Herapplause was slow and purposeful. “Well done, sir,” she drawled with a nod.
“Thankyou, thank you.” I bowed and swiped the spatula from the floor.
Ihanded it to her as she said, “And here we thought you were just meant to playthe guitar, when really, you could’ve been the next Eminem.”
“Oh,yeah,” I chuckled with a shake of my head. “I would’ve been takenrealseriously as a rapper.”
Shegave me a look-over, her gaze washing over my heavily inked arms and neck,before tipping her head, a fervent look in her eyes. “Uh, have you looked inthe mirror lately?”
“Whatever.”I laughed easily and turned away to pace into her living room as she finishedcooking.
Iliked Molly’s apartment, what little I’d seen of it, even if it was the size ofa shoebox. The living space consisted only of a small, conjoined kitchen/diningroom, and living room. She used a wide zebra-print rug to imply separationbetween the living and dining areas, but it did little good when I could takethree strides from her kitchen counter to stand beside her couch. It was cozythough, not to mention eclectic, with animal prints strewn about in the curtains,throw blankets, and pillows. Bookshelves bordered the windows, and as theyweren’t entirely packed with reading material, I perused the trinkets she keptthere. A trio of crystal skulls. A ceramic figurine of a black cat. A glasscandleholder etched with filigree and bats. It was dark and reminiscent ofHalloween, but when my eyes flitted to her choice of reading material, all Ifound were bright colors and romantic, swirling cursive along the spines. Acheerful contradiction to the macabre on the adjacent shelves. I chuckled tomyself, thinking how Molly never could fit in. Because she was never meant to.
Iturned and caught sight of two yoga mats leaning against the back of the couch.Did she have a roommate, I wondered, or maybe a boyfriend?
“Whodoes the second yoga mat belong to?” I asked, allowing my curiosity to do thetalking.
“Oh,that’s Morgan’s. She’s my roommate.”
Inodded, banking the information away. “Yourmama’stold me about a few of your roommates.”
“Oh,God,” she laughed, pulling a couple of plates from a cupboard. “I’ve had somerealwinners over the years, but that’s the price Igottapay forlivin’ on my own.” She divvied the pancakesbetween the two dishes and carried them to the table with a teasing look in hereye. “Not all of us can be rich and famous. Some of us are poor and needroommates to pay the bills.”
“Ha-ha,”I drawled with a roll of my eyes as I sauntered toward the small wooden table.“And for the record, Idohave roommates, sort of. And I’m not famous.”
“Oh,no, Mr.Guitar Universe?” She dropped into a chair and taunted me withher glare.
Isat across from her and reached for the syrup. “Huh?”
“Youhad a feature in their New Year’s edition as one of the guitarists to keep aneye on,” she stated so matter-of-factly. “There was even a centerfold, likeyou’re some Playboy bunny orsomethin’.”
Pouringthe syrup over my pancakes, I cocked my head. “You follow that shit?”
“Yourmama does. Then, she tellsmymama,who tellsme.”
Herhand outstretched for the syrup bottle. Laughing heartily, I passed it to herwaiting palm as I said, “Poor you.”
Sheshrugged, a smile playing around her lips. “It’s not so bad.”
***
Vegan pancakesdidn’t suck. In fact, they were delicious, light and fluffy, and they didn’tleave my stomach feeling bloated.
Sufficeto say, I was impressed.
“I’mglad you liked them so much,” she said, laughing lightly after I’d complimentedher cooking skills for the third time.
“Youcook a lot?” I asked, standing to collect the empty dishes. She tried to stopme, insisting she’d clean up. I leveled her with an unrelenting glare, and sheshushed immediately, letting me take the dishes away.
“Icook most of my meals, yeah. I try to keep my food as fresh as possible. Lessprocessed and all that. It makes my body feel better,” she told me as I carriedthe plates to the sink and put the syrup away. “Plus, I just really likecookin’.”
Inodded thoughtfully, crossing my arms and leaning against the counter. “Idefinitely feel a little better when I’m noteatin’like crap, too.”
Narrowingher eyes, she watched me studiously, so I asked, “What?”
“I,uh, actually wanted to ask about that last night, but I didn’t know if Ishould.”
“Aboutwhat?” I knew exactly what she wanted to ask. Molly knew my history better thanmost.
