The Bargaining Powers of Love

by roopa swaminathan

“Would you like to order?”

The hovering waiter at the brand-new restaurant, Lying Down, asked Georgia for the fourth time in the past hour. Georgia stared at him hard. The waiter muttered something about crowded restaurants and angry managers before he slipped away.

Georgia understood.

She was, after all, seated at a prime table overlooking the beautiful mountains at the newly opened Lying Down for over an hour of prime dinner time without ordering anything but a cup of coffee for company.

Georgia was pissed at her kid sister Lincoln. They’d made plans to do dinner and a movie that evening and while she could’ve ordered dinner for herself (she had no issues eating alone) — she just didn’t want to that evening. It was the principle of the thing, she thought indignantly.

But it wasn’t as if Georgia had a choice. She was extremely upset with her Lincoln. They’d made plans. Real plans. Plans to go to and, maybe, catch the 8:30 pm show of any of the latest Mark Wahlberg movies (since he averaged at least one release every two months it was a safe bet that they could find at least one Mark Wahlberg movie to watch) playing at the nearby mall.

Grudgingly, Georgia admitted to herself that Lincoln had refused to commit to the movie since she had made other plans with her friends to go play games at the arcade. IF that fell through — she’d stressed — then a movie with Georgia was a go.

Georgia’s phone pinged. Finally! A message from Lincoln. I may be a little late but wait for me. I’ll definitely be there, G!

So, wait, a hungry Georgia did, even as she was surrounded on one side by young and hip teens discussing everything from Sartre, Trump, Putin, and The Avengers between sips of chai latte and bites of thin-crust spinach pizza to loud and noisy Wall Street type bros in their Calvin Klein suits and whiskies talking loudly on their latest model iPhone 722.

After almost an hour of no follow-up messages or phone calls from Lincoln — a by now very irate Georgia was just about to call it a night when an unrepentant Lincoln sauntered in casually.

She dropped in the chair opposite Georgia and said, “Hey G. I’m so tired. And hungry. Like famished. You should’ve just ordered. You know it takes time here, right, for the food to come?”

Georgia looked as if a blood vessel was about to burst and tried to center herself and find the zen or chi or whatever inside of her and said mildly, “You’re an hour late, Linc.”

With the binding indifference of a teenager, Lincoln shrugged and remorselessly pounced on the breadsticks the harried waiter brought them the second he laid eyes on Georgia’s guest.

“You know how these things are, G!”

Georgia tried counting to ten and got to 1–2 and gave up.

“God! You’re so insensitive, Lincoln. And it’s not just tonight. You never call me or show up on time when we make plans. There’s not even a hint of an apology in sight for miles. I have to constantly bribe you just so we can hang out. A gift certificate to Forever 21. Tickets for you and your deadbeat horror teenager friends to see Ed Sheeran. Getting slammed playing paintball shooting even though I’d love to just hang out and chill. All for what? Just so I can spend time with my own kid cousin sister?”

Lincoln carelessly bit into another breadstick even as Georgia’s diatribe continued.

“When did you go from looking up to me and hanging on to my every word to my now having to buy your love now?”

Lincoln shrugged and said very matter-of-factly,

“I grew up. And look at the bright side, G. Imagine how much more traumatic it will be if you couldn’t afford to buy my love?”