The only way to get through this was to keep going. Molly looked into her rearview and pulled herself back onto the highway. She had a long way to go. Her cell phone beeped. Molly looked down and saw she had voice mail. She pulled over again and dialed her code. Amid laughter and music Molly could barely make out the message.
Baby, it’s me. I’m looking at you right now talking to Jay. You’re so cute. Anyway, I didn’t want to interrupt. I’m going with Zander to go grab his guitar from his pad and come back. We just worked out this great tune. Yeah, Molly, it is hot. Dude, give me the phone back. And, Mol, I wanted to ask you if you would marry me before we were so rudely interrupted. Forever me and you, mon petite cheese ball.
Molly stared at the phone. Why did everything have to get so fucked up? Molly kept hitting one on the cell, repeating and repeating and repeating the message. Every word a tiny stab, killing her softly, but unfortunately not in a Roberta Flack kind of way. Molly sat in her car on the shoulder of the highway for hours, just listening to Liam. She was completely unaware of the traffic around her, the subtle changes of the sun, the sounds of a living, breathing city. Molly was entombed within her car: its frame, her coffin; the message, her eulogy. Listening to her dream come true, the words she thought she would never hear, her sixteen-year-old knight on a white horse romance-novel fantasy, her every single eyelash wish, Molly’s heart broke.
two
Night descended and Molly pulled into a gas station/diner outside Ely, Nevada. Bobbie’s Café looked soft and safe through the dusky haze. Molly filled her tank and pulled into a small parking space at the end of the lot. She grabbed her coat and purse, and walked into the restaurant. The quiet din of lipstick-covered coffee cups, cherry pie plates, and egg-stained silverware was actually a welcome change to the melancholy dirges Molly was playing in the car. She picked up an old USA Today, a plastic menu from the counter, and slid into an orange vinyl booth. She flipped off her flops, folded her legs under her, and pondered the traditional fare as she wrapped her hair into a bun. As she read, she realized that she hadn’t eaten in more than twenty-four hours.
“Hey, sweetie. I’m Rose,” a flaxen-haired older woman stated. “Can I start you with a cup of coffee?”
“Yeah, that would be great. Can I get some skim milk with that?” Looking up from the menu.
“Sorry, all we have is two percent. Will that be all right?”
“Fine.”
Molly returned to her menu. Usually it wasn’t in her genes to lose her appetite when she was depressed. Her whole family chowed down at the first glimpse of sorrow. Maybe it is a Jewish thing to stuff oneself to stave off sadness, filling the belly with something comforting like mashed potatoes or ice cream to ease the situation. Molly’s mom, Helen, even made her a big ol’ chocolate cake when her first goldfish, Finger, died. She let Molly eat it without a fork, frosting first, until there was more chocolate on Molly than ever was on the cake. As Molly’s eyes fixated on fries, a grilled cheese, and a black-and-white shake, she knew the tradition would not be broken as her appetite returned with vengeance. There would be no grief diet for Molly.
Liam was really good at feeding Molly whenever she felt blue. He had this knack for sensing her moods and knowing exactly what would draw her out. Whether it was a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese or imported foie gras from this little market in Beverly Hills, he knew just how to indulge her. Once Liam learned of her sugar cereal deprivation as a small child (only Kix and Cheerios were allowed), he came home from the market with twenty boxes and two gallons of milk.
“What are you doing?” Molly exclaimed when she saw the buffet laid out on their dining room table. “You are a nut!”
“Well, my girlfriend here has never known the true pleasure of slurping up Alpha-Bits or Lucky Charms.” Shaking the assorted boxes. “One cannot go through life without experiencing the insane sugar rush that they provide.”
“There’s enough cereal here to feed a small nation. How much am I supposed to eat?”
“All of it.” Liam grinned as he walked to the fridge and pulled out the first gallon of milk. “That’s the plan.”
“A bite of each, right?” Pulling out the wooden chair and sitting down.
