We'd seen the movie he wanted to see (The Last Airbender), and he'd accompanied me as I went shopping for things I needed. Now Paul figured it was his turn again: "I'm thirsty. Can't we go get something to drink?"
"How about ice cream?" I suggested.
"No. I'm thirsty. Drink. Pop. I'll even call it soda, if it makes you happy."
"Why not ice cream?"
"Thirsty. Meesa no want ice cream."
"'Meesa?' Are you turning into Jar-Jar?"
"Only when meesa thirsty. And meesa no want ice cream."
"Well, what about me?" I asked with mock indignity. "What about what I want?"
"That doesn't sound like something you'd say. That sounds like something a selfish person would say."
"Maybe I'm selfish."
He looked at me with one of his patented "get real" expressions.
"What?" I asked. "I can be selfish."
"No you can't."
"How do you know?"
He rolled his eyes. "Look at all the stuff you do for me. You're always buying me stuff, taking me places. It's never about what you want. You never even think of yourself."
I laughed. "That's what every girl I've ever dated said to me, right before they dumped me."
He laughed, too, then stopped. "Wait. Those are all good things. Why would they dump you if you're a good person?"
"Well, it's, 'These are all the good things about you, and I really care about you, but I just don't feel that way about you.' Then they'll say, 'But we can still be friends.'"
"Did my mom say all that to you?"
"More or less."
"But you're still friends with her."
"Yeah, well. I'm still friends with you, too."
"That's because you're a good person. Even my mom knows that." He paused. "Even if she did rip out your heart."
I laughed, and we kept driving around.