“You must keep so busy. Your mama always gives me updates on your little company.” She gushes.
Un-freaking-believable.
We speak once a week and she never mentions a thing about these conversations with Mrs. Ford. She spent fifteen minutes last week on her cousin’s knee replacement, but not one word about Travis. We were friends for years before we fell in love and eventually broke apart. She should assume I’d like to know he was alive and well.
“It’s no big deal. I’m one of three founders and we’re just getting things off the ground. You know my Mom. You should have heard her rave about my first part-time job.” He snickers and diminishes his accomplishment. Typical Travis. Always uncomfortable with praise.
“You started your own company? That’s impressive. I’m happy for you.” Sweating profusely, I wrestle my coat off and shove it in the back seat. It gives me an excuse to turn around and get an eyeful. Damn him, he looks amazing. Like me, he’s shed his coat and the outline of his broad shoulders and massive chest are visible through his thin sweater. Mesmerized, my eyes sweep over every inch of him. This is so unfair. He didn’t look like this twelve years ago. No, back then he had arms like my mother.
I’m not complaining. To my eighteen-year-old brain, he was perfect. He was my Travis. But those arms would have been a nice addition. And goddamn, are those abs? For crying out loud. I’m so glad all his floozies in Philly get to enjoy hot, new, panty-melting Travis.
Just before I turn back into my seat, he exhales slowly and draws his amber eyes to mine. The honey specks flicker underneath his long dark lashes and for a second he almost pulls me into his world.
“I hear one of your dreams is about to come true. Carnegie Ha..”
My jaw drops, but I clamp it shut. I put my hands in the air to cut him off, but it feels too late. My heart stammers, then pound furiously, fueled by panic. The eyes that moments earlier took him in with fond nostalgia, glaze over with terror. Slowly, I shake my head and cover my lips.
His eyes grow wide and he mouths the words I’m so sorry.
Mama swerves into the fast lane, but I catch the steering wheel and steady her hand. “What? Carnegie Hall! Oh, my goodness, Mary Margaret Gunther! You’re playing Carnegie Hall! You’re a star! My baby is a bona fide star!” Mama fights tears and fans herself with her hands.
“Why didn’t you tell us?!” She looks at me, then looks at Travis as if we’re in cahoots.
“Mama! I was saving it for tonight. I only found out a few days ago.” I glare dumbfounded at Travis who also appears stunned.
Was he stalking me online? That information was just released yesterday morning.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil the surprise.” He cringes and slumps those muscular shoulders. Damn him. I want to be mad, but his mortified expression tugs my heart strings.
Does he still care about me? No. This is nostalgia. It’s too late for us. We’re years past our expiration date.
With a squeal, Mama interrupts my pity party.
“Sweetheart, I am so proud of you. You said you’d do it before your thirtieth birthday, and you were right!” She beams.
“The show is in April and I turn thirty a few weeks before.” I correct her and leave out the part about two of my Juilliard classmates having beaten me by years.
Suddenly, Travis’s deep voice grabs my undivided attention away from the crazy woman behind the wheel.
“That’s incredible, Molly. I’m over the moon proud of you.” His mouth curves into a sweet smile and I bite my lip to keep it from trembling.
“Thanks, Travis.” I remember that smile. So much of him has changed, but not that smile. That was my smile. That was the smile that greeted me at my lockers just before lunch. That was the smile that crept over his lips the first time he told me he loved me. It’s the smile I’ve longed to see for twelve long years. And now it’s here, in front of me, etched on the face of the only boy I’ve ever loved.
Damn him!
Travis
I’m not thinking clearly. Drunk on the sight of her, my fuzzy brain ruined what should have been a beautiful moment between her and her parents. Fuck. If she only found out two days ago, that means they probably posted the lineup today or yesterday. I’m so busted. Before I came, I checked the orchestra schedules and cross-referenced her name. That’s when I found the entry for Carnegie Hall.
I look like the pathetic stalker that I am.
