“Yep, hi there.”
“Come in.”
She doesn’t sound enthusiastic.
The gates open and I drive past an ornamental gatehouse to the main residence, which is perched on a massive lawn verdant enough to rival the golf course in my parents’ development.
I park my mom’s car next to a shiny rose-gold Mercedes G-Wagon that likely cost as much as the down payment on a home.
I am happy for Mrs. Marks that she’s done so well, but this place is so lavish it’s comical. I suspect it makes Molly cringe every time she looks at it.
Molly opens the (double-height, stained glass) doors before I have a chance to knock.
She’s wearing a short, fluttery dress and beige platform sandals with little straps that tie around her ankles. I immediately want to spend all day tying and untying those little straps.
“Hiya,” she says briskly. “Let’s go. Can you drive?”
I lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek. “Gladly.”
“Wait!” a voice cries. Molly’s mother comes rushing out of the house, barefoot in a floor-length hibiscus-patterned dressing gown.
“Seth,” she says in greeting, looking me up and down.
Molly audibly sighs. “Mom, I told you, we have to go. We have reservations.”
“What’s five minutes? I just want to say hello.”
She stares at me expectantly, like she’s waiting for me to do the honors.
“Hello, ma’am,” I say obediently. “How are you?”
Molly groans. “Don’t call her ma’am.”
I can’t help it. It’s an instinct left over from my terrified high school boyfriend days.
“I’m very well, Seth. Thank you for asking. And you?”
“Also very well.”
We all stand in uncomfortable silence.
“You satisfied he’s not a serial killer, Mom?” Molly finally says.
“Molly tells me you’re a lawyer in Chicago,” Mrs. Marks says, ignoring her daughter.
“Yes, for going on ten years now,” I say nervously.
“Adivorcelawyer,” she adds, glaring. I feel like an undeserving boysniffing around for more of her too-good-for-me daughter’s attention. A familiar feeling.
“Uh,” I say, hoping to change the subject. “My parents mentioned your business is thriving—they see your signs all over.”
Her face softens slightly.
“Oh don’t say that in front of Molly. She hates my signs.”
“Well you do put them oncity buses,” Molly retorts.
“Anything to increase your inheritance, dear daughter,” Mrs. Marks says. “Who knows if your father will leave you anything.”
