Chapter 33
ENZO
Molly thinks that failure is acceptable. That it can be noisy and devastating and still survivable.
But in my family, failure isn't acceptable. It's frowned on. Even the failure that most of my siblings don't know about. The failure that Mama protects me from.
Molly pulls another block free and grins at me across the trembling tower.
Miraculously, it holds.
She's confident, even as she takes, in my opinion, wild and reckless moves. Bold moves. She's not afraid of making mistakes.
“Shall I paint my nails while you make your next move?” she teases.
In answer, I pull out a block too quickly, and the entire structure implodes, the pieces clattering across the table.
“You lost!” Molly claps her hands together, looking jubilant.
“You distracted me.”
“With what?”
With all of you.
With the way she is, and the way she looks at me.
“Excessive commentary,” is what I say.
“You're a sore loser.” She gets up and pulls out a carton of coconut water. “Want some?”
“No, thank you.”
“We've been playing for hours,” she exclaims.
“Best work day I ever had.”
She sighs contentedly. “It more fun playing with someone.”
I raise a brow. “So you agree?”
She shrugs. “It’s okay.”
“We played it the way it’s supposed to be played.”
“Another game?” she asks, just as I hear a weird gurgling sound.
“Was that your stomach?”
“It was. We missed lunch.”
“You lost track of time. Now do you appreciate the power of a good Jenga partner?”
“I do,” she replies. “I’d better make the most of it and play as much as I can while you’re here.”
Her words bring me back to reality. We can’t stay locked up in here forever. I don’t want to think about anything else—not the outside world, or Luca’s project, or Father.
“Let’s play some more, but let’s get dinner first. How about I order takeout?”
Miraculously, she agrees and we order takeout. Fish tacos and fries again. Because I don’t want her to stress, and I don’t want to put her out. I just want her to be here, and I want to use my time with her. Not doing errands or cooking.
When the food arrives, we eat at the kitchen table, having cleared away the Jenga. After, we play Jenga again, but this time we set it up on the coffee table in the living room, where we sit on the floor.
Molly’s feet are tucked beneath her.
“I'm going to hate playing by myself when you're gone.”
The room falls silent.
I don't want this to end, and it sounds like she doesn't either.
Before I can reply, she asks, “You have five siblings to play with.”
I laugh. “I doubt they’d play this. Brooke might.”
“Brooke?”
“She …” I pause. “She’s Jett’s daughter. She’s almost seven now.”
“Aww! That’s similar in age to the children I teach. I bet she’s adorable.”
“She is.”
“How would your brothers play this game?” she asks.
“Hmmmm.” I stop to think. “Dex would cheat.” That's for sure, without a doubt. Dex absolutely would.
“And Rio?”
“He'd charm someone else into moving the difficult blocks.”
She laughs.
“What about Matteo?”
I pause before answering. She seems to know their names.
“He'd calculate the precise load distribution.”
“Is he the techy guy?”
“He is.”
“And Zach?”
My curiosity gets the better of me. “You know all their names.”
She freezes, for the briefest of seconds, enough for me to notice. “I ... I've read about them. Some article or something,” she says, dismissively.
That makes sense. We have been in the news lately, so it should come as no surprise, but a part of me wonders what exactly she’s read.
“And Zach?” she prompts again.
“He’d buy the company that manufactures Jenga.”
“Oh.” She sounds like she's trying to work out why.
“And Jett?”
I groan. “That guy would declare the game inefficient and schedule a meeting about it.”
She laughs. “They sound like a bunch of very interesting people.”
“I don't know about that.”
“And what about you? How would you describe the way you play?”
I pause before answering.
“Apparently, I lose because I’m distracted.”
Her eyes meet mine and hold. The slightest tinge of pink colors her cheeks. That's when she yanks out a block and the tower crashes.
The noise startling. Molly laughs. “I'm the loser this time.”
I have a different suggestion. “How about we play a little differently this time”
“Yes please!” Her eyes light up. I knew she'd love the idea.
“Every time someone takes out a piece, they have to answer a question. And whoever makes the tower fall has to ...” I pause to think. “Has to answer three questions.”