For years, I’ve regretted trying to thwart her biggest dream. I was trying to tell her she was right. She was right to leave me when she did. I loved her. She meant the world to me and I should have supported her.
Do I mean that? Yes. Yes, I do.
This was my fault. If I hadn’t been such an impatient, unreasonable little shit, we could have worked things out. I knew back then I was being an asshole, but I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to be with her. Molly was my everything. The best thing that ever happened to me. I was eighteen. Stupid. Immature. I was positive someone in New York would take her away from me. As dumb as I was, I knew losing her would be the biggest regret of my life.
And I was right. Twelve years and I regret it every fucking day.
If it were possible, I would have followed her in a heartbeat. But I couldn’t. And she didn’t punish me for it. She wanted to make things work. Like a fool, I wouldn’t hear of it. Every time I think of that last week, those last few days, I cringe. The things I said. I was cruel and unyielding. And then it took me years to stop blaming her. What the hell did I know about anything? I had no right to put her in that position.
I fucked it up in so many ways.
But here’s my chance. For years, I’ve longed to say I’m sorry. To let her give me hell for ruining things. We could have been married. We could have been happy together all these years. We could have started our family by now. I just want to talk. Alone. I have no expectations.
You liar. Yes, you do.
Fine, I do. I want her to love me again. I’m dying without my Molly. I tried it my way. I tried to be brave. Everyone told me to move on to greener pastures. But, that’s such bullshit. Molly is my pasture. I don’t want to graze anywhere else. She’s the greenest, freshest and I’ll bet the most fertile pasture I’ll ever find. She needs to listen to me.
We need another chance.
By the time we reach our neighborhood, over five minutes of silence have passed. She looks tense. I’ve freaked her out. I know her. What the hell was I thinking? She hardly answers her mother’s questions with more than a yes or no. For the remainder of the ride, she looks out the window and searches the landscape, as if she’s willing herself to be anywhere but here. When her mother asks what my plans are for the evening, she fidgets in her seat and searches for her phone. Maybe she’s afraid I'll ask her out.
She should be. That’s the fucking plan, Molly!
“I’m not sure, yet.” Fearing her response, I keep my reply short. I don’t want to subject myself to more evidence of her disinterest. I can’t handle it. Baby steps. I’ll get her. She’ll come around. I know she’s not seeing anyone.
When we pull into their driveway, I jump out of the car to grab her luggage. I need to say something before she runs away. With a deep breath, I fasten my heart to my sleeve and summon every ounce of courage to clear my throat and say her name. She hesitates for a moment, then her wide, glassy eyes fix to mine.
“Molly, can I see you? It doesn’t have to be tonight. Tomorrow, for lunch or dinner.” I hold on to her luggage, unwilling to hand it over until she answers.
Her large eyes grow twice as full. I’ve caught her off guard.
“That’s sweet of you to ask.” She whispers and reaches for her bag. “But we should leave well enough alone, don’t you think?”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t. Are things well enough for you?”
Her jaw drops with a gasp, but before she can answer her mother shouts from the other side of the car.
“Travis, we’re heading out to
see the Trail of Lights at around 8:00. Why don’t you ask your Mama and Aunt Rachel if they want to come along? It’ll be like the old days, minus your Daddy, of course, may he rest in peace.”
Molly and I lock eyes. Like two gunslingers preparing to duel, it’s a race to draw our weapons and speak up before the other cuts us off.
I win. “Thank you, Mrs. Gunther! We’d love to go. We’ll be here by 7:55.”
We narrow our eyes in unison. She snatches her luggage and clears her throat. “Mama, I’m not feeling well. You should go ahead without me.”
Mrs. Gunther lifts her eyes to mine and gives me a quick nod.
“Oh sweetheart, do you need me to take you to urgent care?” She touches Molly’s forehead.
“No, I’m not ill, I just...” She hangs her head in defeat.
“Then you’re fine to go, young lady. Let’s get inside and see your Daddy. We’ll see you in a few hours, Travis. This will be so much fun.”
Molly’s irate. In a mad rush to get as far away from me as possible, I watch her storm away, trip over some steps and drag her luggage into the house.