“No, no, no, my dear. You must have a bowl. That is the only way to experience it fully. The Day-Glo sugar stained milk is the best part.” Pulling out his chair. “I will join you of course.”
“Okay.” Taking a deep breath. “This is going to be a long night. Where shall I start, chef?”
“My personal favorite circa 1979ish. Cookie Crisp.” He poured her a bowl. “Note the crunchy cookie. It stays relatively crisp.”
“How poetic.” Molly laughed.
Before she dug in she raised her spoon. “A toast.”
Liam raised his spoon. “To?”
“You, for taking care of me later and holding my hair when I puke from all this milk.”
“Cheers!” Liam planted a big kiss on Molly’s lips. “I will always hold your hair.”
Molly licked her lips and blinked. Before her lay the plastic menu and a steaming cup of coffee. With a shaky hand, she poured the milk and stirred in the sugar. How long would it take for her to be able to exist only in the present instead of somewhere in her memory, especially if the memories felt more real, more vivid, more vital, than the reality before her?
“You’re back,” Rose stated.
“Back?” Molly, clearing her throat.
“You seemed a little lost, and I didn’t want to interrupt. You okay?”
“Not really, but I am starving.” Looking back down at the menu. “I would like a grilled cheese with cheddar, fries extra crispy with a side of ranch, and a shake. Hummm, chocolate.”
“Will do, honey.” Writing down her order. “You take care of yourself.”
“Thanks.”
Molly opened her bag and pulled out a small mirror. She dipped the edge of her napkin in her water glass and wiped around her eyes, trying to get rid of the last layer of the mascara. She really needed a shower. Last night’s glitter was looking like a disco queen limping into the eighties. Molly opened the paper and searched for the crossword puzzle. Something to keep her mind occupied and reading the front page’s tragedies were not going to soothe her mood. Before she could fish for a pen and begin, her dinner arrived. Molly looked at the greasy feast and dove in, headfirst. The melted cheese and ice cream expanded in her mouth, swirled on her tongue, and coated her insides with a thick layer of fatty consolation. Soft and round, she swallowed, and tried to forget.
Molly finished and paid the check. Rose came over with a large cup of coffee to go. A small bag with grease stains was clutched in her other hand.
“Here.” Rose handed everything to Molly. “To keep your energy up while you drive.”
“Thanks. What do I owe you for them?” Looking in the bag and peering at a few doughnuts.
“On the house. Just make sure you get to where you are going in one piece.” Smiling at Molly.
“That’s really nice of you. Good night.” Molly pushed open the door with her hip.
“ ’Bye.” Rose waved.
Molly slowly walked to her car, the heaviness of the food weighing on her step. After grabbing a sweater from the trunk, she settled behind the wheel and readied herself for the long haul ahead of her. Already feeling car-neck creep upon her, she wondered if she would be able to make it all the way home without anymore unnecessary pit stops. She also wondered if she was doing the right thing. All that intense girl power she raged earlier was beginning to wear off, and her anger was sinking into something that was feeling like forgiveness. Molly redialed her messages and played them again. Liam and marriage and hating him and leaving him and loving him all twisted together into a sickening stew. Here was the queen of solid decision making, sucking at sticking to her guns.
Molly should have had waffles; they would have more represented her mood. It wasn’t like her to be so wishy-washy. Whether it was her major in college, A
merican history, or her senior prom dress, señorita red with a tulle underskirt, she always could directly channel her gut instinct. Even if the choices were trying and both potential options lent themselves to tears and trauma, Molly was not a waffler, a shifter, a should-she-do-this-or-thater. She knew it was something that had attracted Liam to her, and Jaycee also loved that in her. It was why she trusted Molly with everything, from the minute they met at a backyard barbeque shortly after Molly moved to LA, and made sure Molly was her nearest and dearest. About a year after they met, Jay sealed their friendship with a really lovely sentimental exchange, which happened to occur in a dingy bathroom with beige tiles and a wobbly toilet seat.