“Oh.” She claps her hands together. “I like the sound of that.” She shifts on the floor, rearranging her legs and sitting back down.
I have my back against the couch, and my legs splayed out straight in front of me. I shift to kneeling when I have to remove a block.
“You start,” I tell her. “Favorite food?”
She pulls out a piece. “Fish tacos.”
My turn. I sit up, examine the tower, and pull out the piece, but I don't spend as long as before, because I don't care about the tower as much as I do about getting through the questions.
“Most embarrassing moment,” Molly asks.
I sit back down, frowning as I try to remember. “Turning up to a party dressed as a priest, because I'd been told it was a fancy-dress party, and it wasn't.”
She puts her hands to her face in shock horror. “You spend the night dressed like a priest?”
“I went home and got changed, then came back.”
“You would have had more fun dressed like a priest. Imagine the confessions you might have heard.”
“You're right.” I'm not just saying that, I actually mean it.
She pulls out a block. “What did you want to be when you were ten?”
It should have been an easy answer, but her expression changes and I've hit a nerve. She quickly manages to recover, but it's too late. I already noticed.
“A ... an ... astronaut.”
She doesn't convince me, but I don't probe even though every cell in my body screams at me to.
“First kiss?”
She really asked that.
“When I was thirteen. In Bermuda, with a girl I met at a party. She was sixteen, and told me she'd teach me.”
“And?” Molly’s eyes widen.
“She taught me.”
She gasps. “Was it memorable?”
I hesitate. Not because I’m remembering the kiss which wasn’t memorable, but because thinking of a kiss suddenly has me thinking of things that I shouldn't be. I'm aware that she's asked more than one question, but I don't mind.
“Not particularly.”
She sinks back onto her heels, looking a little hot and flustered. She pulls out a block. The tower collapses, causing the bricks to land on the carpet. There's no loud crash this time, but the silence that remains after is deafening.
“I get to ask three questions,” I announce, just as the tightening in my pants momentarily distracts me.
Three questions.
There are questions I want to ask, and questions I probably shouldn't ask, but now that we're at this juncture, why not?
“How old were you when you had your first kiss?”
Her gaze goes up, then to the side, as she’s remembering. A long pause follows before she answers.
“Eighteen.”
Eighteen? That's older than I expected.
I wait silently, wondering if she'll elaborate because she seems to have retreated into herself. She swipes a hand across the back of her neck.
“It wasn't great. He was quiet, like me, in the same class. It happened at a party. We were both curious …” She covers her face with her hands. Her face is red when she takes her hands away. “It might have been his first time, also, because it was ...it wasn't very good.”
I feel bad for her, but not too bad. What jumps out at me more than the awkward kiss is how Molly described herself at school.
“I can’t imagine you being quiet, not at school, not anywhere.” I'm dumbfounded, because I can’t imagine that version of Molly.
“I was like that the whole of—” She cuts off, looks at me, then blinks. That's it. She won't give me more.
“And when did you have your first good kiss?”
She seems to relax at that, which only makes me wonder, what was she afraid I'd ask.
“It was at college. I'm a late starter.” She looks at me and hesitates. “I met this guy at a party in our dorm. He ended up being my first boyfriend. He kissed me that night.”
“And?”
“It was nice.”
I imagine a faceless, nameless, gangly college boy, kissing Molly. She scratches the back of her neck again.
“I mean … it wasn't bad.” She looks away, looks uncomfortable. Her gaze comes back to me. “You’ve had your three questions.”
But I’m now left with even more. I wonder what it would be like to kiss her.
I shift away from the couch, my heart kicking hard against my ribs. I don't do this. I don't make impulsive moves. I like to analyze. I mostly hold back. I stay in control.
Except right now, I don't want to. For once, restraint can go to hell.
I shift closer. Jenga bricks lie scattered on the floor between us, but Molly doesn’t move away. Her dark eyes stay fixed on mine. My heart thunders so loudly I think she can hear it.
My gaze drops to her mouth.
Then back to her eyes.
Still, she doesn't move.
I lean in slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away. Instead, her eyes flutter closed and she tilts her face towards mine.
That's all the permission I need, before I press my lips to hers.