“Whatif we go out somewhere nice?” she countered, cocking her hip and crossing herarms.
Iglowered. “We won’t.”
“Butwhat if wedo?”
“I’mtellin’ya, we won’t.” Ilaughed incredulously, shaking my head.
“Idon’t know how you can so easily just say we won’t, when you have no idea.Maybe I’mgonnabeg you to come with me to somereally nicerestaurant, because I hategoin’out to eat alone. Then, what the hell am Igonnawear?” She thrust a hand toward me. “And while we’re at it, what the hell wouldyouwear? Huh?”
Witha drawn-out exhale, I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Bring a pair of nice shoes if it makesyou happy.”
“Areyougonnabring nice shoes?”
“Nope.‘Causewe’re notgoin’anywhere I’mgonnaneed ‘em.”
Mollysnorted and shook her head. “And you wonder why your girlfriend won’t move inwith you,” she muttered, smirking with a dash of sass.
Myjaw flopped open and my brow furrowed. “Whoa. Those arefightin’words if I ever heard ‘em.”
“Well,I’m justsayin’,” she said teasingly, heading to siftthrough the collection of shoes. “It might help your case if you were a littlemorewillin’ to play along. You know. Be a goodboyfriend.”
Inarrowed my eyes at the accusation. “Who says I’m a bad boyfriend?”
Hergaze flitted toward me. She trailed her eyes up to my face down, to my feet,then back again, finally training her stare on mine. “I’m justkiddin’. I can’t imagine youbein’a bad anything, to tell you the truth.”
I was a bad friend for a while.
Ilooked away with a huff. God, I don’t know what was making me think of thatfirst day of high school. It’d been on my mind since she called this morning.Maybe it was that she needed me for something, the way she had that day. Shehad needed me to walk her to class, and I’d refused, until it was too late.
“Hey,can I ask you a stupid question?”
“Sure,”Molly replied, tossing most of her shoes to the floor.
“Didyou get lostwalkin’ to class?”
“What’reyoutalkin’ about?” She laughed lightly. “You meanhigh school?” I nodded, and she shrugged in reply. “God, um … that was a longtime ago. But um, not really, I don’t think so. I was probably late, but notlost.”
“Whywere you late?”
“Jesus,Chad,” she muttered, chuckling as she decided between two pairs of sneakers.“You’re reallydiggin’ stuff up today, huh?”
“I’mjust curious. We’ve never talked about it.” That was because we’d only gottentogether after school for a couple of weeks after that first day. The threadsholding our friendship together had already begun to unravel. Things hadchanged forever that morning, and it was all my fault.
Witha forlorn sigh, she tore her attention from the sneakers to address me. “Whenyou had gone, I found a bathroom and cried for a few minutes.” She spokesomberly but candidly, and then, her eyesrolledandher hand waved dismissively. “I was so ridiculous. Probably hormonal as hell.”
Ishook my head. “I shouldn’t’ve left.”
Herlips curled into a small smile. “Please don’t tell me you’ve beenholdin’ onto guilt all this time.”
Witha self-deprecating grin, I told her I was just remembering some crap, anddiverted her attention to the open closet door, instructing her to find enoughclothes for about two weeks, give or take. We tried to do laundry about thatoften, providing the schedule allowed for it, and she set out to the task withexcitement. It was becoming more real to her that this was really happening.Hell, it was becoming more real for me, too.
Wetook a break from packing to have lunch. I ran out to a sandwich place Mollyliked while she took a shower, and when I got back with our food, we sat on herliving room couch to eat. We asked each other questions to fill the air. Fun,on-the-surface things mostly, like favorite actors and restaurants. It was aspeedy way to get to know each other as the adults we are now, replacing thekids we were in our memories.
“Doyouwannaget married?” I found myself asking over mygrilled chicken sandwich.
Thechip she was holding slipped through her fingers, falling to the plate on herlap. “W-what?”
“Doyouwannaget married?” I repeated, shrugging andtaking a bite.
