Junior year in high school, Molly threw her a perfect birthday party. Henry was on hand to cook up a Renee feast. Everything Renee loved was prepared specially.
“Henry, this is too much!” Renee beamed. “It’s like my very own Vegas buffet.”
“That’s the point, my dear.” Handing her a plate. “Not a thing is missing from Molly’s ‘Renee’s favorite foods’ list.”
“This is the best party I have ever been to,” Corey, one of Renee’s and Molly’s school friends, praised through a mouthful of food. “You Sterns really know how to do it.”
“Corey, there’s plenty. No need to eat as you go.” Molly laughed.
“True.” Stuffing another mini quiche in his mouth.
“No manners.” Renee giggled. “But he’s right. All of you are awesome.”
The rest of the gang, Lisa, and Abby all moved through the maze of munchies and piled their plates high with macaroni and cheese, sushi, bacon-wrapped dates, chicken sate, and more. They hurried into the living room and tucked away everything from the banquet. After an equally insane dessert bar, Lisa, Abby, Corey, and Molly huddled around Renee while she opened her presents. A candle, some CDs, a hand-knit scarf. Then came the gift from Molly. Renee opened the slim envelope and inside was a card for a subscription to Food and Wine magazine.
“I love it! It’s my favorite magazine!” Renee gushed. “I always sneak a peek when I come over here.”
“I know.” Molly grinned. “My dad will be happy now that he doesn’t have to hunt high and low for his.”
“Thanks, Molly.” Giving her a hug.
“You’re welcome. But there’s a condition to this gift.”
“What?”
“We,” gesturing to the gang, “get to be your guinea pigs. Lots of mouths here eager for good food.”
“Food? Did someone say food?” Abby groaned.
“What?” Corey jumped up and grabbed a cookie from the coffee table. “I know you want it.” Hovering over Abby.
“Stop, Corey!” Abby yelled, trying to cover her mouth.
“Open up, here comes the birdy!” Corey went on.
“Corey!” Laughing harder. Soon the room dissolved into laughter.
Renee smiled at the memory and looked at Molly. Here she was, years later, still her best friend, but now also her sister. She was one lucky girl, for the family who adopted her as a shy, unconfident teenager and encouraged her to find her passion and herself, was now truly her family.
“Okay, no cat, but maybe the sweat suit will have a horse on it. At least that is very Chloe 2000,” Molly went on.
“Hysterical. You and your keen fashion memory.” Pinching Molly’s arm lightly. “Just wait until you get pregnant and fat. Only then can you comment on elastic waist bands.”
“Ow!” Slapping her hand away. “That’s going to bruise. And, by the way, babies and me are not going to get together for a long while. I am perfectly satisfied being a moderately thin aunt who spoils and then returns child to parents.”
“To be honest, that sounds pretty good to me too.” Rubbing her belly. “By the way, Abby and the rest of the gang have been asking about if and when you are going to make a move to see them.”
Molly thought about her high school pals. There was Renee, of course; Abby, newly back in town with a husband and a new medical practice; Lisa, a stay-at-home mom with a very cute toddler whose pictures Molly proudly displayed on her fridge in LA; and Corey, a lawyer at his father’s firm, which used to be her father’s firm. In high school, they were all inseparable. A small, tight group in a small, tight town. They all stayed in contact peripherally over the years, a few phone calls here and there and greetings over the holidays. When Molly took off to LA for college, she sort of set off alone. They used to call her the “lone rider.” They even gave her a mask affixed with feathers when she left. Molly had worn it for her first Halloween in LA. Everyone thought that she would come back after school, open a painting school or something, but she never did come back, minus a few weeks here and there. They all found comfort in the quiet; it just made Molly long to be louder.
“Everyone must think I’m a supreme bitch.” Fiddling with the radio of Renee’s wagon.
“Actually, ‘bitchy’ is the word Lisa used, not ‘bitch.’”
“I just haven’t felt like dealing.”
“Molly, we’re your friends, you don’t have to deal with us.” Pulling up to the coffeehouse. “You should call.”
“I will. We’ll get drinks.” Looking at Renee’s stomach. “Well, we will drink and you can sip some water.”
“I just keep getting more and more boring.” Getting out of the car slowly.
“You and Alex make a nice pair,” Molly cooed.
“Come on, Molly. You’re buying.”
Molly and Renee went in and ordered: a latté for Molly and a hot chocolate for Renee. They found a small wood table in the back and settled in.
“I must smell really bad.” Molly, taking a whiff under her arms.
“I think I must be immune. Alex and I sometimes have smell-offs when we come home from work at the same time.”
“Smell-offs? I don’t want to know.”
“No, you don’t.” Redoing her ponytail. “I think it’s one of those couple things better left secret.”
“Couple things.” Repeating after Renee.
“Okay, Molly, what the hell happened? I’ve been getting all these little pieces.”
“It’s been really hard to talk about. Certain things I can’t tell my parents because I feel too ashamed. And then, what if I go back? We get back together, which isn’t going to happen, but if it does, then they will never be able to look at him or me the same way.”
