Muffin

A kitchen. The sound of a landlord hammering outside.

Jen: He’s been working on that for a while.

Dave: Yeah, it must take a while to put in a deadbolt.

Jen: I hope he’s alright.

Dave: (looking over his shoulder at nothing in particular) He’s fine.

Jen: Maybe we should check on him.

Dave: (suspicious) Was I a little too firm with him on the phone earlier?

Jen: Possibly.

Dave: Well, if I wasn’t an asshole he wouldn’t do anything.

Jen: (grieved) I know.

Dave: Let me go check on him.

Jen: Okay.

[Dave goes outside while Jen touches utensils on the counter.]

Dave: He’s fine.

Jen: You sure?

Dave: Yes. And you can give him this muffin. Tell him you baked it for him.

Jen: We got that from the store, and you can totally tell.

Dave: He won’t know the difference.

Jen: I’m not going to lie about a muffin.

Dave: It’s not like you wouldn’t bake him a muffin if you had the chance.

Jen: We don’t have to give him a muffin.

Dave: Give him the muffin!

Jen: No!

[Dave heats up the muffin in the microwave and then sets it on the counter.]

Dave: Now it will seem like it’s right out of the oven.

Jen: Why can’t I just say “here’s a muffin”? Why do I have to have made it?

Dave: Because he likes you and it will me a lot to him.

Jen: That’s true.

Dave: See.

Jen: I’m not giving it to him from me.

Dave: (poking the muffin) Then how will you explain why it’s warm?

Jen: I just won’t say anything.

Dave: An unexplainably warm muffin? That’s gross.

Jen: No it’s not.

Dave: Yes it is.

Jen: Why?

Dave: Because it’s warm.

Jen: (lying) Okay.

Dave: Good.