Tangled Up in Daydreams (8 page)

“Well, I don't …”

Liam leaned over and gave Molly a long kiss just below her ear, inhaling her before he pulled away.

“I better be, or I am going to spend the rest of my days looking for a girl who tastes and smells exactly like you.”

Molly smiled and took his hand. They rode the rest of the way to lunch in silence, both relishing their togetherness. Molly could feel the chocolate-flavored coziness spread like frosting inside her. Her heart and lungs, a pool of hot fudge. Nothing could be better than feeling like you are inside a mug of cocoa.

At lunch, Molly ordered a tuna sandwich and a cup of coffee.

“Excuse me.” Getting up. “Pit stop.”

Molly peed with a shit-eating grin on her face like she was three and using a big girl's potty for the first time. She walked back and slid into the booth, facing him.

“Babe, come sit next to me.”

“What?”

“Sit next to me over here.”

“But, Liam, then we can't look at each other and beam across the table.”

“You're too far away over there.”

Molly got up and snuggled next to him. She had never sat on the same side before. Sideways talking had not been her thing, except if she was at a sushi bar.

“Much better. See, we can still look at each other.” He lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “It's just closer.”

“Almost too close. I feel like you can see every pore on my face!” Molly laughed. “Thank God I happen to have great skin this week.”

“Except for that little zit on your …”

Molly's hand flew up to her face and she turned crimson.

“Really!?”

“Relax, I was kidding.” Pulling her hands away.

“Asshole.” Pretending to pout as she reached for her coffee. She took a sip and it tasted perfect. “Did you do my coffee?”

“That's something no one has ever accused me of, but yes, I did it. Quarter of an inch skim milk, half a sugar, and a dash of cream, right?”

“Yeah.” Taking another sip. “How did you know?”

“Paid attention.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

It had become that easy to say it. Her certainty came down to him knowing how she liked her coffee. It was always those small things that sucked Molly in. Not the grand gestures of love and romance, but the little things that make up a boring life. Buying her shampoo to keep at his house, her kind of toothpaste. Stocking the fridge with things she liked, or bringing her magazines when she was sick. All the tiny details that made the biggest statement of all: “Hey, I am listening, I am watching, I am remembering all of you, I see you.”

Molly blinked hard and screamed at herself for remembering yet another instance that made her fall in love with Liam. She stuffed a piece of the doughnut in her mouth and vowed to keep her mind as still as possible for the duration of the drive. Molly looked at the clock in the car and estimated that she had about two more hours to go. She surprised herself by getting this far without stopping. She couldn't believe she was still awake. Molly rolled her neck and rubbed her shoulders, trying to squeeze the tension from them. The knots were impenetrable, like small stones imbedded in her muscles. Pretty soon she would be the Thing from the
Fantastic Four
, her body coated in an armor of stress. Everything was so tight that one wrong move and she would snap both mentally and physically. She prayed she would arrive in one piece. Molly flipped to the last CD in her changer and began singing along to No Doubt. Molly's head bopped to the beat. It was easy to get lost in the rhythm, easy to get lost in ambient noise that didn't recall some moment, some memory. If she could focus just on the sound inside her car, she knew she would make it home.

I
t was four
A.M
. when Molly pulled into the familiar driveway. She smiled when she saw her mom's old-school, navy Mercedes sedan parked under the port-korshere. She was finally home and the much-needed comfort of a parental embrace was minutes away. Molly raced to the door and fumbled for her house key. She slipped it into the lock and quickly turned the metal handle, every step pulling her closer and closer to the moment of coveted release. In her haste, Molly forgot to turn off the alarm and within thirty seconds of her early morning entry, the shrill bleating of Alert One disrupted the quiet. Molly's fingers slipped on the small buttons as she tried to shut it down. Lights flicked on and feet pattered down the stairs two at a time.

“Who's there!?!?” Molly's dad, Henry, shouted. “Helen, grab the phone! Hurry!!!”

“Dad, easy,” Molly yelled over the siren. “It's me.”

“Molly?” Henry looked around the corner and saw her standing there.

“Yeah, I forgot the code.” Staring at the key panel. “I'm so sorry for scaring you.”

“I got it.” Henry walked over to her and shut the system down. “You always did know how to make an entrance.”

“Hi, Dad.”

“My girl.” Pulling her into a hug.

“Henry, I got the alarm company on the phone,” Helen called from the staircase. “Is everything all right?”

Helen rounded the corner and broke into a big smile when she saw her somewhat bedraggled daughter standing before her.

“Everything's fine here. My daughter set it off by accident. The code word is Baxter. Okay, thanks.” Helen hung up. “Molly, what on earth?”

Before Helen could pull her into another hug, Molly burst into tears.

“Baby, what's wrong? Henry?” Looking to him. “Molly, what is it?”

“I … I … Mom …” Molly choked on her tongue and her tears.

“Shush, come on, let's go sit down. Henry, go get her some water.”

Helen led Molly to the sofa in the family room and sat with her. No matter how big Molly got, she always seemed to fit into her mother's lap like it was made just for her. It was probably an embryonic connection that allowed every curve to perfectly suit Molly. Helen always told Molly the story of
Thumbelina
, the young girl who was so tiny that her mother had to carry her around inside her pocket. Molly was her little pocket-sized doll. Molly felt that way about her mom too—she loved tucking into her. Helen was the puzzle, and Molly was one of two perfect pieces, the other being her older brother, Alex.

