I wonder if I made a mistake by not reconsidering this when there was still time to change course. It did cross my mind that the circumstances are less than ideal, given everything going on with Dezzie. But we were havingsuch a beautiful day yesterday, and Molly seemed so happy to be together, and so excited about the possibility of me moving, that it seemed silly to second-guess myself.
In any case, it’s too late to change course now. There are already six men in the driveway erecting the set I designed.
And I have an idea to cheer Molly up.
“You know,” I say, “if you want, we can drive back early tomorrow and grab a flight to Chicago. You might feel better being with her. And I can help her prep for her meeting with the attorney.”
Molly looks up at me with sad eyes. “You would do that?”
“Of course.”
“What about your interviews on Monday?”
I shrug. “I’ll reschedule them.”
I know these firms want me, bad. They’ll wait.
“Wow,” Molly says. “It would be so nice to surprise her. Let’s do it.”
“I’ll look at flights after dinner.”
She smiles, and her whole face looks brighter—like she just got an extra four hours of sleep.
I relax. My plan is still fine.
“The food smells amazing,” I say. “I’m excited for your feast.”
“Thanks,” she says. “I have every intention of blowing your mind with my culinary prowess.”
“You can blow me anytime, babe.”
She groans.
“Hey, I saw a deck of cards in the dining room,” I say. “Want me to beat your ass at gin?” I want to keep her occupied so she doesn’t find a random reason to go out into the front yard for the next half an hour.
“I’m a little tired. Didn’t sleep well last night. Would you mind if I lie down for a bit before we eat?”
Even better. The bedroom is at the back of the house, where there’s no chance of her hearing anything.
“No,” I say, “of course not.”
“Okay. I just put the chicken in. The oven’s on a timer, so you don’t need to do anything.”
“Got it. Get some sleep. I’ll set the table.”
I text the event coordinator to let her know we’ll be starting a little later, but this is actually good, because it gives me time to make the table romanticas fuck. I’m grateful to my mother that she forced me to learn where all the forks go. I’m the George Clooney of tablescapes.
I rummage in the sideboard and get to work arranging place settings. I find some Jadeite candlesticks and set up long white taper candles for a perfect, flickering ambiance. We need a centerpiece, so I snatch a towel and some scissors from the kitchen and go outside. I cut a bunch of green limbs from a flowering creosote bush with pale yellow blooms, which I arrange around the candlesticks.
The effect is festive and pretty, and the creosote gives the room an earthy scent, like the aftermath of a rainstorm.
I change, to look nice for dinner, then pace around, jittery and excited. Molly sleeps longer than I was expecting, so I occupy myself with texting holiday wishes to everyone I know. When she finally emerges, she’s wearing a cozy sweater and her makeup is fresh. She’ll look so cute in our pictures.
“How was your nap?” I ask.
“Restorative. And I’m starving. Are you ready to eat?”
“Yep.”