“Okay, I have something to tell you.” Jaycee, pulling her into the tiny bathroom of Mako’s, their favorite karaoke bar.
“That sounds a little scary.” Molly, looking at her best friend. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, I just need to share this big epiphany with you. Come on.” Dragging Molly behind her.
The two of them smushed into the small stall, and Molly perched as best she could on the khaki-colored toilet seat, her red leather pants squeaking as she moved.
“Spill it, baby.” Retying the lace on her Adidas sneaker. “My pants refuse to let me hold this position for too long.”
“I just wanted to tell you how much I value our friendship and that I thank you for everything you do for me all the time.”
“What?” Looking up at her friend.
“I just want to thank you.”
“How many cocktails have you had? You’re not usually so mushy.” Staring at her. “I feel like we are in that Natalie Merchant song.”
“One beer, and Molly, stop joking. I just know that I would not be who I am today without you. You’ve really been an amazing example, and I just felt like telling you.”
“Me? Really?” Starting to blush. “Okay, what did you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“What did you do that I am going to be really pissed at you for because all this is a little odd.”
“Can’t you just take a compliment for fuck’s sake?!” Getting riled. “I just felt like being nice.”
“Okay, no need for expletives.” Looking at Jaycee. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just listen.”
“Okay.”
“You’re like the strongest person I know. You always follow your instincts and are totally honest with your emotions. You have taught me to be truer to my own sense of self. So much of who I am is related to all the model qualities I see in you.”
“Uhh.” Molly blushing. “Thanks, but, uh.”
“No buts and don’t try to deflect.”
“Thanks.” Still blushing. “I don’t do well with compliments.”
“I know, that’s why I wanted to tell you.” Pulling Molly into a hug.
“I may start to cry.” Molly, tearing up. “I hate you. Now I am going to look like Joan Jett the morning after.”
“I know. But she’s a badass.”
Then Molly was saved from this praise-a-thon by a loud knock on the door.
“Shall we?” Grabbing Jaycee’s hand.
“Yeah.”
“I love you.” Kissing Jay on the cheek. “This made my night.”
“Me too.”
Molly went on to give the best karaoke performance of her life. Pat Benatar watch out!!
That night Jaycee gave her this incredible gift by naming something Molly always sort of knew. Sometimes having a friend point out something remarkable and good is all one needs to reconfirm a dedication to living as one’s best self by following gut instincts. After remembering this tender moment, Molly swallowed hard and promised not to let this life decision throw her. She wasn’t going to let Jay, nor herself, down. She was strong and true and determined, and even if she was nauseated, she would get through this without any Pepto. She started the car, but before she pulled out, she erased Liam’s proposal. For a girl who used to save all his messages for weeks at a time, this was a major step forward. Although her fingers did shake as she pressed the buttons, and a few more tears eased down her cheeks, she finished the task and began the last leg of her journey.
It was much easier for Molly now that she was driving at night. The cool darkness seemed to comfort her, wrap her in a patchwork security blanket of blindness. What she could not see, she could not fear. When she was a little girl, her parents used to drive her around late in the evening when she couldn’t sleep or had a nightmare. The slow rumble of the engine, the lights, the brisk air, all soothed her. They put her back to sleep, or at least into a calm awake state that resembled sleep and eased Molly’s four-year-old nerves. Unlike some, even when she was that little girl with nightmares, Molly was never afraid of the dark, afraid some heinous monster would leap from behind her pink closet drawer and whisk her away to some rotting, moldy underworld. It was the clear details of day that frightened her. The trash, the traffic, and the throngs of rash, disgruntled people everywhere were more threatening than what was invisible or covered by blackness.
