brilliant after two bottles of wine.”
“He only wanted to be with you.” Sigrid scowls into her coffee. It’s as black as her mood. “I felt sick when he kept groping you. Even after you told him you were a lesbian! Are you even actually a lesbian?”
“I was picking up some really bad vibes from you,” Moonchild says, carefully avoiding the question. “And you’re like, one of my best friends! Friends don’t steal each other’s husbands, you know?”
“But friends do go down on each other?” Sigrid raises an eyebrow.
“Ja, of course!” Moonchild pours a little more agave nectar into her ginseng tea. “You needed some cheering up. It seemed to make you happy for a few moments, didn’t it?”
“For a few moments, yes,” Sigrid says. “And then he couldn’t—am I really that unattractive?”
“No!” Moonchild assures her. “It was the wine, y’know? He wouldn’t have been able to keep it up for me, either! I promise. Besides, maybe now he’ll be embarrassed and want to prove his prowess to you some other time?”
“Knowing Ernest, that seems unlikely.” Sigrid sinks lower into her chair.
“Here’s what you do!” Moonchild leans in, lowering her voice. “We’ll tell him we want another try, right? And then we’ll give him a condom that I’ve carefully poked some pinholes into, and then—”
“No,” Sigrid says.
“But—”
“No,” Sigrid repeats. “If he doesn’t love me as it is, adding a child into the mix will only make things worse. I’m certain you don’t want me calling you at three in the morning, distraught because I’m six months pregnant and he’s still bringing home other women. I can’t bear even the thought.”
“What are you going to do, then?” Moonchild asks.
Sigrid frowns. “I’m going to finish my croissant, do my job despite this hangover, and refuse to let Ernest ruin my day.”
“That’s the spirit,” Moonchild says. “If it makes you feel any better, I stole all of his socks on my way out.”
“That explains your bag,” Sigrid says. “But dammit. Now he’ll just wear mine and stretch them all out. I’m blaming you for that, if nothing else.”
“That’s fair,” Moonchild says.