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“You avoid pain,” she shoots back. “That’s a shallow, cowardly, lowbrow way to live.”

“What’s lowbrow about treating yourself to the gifts of life? Why else do they exist? Why do we have senses, if not to indulge them? Taste, touch, sight, sound, smell. It’s not purely so we can reign over humanity and target mortals.”

“It’s shallow because you add no value to it beyond the present moment. All you’re thinking about is, ‘This feels so good,’ and then you chuck the feeling after you’ve gotten your endorphin hit, and you move on to the next best thing. That leaves zero room for lasting gratitude or appreciation.” She loops a strand of hair behind her ear. “I have a theory.”

“Oh?” Envy queries in mock suspense. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

“True pleasure doesn’t exist unless pain comes with it. You can’t savor one thing unless you know what it’s like to be deprived of the other. Loss is inevitable. When we hurt, those comforting moments—those delights, as you say—are more meaningful. They’re treasures, but only when we understand and experience the opposite. Otherwise the pleasure is pointless.”

“That’s hardly a groundbreaking theory,” he replies mildly.

She’s nowhere near discouraged. “To that, I have another theory.”

“Do tell.” He drifts closer, jostling the silverware. “I’m all ears.”

“The simplest ideas, or the most basic ones, the rules we all know,” she vents. “We live by them as if they’re a given, but they’re still the hardest to remember. They’re the hardest to live by. And when we do remember, we’re scared or threatened, as if they’re suddenly new ideas again.

“My theories might not be groundbreaking, but that doesn’t lessen the impact. After thousands of years, people are still relearning the same lessons, drawing the same conclusions. It’s an endless cycle, both ancient and an anomaly.”

She picks through the assortment of goodies, selecting a thick cut of salmon, laying it atop a slice of nut bread, and dousing it with lemon, citrus squirting and leaking onto the fish. He watches her take a thoughtful bite.

Without her mouth full, she says, “We have the hardest time learning the oldest lessons.”

It takes an absurd amount of energy to withdraw from the sight of her lips jutting up and down. He retrieves the lemon, sinks his teeth into the pulp, and sucks on the remaining juice. Aware of her eyes on him, he drains the orb and then tosses it onto the blanket. “Again, how would you know what it’s like to lose pleasure if you’re too skittish to experience it?”

She blinks, swallows her portion, and sets down the rest. “Again, how can you appreciate pleasure if you’re too spooked to experience pain?”

Leftover acid collects on his tongue. “What makes you think I’m afraid to experience pain?”

“Oh, please. Because envy itself is a component of pain, and blind pleasure is the coping mechanism. You make sure you alwayshave, have, have. You use the senses, and the compliments of your lovers—and don’t get me started on your own witticisms, and flirtations, and smirks—as a way to dodge the hard stuff. That’s you, desperate for pleasure and validation.

“You compare yourself to others. That’s your purpose. That’s your default. That’s who you were born as. I’m guessing for you it would suck to have less than someone else, to feel less fortunate, to acknowledge the low-hanging fruits of your life, if it pales next to someone else’s good luck. That would be painful.”

“Well, well,” Envy jeers. “You’re all talk tonight. Do you think you have me pegged? What if I told you this isn’t a new idea for me?”

“Sure, you might know this. You might even fess up to it. But are you going to face it?”

“Areyou? Are you going to face all this self-awareness? Or are you just going to sit there and eat all my food?”

“Some host you are.”

“I am a superb host. I don’t care what you say.”

Sorrow snorts, then immediately sobers. Plucking her skirt, she mumbles, “Um, by the way, thank you. For not letting me drown.”

Envy stares at her, thunderstruck. “I…really wish I’d gotten that on video.”

When another snigger tumbles out of the goddess, he considers that as encouragement. Might as well take advantage of the thaw. “I refuse to believe you’re immune. Come now, I’m bored and need distraction from my wound. Tell Illustrious Envy, and he promises there will be no bonding.”

“Tell you what?”

“Your pleasure, of course.” Envy holds her gaze. “What’s your pleasure?”

She hesitates. Perhaps this goddess is thinking what he’s thinking: Are they actually having a civilized discussion? It’s too late to turn back. The suggestion has tripped out of him, and now that they’ve started talking, he can’t seem to keep his mouth shut.

She fidgets, the purple lacquer of her fingernails starting to peel. Once that round of fumbling comes to an end, she admits, “I don’t know what I like.”

“That’s preposterous!” Envy wants to laugh in disbelief, but he’s not in the mood to get smacked. “Very well, I never object to going first.”