I think I can work with this.
Molly
Why is he being nice? He’s proud, huh? It felt a teensy bit sincere, but I don’t want to hear it. He may think he feels that way. I’m sure he wants to believe he’s matured. Perhaps, he’s grown another inch or two. Maybe, he’s beefed up. Sure, he’s hotter. Too hot if you ask me. No one needs to compete with a man’s beauty. But I know that little weasel and that’s not who he is.
Okay, he’s not a weasel, but Travis leads with his heart.
There’s a reason he’s avoided Austin all these years. He wasn’t avoiding his mother. He wasn’t avoiding the city. What the hell did the city do to him? He was avoiding me. Deep in my heart, I know he still resents me. There’s no need to be polite. We’re not friends. Not anymore. And we’re too old to play these stupid games.
I release a breath and try to shake his face from my mind. My chest tightens. My eyes sting with tears I refuse to shed.
Keep it together, Molly. You cried enough for him.
As I unpack and search my bag for something more presentable than leggings and sweatshirts, my thoughts drift to old Travis. My Travis. The boy next door. I don’t really know this new grown-up version with facial hair, firm pecs and what looks like powerful, muscular thighs underneath those stonewashed jeans.
I’m only guessing. The car was dark.
He’s got some nerve showing up out of the blue looking like that. Isn’t he a software engineer? And where in the world are his glasses? I wrestled with those damn glasses every time I wanted to kiss him and now that he’s sowing his oats all over the Delaware Valley, he’s made it easy for girls to access those plump man lips that once explored every part of my virginal teenage body.
Well, that’s just great. Have at him, ladies! Partake of Molly Gunther’s hand-me-downs!
Slumping down on the floor, I kick my legs aimlessly in a half-ass tantrum. I wipe tears I no longer care to control and think about all the years I spent missing him, wondering if he’d ever make his way to New York to fight for me, for us. After the bullshit he put me through, there was no way I would make it easy for him. Maybe, that was immature, but I was eighteen! I’d yet to read a mountain of self-help books and endure years of therapy that have only helped to bring me here, kicking and screaming on my old bedroom floor.
Stupid Travis. Just leave things alone.
I can’t afford more therapy when this goes south, like I know it will. What options do we have? We’ve built lives in different places. We can’t go back. Our time has passed. Sorry, Travis. There won’t be any kisses under the mistletoe for you. Not anymore. With his name on my lips, I touch my mouth and remember our first kiss.
Reese Johnson’s Christmas party.
Thirteen years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. As usual, Travis wasn’t invited. She thought he was a nice guy, but Reese was the head cheerleader dating the captain of the football team. Her mean girl squad would’ve teased her into the new year if they found out she invited nerdy Travis Ford to her parent’s lake house. To ease her guilty conscience, she suggested I invite him as my plus one.
So, I did.
It was no sacrifice. I liked Travis. Maybe, not the way he liked me. But we were friends.We’d grown up together. Halfway through our senior year, he’d never asked me out or confessed the way he felt, but I’d known for years. Poor Travis didn’t know how to conceal his feelings. He didn’t have enough control over his body to conceal his feelings.
Although, I made it clear it wasn’t a date, something made me believe he had other plans. It might have been his new shirt, complete with tags I had to help him rip off. But more than likely, it was the half bottle of cologne he spritzed on. It was so heinous we were forced to keep the windows down on the way to the party.
That was my Travis. Smooth as velvet.
I close my eyes and smile at the memory.
Since I was the only person he knew, we mingled together. We made the rounds and said hellos. Played some pool. When it was time to eat, we took our food outside on the patio under the heated lamps. With so many party crashers, Reese ran out of chairs and he flirtatiously offered his lap. On a whim, I took him up on his offer. My cheeks flush as I recall the big hard-on that swelled and jutted into my hip while I nibbled on finger foods. I was so embarrassed for him. But he didn’t seem bothered at all. What was he thinking? What was I thinking? Molly, you skank.