“Look, I’m family but we are friends too. Well, really we are friends first. I can just be your girlfriend right now and not your sister.”
“I know. Renee, why is it when you decide to end something, your brain keeps replaying all these moments when you were so in love? I keep flashing back to all these memories and while some really awful ones pop in, I usually am overwhelmed with this need to go to him and love him and feel all of that all over again.”
“Because you are human, and Liam has been a huge part of your life for a very long time. And he fits into your whole teenage romance-novel archetype.”
“What type?” Feigning ignorance.
“The one born from the hundred-plus Sweet Dreams books you read all through middle school and high school detailing your perfect rebel with the perfect tender heart fantasy.”
“I don’t shape my relationships from some silly girl books.” Defending herself.
“Really?”
“Well, maybe.” Giggling a bit. “But I did not, I repeat, did not, read them in high school.”
“You so did.”
“Did not!” Laughing. “I guess I did find my cliché rocker boy.”
“Yup. Rough around the edges until he met you and swept you off your feet by playing a few jingles on his guitar.” Renee, elaborating.
“It’s humiliating how tacky that sounds when you say it out loud.” Molly laughing harder.
“Kind of.” Laughing with her.
“I remember this one time early on in our relationship when I had the stomach flu. I was nasty and beyond gross, and kept telling him to stay far, far away. Instead of listening he showed up, brought me every fashion magazine, a case of ginger ale, washed me in the tub, and cleaned up the mess in the bathroom without even flinching.”
“Everything?”
“Everything. I was still in the too-afraid-to-poo-at-his-place phase and he just rolled right through it.”
“What made you leave then? Seems like this is fantasy fulfillment at its finest.”
“Let’s just say that he is a constant maker of bad decisions.” Grabbing two sugars and pouring them into her drink. “His promises don’t last because he can’t resist. It’s like he is drawn to the light socket even when his fingertips have already been burned.�
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“So it is an issue of trust.”
“I guess. I’m afraid that no matter how hard and fierce I love him, he will always do the wrong thing even though he promises me he won’t.”
“I think that it all depends on what these wrong things are. No one is perfect. I think to love is to ignore the perfections and embrace all the flaws. If you can love them that way, then that’s true and real. To sustain love is to love all the shitty things about someone.” Taking a sip. “Well, maybe not love but accept.”
“I know what you have accepted and sometimes I think you are a saint.” Smiling at Renee. “How my brother managed to snag you is a mystery we Sterns pondered daily.”
“I know, I know. I’m perfect.” Rolling her eyes. “He’s not so bad either.”
“Have you heard that snort, hacking, spitting thing he does?”
“I have ordered him to do it only in the privacy of the bathroom. What is that by the way?”
“No idea, but it is the grossest thing I have ever heard.” Chuckling. “Mom and I used to stop the car and make him get out whenever we heard it starting.”
“It’s pretty bad.” Laughing harder. “Okay, enough. Obviously, Liam’s issues are a little more unsettling than unusual body noises or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Yeah.” Taking a deep breath. “He made me a deal a little while ago and in one evening he proceeded to do pretty much everything he agreed not to. At least he did it all in one fell swoop. No half-assing his fuckup. I have to admire that.”
“I note some sarcasm.”
“Of course.” Sipping the last of her coffee.
“Look, what it comes down to is, is this incident the deal-breaker?”
“I don’t know. Part of me thinks it should be and part of me knows he’s dealing with a sickness and that he’s trying to get help and that should count for something.”
“Well, take the time you need to figure that out. If you are strong enough to trust him again and try, then do it with everything you have, and if you’re not, it doesn’t make you less of who you are or less compassionate. This is your life as well.” Getting up all of a sudden. “I hate to run right in the middle of this, but I have to go home. I have this nagging urge to pee, and my back and feet feel like they are going to fall off. I feel like I am swelling exponentially. Do you want me to give you a ride to your car?”
“No thanks. It’s just around the block. I think I’m going to sit here a while.”
“Thanks again for your help today.” Kissing Molly on the cheek. “I’m sorry to bail right in the middle of things.”
“Don’t be, thanks for listening.”
Renee walked out of the café, and Molly stared at the leftover foam in her coffee. It felt weird talking about all this. She felt like she was on an episode of Oprah. Was she becoming some clichéd story of when a good girl loves the wrong man? Molly hated being a cliché. Hated having anything about her be normal or usual or predictable. How had things come to this? A simple meet and fall turns into a pathetic melodrama of bad influences, being under the influence, and wondering whether or not to let all that influence the future. This was not how their Behind the Music was supposed to be. They were going to be the Bon Jovis or Paul and Linda. They were supposed to make it through the pitfalls of fame together. Does the whole future they planned come down to one night? Well, in reality it wasn’t one night, it was a myriad of small things that culminated in a one-night scenario. Could she move on and move past and love him, or could she move on and move past and learn to live without him?
seven
Sunday morning, Molly woke up to the smell of pancakes. Her whole body softened and she yawned herself downstairs in her snowman pajamas. Her mother was sitting at the table reading the New York Times and her father was manning the griddle. Molly poured herself a glass of orange juice and sat down. She stealthily weaseled the magazine section from beneath the pile.
