For the millionth time, I marvel at how good they are together. How they radiate quiet, steadfast love.
I’m skeptical that love like theirs happens for many people, and even more skeptical that it might happen for me. I think it’s a rare gift that my dear, gentle Alyssa deserves.
But it makes me wish I had a relationship like that. One in which there is a safe, private world between the two of you.
We wend our way through the tourists, past boutiques that all seem to sellpastel sundresses and Tommy Bahama shirts exclusively. The air smells and feels like my childhood—sweet and thick. As we get closer to the ice cream shop (an iconic local establishment called Miss Malted’s) the sidewalks are packed with couples and families happily licking the towering, melting, soft-serve cones Miss M’s is famous for.
“Ry, did you know Alyssa used to work at this ice cream parlor?” I ask.
She groans. “I ended up with three cavities that summer.”
“Hey guys!” a familiar voice calls from somewhere up ahead of us.
Seth’svoice.
I stop walking. My entire body stiffens as he comes into focus.
I knew he would be here, of course.
I’ve tried to prepare myself.
But I don’t have a playbook for how to behave in front of a person you can’t stop missing.
He’s with the whole Rubenstein gang—his parents, brother, sister-in-law, and two nephews.
“Hey yourself, Rubenstein,” Alyssa shouts, bounding ahead to greet him.
“Oh my word, it’s Alyssa and Molly,” Mrs. Rubenstein cries, elbowing her way past her sons to give me a hug. “Girls, how are you? It’s been so long!”
She wraps her arms around Alyssa, and then turns to Ryland. “And who is this handsome young man?”
Ryland offers her his hand. “Ryland Johnson. I’m Alyssa’s husband.”
“Barbie Rubenstein, and my husband, Kal. And this”—she gestures at her other child—“is our son David and his lovely wife, Clara. And of course, you must know Seth.”
“Nice to see you, man,” Ryland says.
“I’m Jack,” the little boy on Seth’s shoulders shouts before Seth can reply. He bonks the top of Seth’s head for emphasis. “Tell them I’m Jack.”
“My apologies, Jack, how rude of me,” Mrs. Rubenstein says with mock gravity. “Friends, this is my grandson, Jack, and that handsome gentleman is his brother, Max.”
“I’m four,” Jack yells, loud enough to wake the dead.
“I’m six,” Max provides shyly, like he is obligated to furnish this information after his brother’s announcement.
Mr. Rubenstein drops Max’s hand and squeezes my shoulder. “Why, if it isn’t Miss Molly Marks. My goodness, doll, how long has it been? Twenty years?”
I smile, because Mr. Rubenstein always called me doll, and I’ve always loved Seth’s family.
“Just about,” I say. “It’s so good to see you.”
Mrs. Rubenstein grabs my hand. “Molly. You look amazing. How is your mom? Happy and in good health, I hope? I always see her signs in town.”
I laugh. “She never met a park bench she didn’t want her face on.”
“So what brings you all to these parts?” Mr. Rubenstein asks.
“Jon and Kevin’s wedding,” Alyssa says.
