Chapter 35 Molly
Molly
I play with my straw wrapper while I wait for Matt at a low table in the bar a few blocks away from Drummond.
It’s a bar like Hailey would bring me to; dimly lit, serving expensive drinks, all the staff in matching starched uniforms. They brought me a plate of lime and lemon slices when I asked for one to go with my soda.
I won’t be drinking tonight, I’m already queasy, and I feel like my stomach will revolt if I introduce spirits into the equation.
Plus, I feel like I should really have my wits about me for this conversation.
Matt shows up six minutes late, rushing in with his face flushed from the cold. He is in an expensive slate suit with a thick wool coat overtop and a thin plaid scarf loose around his neck. His watch alone costs more than my outfit in its entirety.
My thrifted sweater covered in embroidered candy-canes over a pink cotton turtleneck felt like a great choice when I left this morning, but now feels juvenile.
I haven’t felt this way for a while, not since my last family dinner with Hailey’s family–like I need to dress better, pull back my hair, wear nicer makeup to fit in with the people I’m with.
‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ Matt pulls his coat off and drapes it over the extra chair on his side of the table before sitting. He orders a glass of wine for us both, and I tell the waiter that the soda I have is fine, making for the first awkward moment of the evening before we’ve even really begun.
I don’t know what Matt expects to get from this, but I am almost shivering in anticipation.
I don’t know why I even said yes–maybe because this week has been full of what I’ve been calling rebuilding.
Getting a writing sample ready, fixing my portfolio, going back and forth with James about a cover letter, to name just a few items in said rebuild.
I needed a second new writing sample for my application for the visiting professor position, and luckily had three years of handwritten drafts to choose from in the credenza.
A relationship with Matt isn’t something I want to rebuild, but I do feel that hearing him out is something that a newly enlightened, rebuilt Molly would do.
It’s been less than a week since I last saw Elijah, and his note still sits in my coat pocket. The edges of the folded paper are already worn smooth from how many times I’ve touched it.
‘What did you want to talk about?’ I ask in favour of answering his small-talk questions about work.
Matt clears his throat and nods, steeling himself for whatever serious conversation he wants to have.
‘I meant what I said about missing you. And reflecting.’
‘Not sure what that has to do with me,’ I say. So, okay, my enlightenment has not reached my patience.
‘Back then, I didn’t see how what I was doing could be hurtful,’ Matt says.
I purse my lips and drop my head to the side. ‘You knew, Matty,’ I say. ‘You just thought you’d get away with it.’
‘That’s just it.’ He leans closer, both elbows and forearms flat on the table. ‘I didn’t see how much my parents gave me a skewed perception of things. It’s how I was raised.’
‘You were raised to cheat and lie?’
Matt’s patience with me is starting to chafe, that familiar exasperated glint making a comeback. ‘You know my dad—’
‘Your dad is a bad person. You know this. He made your mom’s life miserable for thirty years. I told you again and again that she should leave him.’
‘But she didn’t! She knew what was happening and she stayed. I thought that’s how it was.’
‘Bullshit. Don’t act like you didn’t know how the world works. You’re saying you really believed I wanted that? That I’d be okay with that?’
‘She’s comfortable!’ Matt exclaims too loudly, startling the patrons around us out of their conversations and into ours. I can’t even be embarrassed, just a bit amused at the borderline tantrum we all might witness if things keep going as they are.
Matt lowers his voice so the tables next to us can’t eavesdrop. ‘You were comfortable, Molly. Together, we were building a very nice, comfortable life where you had all the time in the world to write. Now you work a shitty IT job and live in a studio apartment.’
Some of these things are true but, notably, my studio apartment is lovely, albeit small. I love the floor plan, the bright colours, the stacks of books, the cat I inherited from my ex-vampire not-boyfriend, that damn rug Matt would hate. ‘So what?’
‘So you’re miserable, Molly, can’t you see that?’
For about a minute, all I can do is stare at the man across from me.
I take in the crisp-collared shirt and well-fitting slacks, his perfectly done hair, the close shave, bright blue eyes.
I remember loving him so vividly. He’s personable and charming, a bad dancer, a great kisser. He is so handsome. And so stupid.
‘Why did you really invite me here? I’m guessing it’s not to tell me how lousy you think my life is.’
‘No, of course not. It’s–I wanted to discuss the possibility of us.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘As in us. Back together.’
I really do laugh this time, too shocked to hold it back for politeness or propriety’s sake.
‘You are so insanely bold,’ I tell him, taking a long sip of my soda.
‘We were happy once; we were good together,’ he defends. ‘I keep trying to find something like what we had, but no one is like you. I miss you, Molly. Miss how I felt when we were together.’
‘Choices and actions have consequences. You made your choices, and the consequence is that you will never have me or my trust again.’ I stand and sling my purse over my shoulder–my thrifted purse with a Christmas tree keychain dangling from the strap. Matt’s dad would hate it.
‘Molly,’ Matt says, completely exasperated by me.
He thinks he could handle getting back together with me?
If anything, three years apart has left me more stubborn, less willing to budge an inch when he would inevitably try to take a country mile.
I have to laugh. ‘Come on, don’t do that. Don’t leave.’
‘I loved you Matt, I really did. But I would rather be miserable without you than comfortable with you.’
I take five steps away, face burning for all the looks that are turned in our direction, conversations quieted.
Before I get too far, I wheel around and go back to him.
‘And for the record, I am not miserable–I like my life, I make friends everywhere I go, and at least I’m not engaged to someone who thinks asking for monogamy is unreasonable. ’
His jaw is clenched shut, a muscle jumping while he watches me. He’s embarrassed. Good. I was embarrassed by him, too.
‘Have a good life, Matty.’
I rush out of the restaurant into the December night, the cold a cleansing sort of shock.
I take a long breath in and exhale it, feeling new.
Feeling like I wish I could call Elijah and tell him about the whole evening.
I wish he could’ve seen it. Wish he could see any of me rebuilding the dreams I left to rot on a back burner.
I pull on my jacket and head to the train station, wondering where in this big world my vampire has gone.
To: James Johnson
From: Molly Mason
Date: 21 December 2026
Subject: Re: Interested in an opportunity?
James,
Thanks for the feedback on my creative sample and cover letter. I’ve implemented your comments on both and the suggestions immediately made it better. Let me know if you feel like it’s good to hit send. I’m feeling proud of the work done here.
Thanks again and happy holidays!
Molly