“What do you think you are doing?” Helen asking without missing a beat.
“What do you mean?” Settling into her seat.
“It’s not going to happen.”
“What’s not going to happen?” Leaning back in her chair to grab a pen off the counter.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Dare do what?” Slowly inching away from her mother.
“There’s no way you are getting first crack.”
“Really?” Jumping up and running into the living room.
“Molly!” Helen jumped up as well and chased Molly.
Mother and daughter proceeded to play tag all around the house. Shrieks of laughter echoed and both ran back into the kitchen.
“Hand it over, Molly.”
“Never.” Molly giggled
“Molly, give me my crossword puzzle.”
“Yours? Dad, who bought the paper this morning?” Hovering around the other side of the table.
“I did.” Lifting pancakes onto a plate.
“I see, so Mother, this really isn’t your puzzle, it’s Dad’s.”
“And?”
“And, Dad can I have it?” Waving it back and forth just out of Helen’s reach.
“Sure.”
“Sure!” Helen shot him a death grin. “Henry, you just blew it.”
“I did?” Sitting down between them.
“Yup, buckaroo. Totally blew it.” Giving up and sitting down.
“What does that mean?” Henry asked.
“You will find out later.” Winking at him.
“Gross.” Sitting down. “Too much information. Here, Mom, I was just kidding.” Tossing Helen the paper.
“Thank you.” Taking the magazine and stuffing it under her bottom. “Just to be safe.”
“What are you going to do today, Molly?” Henry asked as he dished.
“Some work and a yoga class with Renee later on. Mom, you want to come?”
“What time?”
“Four-thirty.”
“Sounds good, then maybe all of us can grab an early dinner.”
“I’ll call Renee later and ask.” Taking a large bite.
“How come no one ever asks me if I want to go to yoga?”
“Do you?” Molly asked.
“No, but I would like to be asked.”
“Okay, Dad.” Rolling her eyes and taking another bite.
All of a sudden, Molly felt nausea rise up. She threw down her fork and rushed to the bathroom. Barely making it on time, Molly threw up. This was becoming a really bad habit. Any questions about bulimia were definitely answered with a resounding “no.” Her parents both had concerned faces when she returned to the table.
“Honey, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Must be a little bug. I’ll be fine.” Taking a sip of water.
“Maybe you should go lie down?”
“That’s a good idea.”
Molly went upstairs and fell into her bed. Soon she was asleep.
The bar was crowded. When she walked in, the wall of heat melted over her and instantly dampened her brow. She traced a finger along her neck and licked the sweat. It tasted sweet and sad like a ballad. Everything was dark and red. Pulsing, dancing, beating like a heart. It was a tangle of leather and lips. Molly started swaying, moving through the collection of faces. In the distance, Molly could see a band on a small stage. She wanted to get closer. Soon she was in front. It was Liam, singing. He didn’t see her. She felt beads of his sweat landing on her. They burned. Tiny blisters popped up where they landed. He looked down and smiled. He finished singing and left the stage. Molly waited. Waiting. Wait, she turned around and the place was empty. A bottle rolled and rested by her heel. She leaned down to pick it up.
“He left.”
Elena.
“He knew I was waiting.”
“He’s gone. I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“I love him too.”
“I know.”
“He loves you.”
“But he’s gone
.”
“Not forever. He’s trying to get home.”
“I don’t live there anymore.”
“He’s trying to get home.”
Elena turned around and walked away. Molly was alone again. She started running, sprinting for the door. She threw it open and tumbled into the daylight. The streets were empty. She kept running.
Molly woke up bathed in sweat. The light was fading and the clock read 5:10. So much for yoga. Molly sat up and felt her head spin. Maybe she really was catching a bug. She lay back down and stared at the ceiling. She swallowed hard and searched the bed for her CD remote control. She pressed PLAY and the Cowboy Junkies’ “Misguided Angel” filled the room. Molly quietly mouthed every word to the tortured dirge. There was a small knock at the door. Helen poked her head in. She came in and sat down at the edge of Molly’s bed.
“I saved it for you.” Handing her the magazine section.
“Thanks.”
“Want to do it together?”
“Sure.”
“What are you listening to?” Helen asked.
“Some tragic song about being in love with the wrong man.”
“Sounds good.” Sarcastically.
Helen flicked on the light and snuggled in next to Molly. For an hour, the two of them quietly worked and eventually finished all but a few clues. Helen had a knack for all those long theme-related answers and Molly was stellar at utilizing her expensive verbal SAT tutoring sessions. Molly curled into her mother and took a deep breath. Helen’s cashmere sweater caressed Molly’s cheek. Molly felt safe for the first time since she left the hospital. As Martha Stewart would say, “It’s a good thing.”
“Feeling better?” Helen asked.
“Yeah, my stomach still feels a little fluttery, but I’m fine.”
“It’s been nice having you home.”
“I know.”
“How long are you thinking about staying?”
“Don’t know.”
Tangled Up in Daydreams Page 14