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I waggle my index finger at him. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Peter Hennessey. Kat knows I’m obsessed with Mr. Darcy’s hand-flex. It’s my version of porn.”
Henn chuckles. “A) that’s good to know, and B) I swear on my love for my momma—and I really love my momma—that Kat didn’t utter nary a word to me about Pride & Prejudice or Mr. Darcy’s hand-flex. I’ve seen that movie, like, five times with my mother and a couple more times on my own. If I’m scrolling and it happens to pop up on my suggested list, I can’t resist watching it again.”
The sincerity on Henn’s face is undeniable. But since I’m in the mood to playfully torture him, I call across the table, “Kitty, excuse me.” Kat peels her gaze off Josh and onto me. “Did you or did you not arm Henn with the top-secret code to the steel safe of my heart and libido? Namely, telling him about my obsession with Pride & Prejudice and Mr. Darcy’s hand-flex?”
“I did not.”
“Would you swear to that fact? And if so, would you swear to it on your love for your momma?”
“I would. Also, on my love for my daddy and all four of my brothers. Even Peen.”
“Thank you. I’ll accept all that love as collateral except in regard to your love of Peen, considering how often you gripe about him.”
“Fair enough.”
Henn chuckles and addresses Kat. “Your love of peen?”
“That’s what my family calls my brother, Keane. He’s Keane the Peen. Peenie Weenie. Peen Star. And trust me, the nickname fits.” Kat rolls her eyes. “That boy can be the biggest fucking peen.”
We all laugh and launch into asking Kat an avalanche of questions about her peentastic brother. How did he first acquire such a silly nickname? What makes him such a peen? And Kat cracks us up with story after story, concluding with the comment, “My big brother, Colby, always says Keane isn’t our family’s black sheep; he’s our neon sheep.”
We all laugh again and ask several more questions, but when that particular topic wanes, and Josh and Kat slide into another one-on-one conversation, Henn and I do the same.
Henn asks, “Why were you so sure I was scamming you about Pride & Prejudice? It’s a great movie.”
“I’ve never dated anyone who’d ever think of a romance as a great movie. Especially one that’s a period piece, too.”
Henn rolls his eyes. “Fools, every last one of them.”
“Welcome to my dating history. A parade of fools.”
“Yeah, it’s rough out there.”
I sigh dramatically and place my hand on my heart. “Sir, that’s what happens when a lady is twenty-seven.” It’s a reference to Pride & Prejudice—to a famous scene in the movie that’s become a viral internet meme. Namely, Lizzie’s best friend, Charlotte, logically explains her rationale for marrying the dweeby, repellant Mr. Collins by saying she’s twenty-seven years old with no money or prospects.
Henn fake-gasps. “Oh dear. You’re unmarried and twenty-seven?”
Oh my gosh. Henn gets the reference! “I sure am,” I lament dramatically. And then, because I’m a total dork, I can’t resist launching word-for-word into Charlotte’s famous speech while mimicking the actress’s tone, accent, and inflection. When I finish my short performance, Henn applauds and laughs while I take a bow in my chair. “I can do Emma Stone’s maybe-I’m-not-good-enough monologue from Lala Land, too,” I say proudly. “Including getting tears in my eyes at the exact right moment.”
Henn looks sheepish. “I’ve only seen that movie once and it was years ago, so I don’t remember that monologue. I’m sure you kill it, though.”
I gasp in mock horror. “How dare you, sir. Lala Land is second on my all-time favorites list after Pride & Prejudice.”
Henn looks genuinely stunned. “Wow. We’ve finally discovered something that proves we’re not, in fact, the same person in male and female forms. I liked Lala Land, but not enough to want to see it again.”
My jaw hangs open. “Sir, that movie is a perfect masterpiece and you’ve offended me to my very bone.”
Henn snort-laughs. “I didn’t say I hated it. I said I liked it. That’s a compliment.”
“No, it’s a goddamned slur when talking about a masterpiece.”
I’m loving this banter with Henn. So many times on first dates, my attempts at humor are met with dead, awkward silences. Or worse, my date looks at me like I’ve got horns in my head. But with Henn, every joke lands. And not only that, he gives as good as he gets.
“Please accept my profuse apology,” Henn says.
“No, because it’s not sincere.”
“True.”
“Is there a movie you’d consider a perfect masterpiece?” I ask.
Henn considers for a beat. “Interstellar, maybe?”
“Ooooh, that’s a great movie. I’m a sucker for anything outer space.”
“Same.”
“I saw the best documentary about UFOs the other day. So good. You should watch it.” I tell him the title.
