But she needs me, and I love her, so I pick up.
“Hey, my love,” I say, trying not to betray how upset I am. “How are you?”
“Horrible,” she says in a thick, hoarse voice. I can’t tell if she’s been drinking or crying or both.
“Mad,” she goes on. “Mad, bad, sad.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Did you have lunch with your family?”
“Yeah. They’re being sweet. Which almost makes it worse. I don’t want pity.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I say, thinking of Seth. I don’t want his sympathy about what just happened with my father. He already had his hackles up about me working for him. I can’t stand to think of the look in his eyes when he finds out he was right to be wary. He’ll be apoplectic. My pain is too raw to handle his anger too.
I’ve felt enough feelings this weekend to last me the rest of my life.
“Don’t ever get married, Molly,” Dezzie slurs. “Promise me. Make me a blood oath.”
I think of my father, pulling out of the driveway in his shiny BMW, leaving me sobbing and my mom catatonic. I think of Rob, fucking some woman while trying to get his wife pregnant.
And I think of my boyfriend, who abets men just like them. My boyfriend, who spends every day of his life helping people turn on each other, abandon their promises. My boyfriend, who is perfect until, inevitably, he’s not.
The reality of this makes my heart pound in my chest. It makes me want to sob.
I’ve been trying so hard to believe that what I feel for Seth won’t end in my emotional slaughter.
But it’s pretty hard not to see today’s bitter truth:the more you trust, the more you stand to lose.
“Don’t worry, Dezzie,” I say. “Refraining from marriage should not be a problem.”
“Good. Because I don’t ever want you to feel like this. I don’t want anyone to.”
“Me neither, my friend.”
She yawns. “I had too much wine. I think I need to pass out.”
“Okay. Take a nap. I’ll call you tonight.”
CHAPTER 35Seth
I’m giddy.
While Molly was cooking, I walked over to the other gate and let in the crew I hired. They’re silently setting up the lights in the front yard. I need to distract Molly until it’s time for dinner.
I go in the house, which smells amazing. “Damn,” I call. “Whatever you’re doing in there—”
But I see Molly and stop talking.
She’s slumped at the table, nursing a glass of wine and staring at something on her phone.
“Hey,” I say. “What’s wrong?”
She looks up at me. She seems hollowed out.
“Nothing,” she says. “Sorry. Dezzie called and I got distracted. She’s in pretty rough shape.”
That would explain why she’s upset.
Fuck.
