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Whipped Cream and Chocolate

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“So. What are you wearing?”

“White sweater, jeans—Mary.” Joan gave her surroundings a furtive look and lowered her voice, hissing, “Not in public!”

“What? The kids are asleep, their parents are away and I’m all alone, watching reruns of Jersey Shore which is as about as pathetic it can get. Joaaaaan, come on, you won’t be home for hours!”

“But I’m working!” Joan whispered, scandalized. She dug deep in her purse for her wallet and fished out her Metrocard with her teeth. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is halfway across the city doing God knows what, probably getting his big head into trouble and when I get there, I’ll probably have to sort out the entire mess. Again.”

“It sounds like he’s worse than Kevin and Maya,” Mary said, her voice amused. “And they’re at their terrible two stage.”

“Imagine Kevin and Maya with IQs of 300 and lots of money and British accents,” Joan sighed and stopped before the subway stairs. “Listen, I’m gonna have to get on the train—I’ll be home, maybe…a little after one? Don’t wait up, okay?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mary said airily. “I guess I’ll have to put the whipped cream back in the fridge and forget about the chocolate syrup.”

“What—what about the—“ Joan huffed a laugh. “We’ll see when I get home tonight,” she promised. “I’ll get my revenge.”

“Get home safe, okay? Love you.”

“I love you too.”