When they were children they used to fight over this precious lap time and tried to work out some operating system that didn't leave Helen with dead legs permanently imprinted with her children's tushies. Actually, they used to get into tussles about everything. With four and a half years between them, common ground was something fertilized only after Molly grew up a bit and age difference shrunk. So until Molly turned sixteen, and Alex twenty, their parents would have to negotiate with them over every single activity. If a random McDonald's trip occurred with Dad and Alex, Molly would schedule in her own McMuffin fix. If Molly got the shiny new red shoes she wanted after reading
The Wizard of Oz
, there would have to be a quick stop at Kazam, for satisfactory comic compensation. A give and take, a constant competition. Alex inevitably won most of their skirmishes. How can a little girl compete with age, brawn, and wily coyoteness? No matter how clever or tough Molly tried to be, she ultimately fell short. What could she really do? Tell on him? Like that worked. Alex then would hang her stuffed animals from ceiling fans or lock her in her room when their parents were out to dinner, or he would creep in her room at night with this twisted gorilla monster mask, jump on her bed, and growl in her ear. It took Molly years of reading
Curious George
and watching
Project X
before she could even look at a monkey in the zoo without crying. Eventually Molly, overwhelmed by the repercussions of being a tattletale, learned to stop telling on her brother, and Alex had no need to mastermind new ways to torture her. They learned to coexist almost peacefully.

But Alex wouldn't rest until he won the ultimate contest: the car. Sometimes it was about the armrest, sometimes the front seat, or who would get to pump the gas and wash the windows. If Molly and Alex were pro wrestlers, the car was their ring. Elbows were thrown, knees buckled, pinches flew at backs and butts. No ride was taken without a slew of new bruises and teary snot. Helen managed to solve the front-seat round when she told the kids that they would alternate days of the week. One would be odd days, one would be even. Well, smarty-pants Alex, of course, calculated in his eight-year-old brain that there were more odd days in the year, so he called it first. Molly didn't know to complain, so she just went with it. Besides, she would soon learn that she held ownership of the front seat on October twentieth, Alex's birthday. Apparently, he wasn't that smart after all. It was a serious bartering chip that Molly wielded with extreme vigor.

Helen and Henry, though, did not have much success with the rest of the car quarrels. The bickering came to a head when Molly was five and Alex nine. The family was on their first trip to Europe, a brief driving stint around Paris, England, and Scotland. Well, driving meant a lot of time spent within an automobile. Once out of London, Helen and Henry relaxed into the plushness of their automotive interior, chatting about routes and maps and pastures, while Molly and Alex mutually decided it was a good time to begin sparring. Whatever they could fight over, the hump where they laid their feet, the gum they were supposed to share, became a full-on attack. Every ten minutes, Molly and Alex would scrimmage, yell, and pinch until Henry decided to become dictator of the car castle.

“Enough—if I hear one more word from back there you are both in serious trouble!” Henry yelled.

Henry was really scary when he yelled, so for a short spell they were under control. Molly played with her doll, and Alex played with his pocket Donkey Kong. Then he had to go and try to unhinge Molly's new claim of the armrest. First Alex flicked his hand and scattered Molly's imaginary tea party, then there was the silent poke, a little shove to dislodge her tiny arm. Her response was a scowl and a reshove. His, a pinch and a push, and then all hell broke loose.

“I was here first.” Molly, whining.

“No. I was,
move!
”

“
No!
I hate yo u!” Molly yelled, starting to cry.

“
Move!
” Alex growled between clenched teeth.

“
What did I say!
?” Henry's voice erupted from the front seat like Mount Vesuvius. “Didn't I tell you two to be quiet?” he continued, pulling the car over to the side of the road.

“He started it.” Molly sobbed.

“I did not, you're such a baby.” Pushing her again.

“That's it! If you two don't shut your mouths and leave each other alone, Alex, I am sending you to military school, and Molly, you are going to boarding school. No more fighting, no more talking, not a peep from either of you until we get to the hotel!” Henry demanded, pulling the car back onto the road.

Alex and Molly went silent. That is until Molly's five-year-old curiosity got the best of her. Little Molly was a glutton for punishment.

“What's boarding school?” she asked in a loud stage whisper.

“It's where parents send really bad kids.”

“Send them where?”

“To sleep away school.”

“Do you get to see anybody?”

“No, just the teachers.”

“What about Mom and Dad, and you and Baxter?” Trembling.

“Nope, no one, you get locked up far, far away with no parents, no dog, no nothing.”

An hysterical, dying animal sob came roaring from Molly's mouth. Tears streaked down the apples of her cheeks. Helen tried to comfort her as Henry pulled the car over again. He got out, came around to her door, and picked her up, trying to undo the damage. From that moment on, Molly and Alex tried to maintain peace. “Tried” is the key word. They at least managed to make it through the rest of the countryside, and that was a major accomplishment. Henry and Helen just learned to get used to the raised level of noise, and the volume they had to preserve on the radio to drown it out. One day their kids would be grown, and silence would pervail. One day …

Henry returned to his daughter and handed her a glass. Molly sat up and choked down a few sips. She wiped her face on her sleeve and drank a bit more.

“Honey, what happened?” Helen asked.

“It's over.”

“What is?”

“Liam.”

Molly took another sip, and lifted her head up to her mother. She watched concern begin to crinkle on Helen's brow.

“Baby, what happened? I thought you guys were doing really well lately.”

“We were, but now it's just all fucked up.” Molly eyes brimmed with tears. “It's all ruined. It's …” Crying harder.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” Wiping off Molly's face. “Shush.”

Helen rocked Molly on the couch until the crying eased.

“Let's get you into bed and we can talk about all this later.”