We both help Dad get dinner on the table. Dad and Molly refill their wine glasses, but I only pour myself half a glass since I’ll be driving later.
Dinner is casual and full of banter. Dad and I have dinner together just about every night, but Molly brings an energy that has been missing. She tells us a story that has us all roaring with laughter, and I catch Dad giving me a look, like he’s wondering what special kind of fool I am not to have brought her around sooner. He’s not wrong.
We sit at the table long after we finish dessert—an apple crumble pie that he made earlier—and coffee. Molly’s great at asking questions, and Dad loves talking, so it’s nearly ten o’clock when he finally yawns and says, “I’ve dominated the conversation.”
“Well, yeah,” Molly says, “and you officially have permission to do it whenever I’m around. I could listen to your stories all night.”
“I think you did,” I say with a grin.
“Would you mind if I write some of them up?” Molly asks, then quickly adds, “Not to publish, unless we’re both interested in that.” She casts me a glance. “If Cal ever has a family, he can pass them on to his kids and so on, and then your stories won’t be forgotten.”
To my surprise, Dad gets teary-eyed. “I’d like that.”
But I’m stuck on Molly’s statement. If Cal ever has a family…
I’ve always wanted a family, but for a long time now, that dream has seemed lost to me. I shoot a glance at Molly. Maybe it’s not as lost as I had thought.
You’re a fool.
Even if I could entertain the idea of a future with someone, Molly has higher aspirations than staying here in Asheville, writing biographies for senior citizens and digging up dirt on semi-secret self-help groups. She’s leaving soon, and I need to remember that. Hell, even if she weren’t leaving, she admitted on the way over here that she’s never had a serious relationship. My heart trips on that thought. I have my reasons for being alone and thinking I ought to stay that way. What are hers?
Molly and I get up and start to clean up the kitchen, but Dad shoos us away. “It’s late. Why don’t you take Molly home?”
She protests, but Dad won’t hear of her helping, so she grabs her bag and we head out to my truck. “You can just take me home,” she says. “It’s closer than the tea shop.”
“Then how will you get your car?” I ask in confusion.
“Mary’ll be here before noon. I’ll have her drop me off to get it tomorrow.”
We get in the truck, and I start down the hill as she gives me rough directions to her house. She’s about to say something, and given that we’re traveling down a road without any imminent turns, I suspect it has to do with us, but then her phone rings.
She digs it out of her purse, cursing under her breath before she answers a video call. “Sorry, Maisie!”
It’s her sister, and call me an eavesdropper, but I’m intrigued to hear their conversation. I mean, it’s not like I could avoid it given I don’t have a set of earplugs handy.
“Oh my God,” a familiar woman’s voice says. “Is everything okay? I’ve been trying to call you for hours.”
“Sorry,” Molly repeats. Her face is lit up in the dark cab from the screen. “I forgot my phone in my purse.”
“Where are you?” Maisie asks, sounding confused.
“I’m on my way home,” Molly says, “but the dogs are fine.”
“Where were you?” her sister says, her tone firmer this time.
“Maisie, I’m twenty-eight years old. I don’t need a curfew.”
“It’s just that you’re not in contact with any of your old friends…” Her voice trails off.
“I’m perfectly capable of making new friends,” Molly says with a hint of attitude. “In fact, my new friend Tina and I were hanging out tonight.”
Only a partial truth, and I’m curious why she’s keeping her evening at our house a secret. She told me Maisie knows about her interest in the club.
“Are you in Tina’s car right now?” Maisie asks. “You’re not driving.”
“When did you become so controlling?” Molly teases. “Motherhood seems to have made you paranoid. I have to say, Maiz, it’s not a good look for you. The paranoid part, I mean. You still have that pregnant glow going on.”
“When was the last time you saw the dogs?”
“Around four thirty, but I’m on my way home now, and I promise to give them lots of love to make up for being gone for so long. Besides,” Molly says, “I took Chaco to the dog park this morning and brought Ein back a treat from the dog bakery. They’re still getting spoiled rotten by Aunt Molly. Nothing to worry about. How was your day? What did you and Jack do?”
Maisie launches into a story about Jack, who went on a deep-sea fishing excursion he’d been looking forward to the whole trip, only to get so violently seasick she had to tuck him into bed to sleep it off. Molly keeps giving me directions during lulls in their conversation, trying to be subtle about it, but Maisie finally calls her out.
“Why is Tina driving you, anyway?” she asks, sounding worried. “Did you have car trouble with the Prius?”
“No, Maisie,” Molly says with a heavy sigh. “You know what parking is like in this city. This isn’t some massive conspiracy—it was just easier to take one car.”
Maisie is quiet for a moment. “Why haven’t I heard Tina say anything? I want to meet her.”
“In a dark truck cab, while she’s driving?” Molly asks as though it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world.
“She drives a truck?”
“Good Lord, Maisie. It’s the twenty-first century. Don’t be sexist.”
Maisie sputters.
I pull into the driveway of Maisie’s house. Except this isn’t just Maisie’s house, or at least it wasn’t. Molly told me she grew up here.
The porch light is on, and I see Chaco’s face in a front window. I gesture to Molly, indicating that she can get out and go inside. I was hoping to spend more time with her, but I doubt Maisie will let this go until she sees the dogs with her own eyes.
“Look, we just got back to the house,” Molly says. “See?” She pans the phone around to the house, avoiding me. “Now go take care of your husband and let me take care of your dogs. But remember—you have to be on call this weekend in case things get too intense with Mary. We may need our Maisie in the Middle, especially if something’s going on with her. You and I both know that she thinks the best defense is offense. As in, finding offense in someone else.”
Maisie groans. “I wish you two could get along without me.”
“Well, maybe this weekend she’ll realize I’m a grown woman who’s capable of making my own decisions,” Molly says. “Although probably not, given the whole I got fired thing.”
“I love you, Molly,” Maisie says. “You’ll land on your feet. You always do. In the meantime, you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you’d like.”
“Things might get a bit crowded,” Molly says. “But thanks for the offer. I love you too. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She hangs up, taps her chin, and then turns to me. “You’re probably wondering why I didn’t tell her about you.”