Clara has managed to distract the boys by taking them for a night swim. The pool is lit up pink, and their splashes and cries of pleasure create a resort vibe, like we’re all on one big family vacation.
I try not to fixate on the idea that someday that could be a reality.
“So, Molly,” my dad says. “When are you heading back to La La Land?”
I realize I have not yet thought to ask this question myself.
“My flight is first thing in the morning,” she says.
“It is?” I ask, crestfallen.
I assumed she must be staying longer, seeing family.
“Yeah. I’ve been here all week.”
My parents and Dave are clearly picking up on my disappointment.
My mother stands up suddenly. “Kal, Dave, why don’t we grab our suits and join the boys for a family swim.”
My nephews hear this and immediately start screaming, “FAMILY SWIM! FAMILY SWIM!”
“All right, all right,” Dave yells at his children. “Let’s not wake up the astronauts on the moon.”
“I guess you need to get home to pack,” I say to Molly. I try not to show how bummed I am, but I am not at all successful.
“Sorry, I should have thought to say something. I just… got caught up in the moment.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m just sad we have to say goodbye already.”
She nods. “I know. When are you leaving?”
“Friday.”
Today is Sunday. I’d been looking forward to a week of family time, but after the day we’ve just had—very possibly the best day of my life—the idea of being here without her is as appealing a prospect as swallowing sand.
Molly’s phone buzzes. She grabs her bag and glances at it. “Shit. It’s my mom. Passive aggressively asking if you abducted and killed me.”
“Not yet. But I plan to on the way home.”
“Oh good. I’m tired of this mortal coil.”
“Well, shall we call it a night?”
She nods. “Yeah, I should spend a little time with her before I pack up. Let me say goodbye to your fam.”
We wave goodbye at Clara and the boys and intercept Dave and my parents in the living room. Molly hugs them all, which is somewhat amusing to watch as they are all in their bathing suits.
And then we are back in my mother’s Volvo, cruising down dark suburban streets, trying to get Molly home before curfew, just like we’re sixteen again.
I put on Elliot Smith, because it evokes sadness and Los Angeles and I wish she wasn’t going there.
“Jesus, Seth,” Molly says, flicking the volume down. “Let’s not wallow in misery.”
“I’m going to miss you. I’m still reconciling what to do about how much I’m going to miss you.”
She strokes my neck. “It’s going to be awful,” she says.
That she agrees makes me feel better. Until she adds, “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”
