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weeks ago. We’re dating . ” My voice is firm and kind of flat, the way you talk to a pollster during a presidential campaign. Like you want to be nice and do your duty, but c’mon—let’s get this over with so you can go off and spin this conversation to your advantage in the most sociopathic way ever.  
    “That doesn’t mean you’re dating.” He takes three enormous swallows of his drink and sets it down, salt coating his thin upper lip. Steve then unrolls the silverware from the yellow cloth napkin and shakes the cloth onto his lap. His hands are steady but something is off. Why am I here again?  
    Whatever ambiguity I felt when Declan and I dined with Steve and Jessica is gone. Long gone, and now replaced by apathy. Something even less than apathy, though. A growing annoyance that ma k e s me see Steve is part of my past. Not my future.
    The clarity makes me ache for Declan right now. Of all the times to be in New Zealand, frolicking with Hobbits. Hobbits have nasty feet. My mind drifts to the podiatrist visits I have to complete later this week.  
    “I don’t routinely shove my tongue down the throat of people I’m not dating .” The words slip out before I even deliberate whether to say them. If Amanda were here she’d be cheering. A few weeks ago I’d have never challenged Steve like this, but a few weeks can change everything .  
    He pauses in mid-movement, nostrils flaring, then he’s the one who sigh s . “I’m not sure I know that for a fact, Shannon.” His eyes snap up and catch mine. The look he gives me is hard and accusatory.
    “What is that supposed to mean ?”
    “ I think you’re dating him to make me jealous.”  
    Thunk. That’s the sound of my jaw falling through the earth’s crust, magma, core, and splashing into Declan’s lap in New Zealand.
    “You think I’m—”
    “It’s brilliant!” He takes a long draw off his drink. “Seriously. Making sure you pick the same restaurant where I’m with Jessica. Using Jessica’s online presence to help boost your profile—”
    “What?” Where does he get that from? I want to be tweeted about by Jessica Coffin about as much as I want to suck on Steve’s toes. “You think I’m jealous of you and Jessica and I’m dating Declan McCormick to…to…what?”  
    “Get me back.”
    A deeply wheezy sound emerges from my throat as the tortilla chip I shoved in there lodges itself in the worst way possible. I’m not in danger of choking to death. Just gagging in pain until the offending object moves out of the way.
    Hmmm. That kind of describes Steve, actually.
    The tortilla chip cracks and goes down (and no, that doesn’t describe me ), and with a big swig of my water glass I finally look at him with tears in my eyes from having my throat lacerated by a completely innocent piece of food.
    “You think I want you back?”
    He takes a big chip, dips it in the salsa, bites off half, and double dips. That’s right. He just offended Jerry Seinfeld and the crew with one bite.
    “Of course you do. it’s been a year, you’re still single, and you’re here. With me. On a date. So—it worked.” He spreads his hands magnanimously , as if accepting defeat for some battle I didn’t know existed. “You win.”
    “I win what ?”
    “You win me .”
    “I don’t want to win you! I never win anything! If I’m going to win something, it should be an all-expenses paid trip to Puerto V a llarta or a Kia Optima , not an all-access pass to be the slobbering, under-appreciated girlfriend to an over-important fleshbag who thinks I’m inadequate and who has an ego bigger than his penith !”
    Well, now. Who knew that was in me? He doesn’t seem offended, though. More worried that other people heard me, but not actually upset by the content and meaning of my words.  
    “You’re not the woman I thought I knew.”
    “You mean the woman you rejected .” I reach for my own bucket of sugar and alcohol and take a few gulps of liquid