But that was just the beginning of my foray into skankhood. Yes, ma’am.
Sitting there, with Travis’s stiffy jabbing my thigh, laughing and sipping spiked punch, I had a glimpse of my future. Because, oddly enough, I liked it. I enjoyed being the center of his attention. I don’t know if it was the flirting, his cologne wafting into my nostrils, the giant penis nudging me hello or the look of adoration in his honey-colored eyes, but for the first time, I felt myself falling for Travis Booker Ford.
And it wasn’t a slow fall. It wasn’t even a tumble. It was a free fall with no parachute. I fell so hard and fast, I’m convinced it must have been lying there, dormant for years, just waiting for the opportunity to shoot to the surface. And boy, did it. When the night grew long, and the weather grew chilly, we took the party inside. Most of the group staggered into Mr. Johnson’s man cave to play pool, but Travis and I wandered into the den, looking to be alone, looking for trouble. Our need was great but we were clueless on the art of seduction.
Then there it was. Hanging over the door. Mistletoe. A great big, bushy branch of mistletoe strategically placed between the den and the empty dining room.
Our eyes locked. I took one step back, unsure of his intentions and terrified of my burgeoning sexuality. I’d been a good girl for so long. But these weren’t good girl thoughts or feelings. These were bad girl emotions pooling in my panties. Clutching my thundering heart, I glanced up at the boy I’d known since I was six years old, with acne, thick, dark frame glasses, unkept hair, blue jeans that were too short for his long legs and for the first time in my life, I was hot. He didn’t resemble anyone from Mama’s romance novels, but when his long arm wrapped around my waist, my skin turned to gooseflesh, my nipples tightened, and my loins turned to fire.
In a sudden wave of fiery holiday chaos, he crashed his lips to mine. I gasped for air, moaned, pulled the glasses off his face and seared my mouth to his. Moving us into the darkness of the dining room, he pulled me roughly into his embrace, so rough, I whimpered then melted into the heat of his body, smothered by the scent of his pungent teenage cologne.
His arms, his lips, our tongues, the sound of his voice telling me how much he longed to taste me, made my head spin with lust. Tumbling towards the table, he pushed me up and wound my legs around his waist. I felt scandalous. When his boner, still in the confines of his button-fly jeans, pressed against the crotch of my panties, I shuddered and ground my hips against him.
But
our lips never parted. For twenty minutes, we kissed like the horny teenagers we were, dry humping on Mrs. Johnson’s newly polished dining room table. We would have carried on longer. Nothing would have stopped us touching, grabbing, rubbing my breasts against his chest, his cock between my thighs, but we were interrupted by the sound of Reese’s high-pitched squeal and quickly flew apart. Her gasp quickly turned into a giggle and a promise to keep our secret.
We didn’t ask her to promise. There was no need. From that day on, we hid nothing. After that day. Travis and I were together. Always together.
Until we weren’t.
Distracted by footsteps, I scramble into my bathroom when I hear my mother’s voice. She can’t see me cry. A hundred questions will follow any display of emotion. I know she worries about my love life. That’s putting it mildly. She worries that I never date and if I never date, how on earth will her only child ever make her a grandmother?
Is that why she’s being nice to Travis? Is she trying to snag herself a son-in-law?
“Are you okay, baby?” She watches me wash my face, then pat it furiously to keep it covered and hidden from her prying eyes.
“I’m so tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open.” I throw in a fake yawn in case she wonders why my eyes are red.
“Go rest, angel. The Ford’s won’t be here for a while.” She pats my back and hugs me.
“I really wish you would have checked with me before you asked them, Mama.” I whine as I pad towards my bed.
She tsks. “Mary Margaret, have a little faith in your Mama, will you?”
“What does that mean?” I snap.
“Have I ever led you astray, little girl? Don’t I always know what’s best for you?” She wags her bony finger at me.
I gasp. “Jenna Flanagan Gunther, that’s exactly what you said when you talked me into getting bangs last year. Do you have any idea what a nightmare it was growing them out?”
Mistletoe & Molly Page 2