When she was twelve, Molly went on her first school camping trip. Unlike the rest of her girlfriends, Molly jumped at the chance to do a solo and spread her sleeping bag under the stars: she was all alone, at night, in the middle of the desert, and she was in heaven. While the rest huddled in tents somehow reassured by the thinnest layer of plastic, Molly was barefaced, staring at the stars. It was in the dark sky that her imagination flourished. With the obvious obscured, the facts cloaked by shadow, Molly was free to create her world her own way. It was at night that she evolved and grew into herself.
As she drove, the sky deepened into an impenetrable black. It looked like the saucers of a tripping raver’s eyes in the midst of an Ecstasy peak during a perfect Paul Oakenfold set. It was hallow, and dead. Molly shivered and reached into the backseat for a scarf. The chill kept her alert and awake. Tonight, and pretty much all of today, was a black day. Devoid of warmth and tone, it was flat and even and unforgiving. Molly always used to color code her days. A sign would be sent, maybe it was the color of her toothpaste, or of the first sock she glanced at in the drawer, and that would be her theme. It wasn’t as if she dressed the part, only wearing green from underpinnings to headband, it was more of what the aura, the energy, of the day would be. It had been so long since Molly had had a murky, dingy day with Liam. Not since the last promise. She touched her back, rolled her wrist out of habit, remembering. Since that night and his grand turn around, she tended to the more radiating, prismatic, incandescent hues when they were together. She felt like her entire body was on fire when she was with him, flames flickering from the tips of her hair and a faint smell of smoke rising off her skin. She was her very own X-Man character. Everything she experienced or tasted or smelled seemed twice what it had been before. She was pulsing, alive. She was a beating heart.
On their twenty-first date, Molly knew she loved him, really loved him, and not in that schoolgirl crush obsession way that she had felt after the first five minutes, nor in an enhanced, drug-induced way she had felt in those first few weeks. She loved him as a woman, whole and round and earthy. She had woken up next to him, staring at a freckle on the back of his left shoulder. It was the warmest shade of brown, hazelnut. That was her color. She kissed it along with all the others ringing the top of his back and he rolled over to meet her mouth. Morning breath was not even a thought. It was then that Molly could not tell where she began and he ended. They were this stalk of hands and fingers growing and moving in harmony, fitting together like LEGOs. Everything clicked and ratcheted into the right holes and notches. After they made love, they showered together. He washed her long red hair carefully and then combed it, detangling all her knots. They dressed and headed off in her car.
“Wanna see a movie?” Liam asked as he flipped through the LA Weekly she had on the floor.
“Sure. What’s playing?”
“I’m kind
of in the romantic mode myself.”
“Really? Well there’s that one with John Cusack and Gwyneth Paltrow that just opened.”
“Cool. Let’s see.... It’s at four-fifteen at the Grove.”
“Usually I have to beg and plead with my guy to get him to see a chick flick.” Turning to look at him and feeling all fuzzy inside. “John would only see political movies with subtitles.”
“Your guy?” Grinning at Molly.
“Uh, I meant, the guy I am dating …” Starting to blush. “Not that you are my guy, I mean …”
“I’m not?”
“Well, I don’t …”
Liam leaned over and gave Molly a long kiss just below her ear, inhaling her before he pulled away.
“I better be, or I am going to spend the rest of my days looking for a girl who tastes and smells exactly like you.”
Molly smiled and took his hand. They rode the rest of the way to lunch in silence, both relishing their togetherness. Molly could feel the chocolate-flavored coziness spread like frosting inside her. Her heart and lungs, a pool of hot fudge. Nothing could be better than feeling like you are inside a mug of cocoa.
At lunch, Molly ordered a tuna sandwich and a cup of coffee.
“Excuse me.” Getting up. “Pit stop.”
Molly peed with a shit-eating grin on her face like she was three and using a big girl’s potty for the first time. She walked back and slid into the booth, facing him.
“Babe, come sit next to me.”
“What?”
“Sit next to me over here.”
“But, Liam, then we can’t look at each other and beam across the table.”
“You’re too far away over there.”
Tangled Up in Daydreams Page 5