Chapter 24. Molly
Florida in the dead of summer would not be my first choice for a wedding. I am, after all, on record as someone who avoids group celebrations in general, and I also firmly believe that the Gulf Coast is only habitable November through February.
But Jon and Kevin’s wedding is special. At the risk of being mawkish, it represents more than a celebration of their romance. It’s a celebration of the chance to live life again. And for that, I will endure all the double-masked transcontinental flights and suffocating humidity you can throw at me.
And tonight, the eve before the blessed event, I am soaked not just in sweat, but also in the pleasure of being with my best friends. Reuniting with Dezzie and Alyssa after not seeing each other for eighteen months is transcendent.
Except for the presence of Rob.
We’re sitting on the patio of a restaurant, and he is speaking way too loudly to our waitress.
“Another old-fashioned, sweetheart,” he says, rattling the ice in his empty crystal tumbler at her.
Dezzie gives him a dirty look. We’ve been here forty-five minutes and he’s already two drinks in. That’s not counting the two martinis he had at Alyssa’s mom’s cocktail hour. His consonants are already muddy. It’s seven o’clock, and he’s basically slurring.
“Don’t call her sweetheart,” Dezzie hisses.
“She likes it,” he says in a much too loud voice.
The server gives us all a tight smile. “Coming right up. Can I get anyone else anything?”
The rest of us shake our heads.
Ryland leans back in his chair. “It’s so nice to be at a restaurant without three screaming children.”
He’s obviously trying to clear the air, but Dezzie’s glare doesn’t lift.
“Yeah, much more relaxing to be here with only one screaming child,” she says, her expression trained on her husband.
“Are the kids having fun with their cousins, Ry?” I ask.
“Who cares?” Ryland jokes. “I’m having fun. This is the first time we’ve been child-free in”—he gestures like he’s checking a watch—“seven years?”
Alyssa groans. “It certainly feels that way.”
“If you’re sick of your kids, why did you have a third?” Rob asks.
We are all silent for a moment, taken aback.
Dezzie has worried about Rob’s change in attitude for months, and Alyssa and I have been increasingly concerned about the two of them. But this is far worse than I imagined.
“I love my children more than anything, Rob,” Alyssa says evenly. “But the older kids are doing virtual school and need our constant supervision, and Jesse is still in diapers. We’re both working full-time from home with no childcare, in close quarters. It’s been very stressful.”
“She means it’s been like Dante’s ninth circle of hell,” Ryland says, putting an arm around her.
“Yeah well, at least no one died,” Rob says.
Alyssa’s face goes ashen.
Ryland leans in. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“I said I’m sorry you’ve been inconvenienced by having to watch your own children when people are dying,” Rob says. “In my job—”
“I lost my mother,” Ryland interrupts. “We couldn’t even say goodbye to her because she was isolated in the hospital, okay? So shut the fuck up about my kids dying.”
Alyssa takes his hand and stands up. “Come on, babe. Let’s take a walk.”
“Shit, my bad, my bad,” Rob says thickly. “Sorry, man. Sit down. I didn’t know.”
“I told you,” Dezzie says.
“Well, I forgot!”
Ryland, who is among the most good-natured people I know, is visibly vibrating with rage. He lets Alyssa pull him up, and they wordlessly make their way through the crowded restaurant toward the doors.
“Really nice,” Dezzie says to Rob.
He doesn’t look at her.
“I have to take a piss,” he mutters, rising.
This leaves Dezzie and me alone at the table.
Of course, this is the exact moment the entrées arrive.
Neither of us touch the food.
“Jesus. You weren’t kidding,” I say.
She puts her head in her hands.
“I know. Sometimes he’s completely sweet and normal, and then sometimes he’s… this.”
“Do you think it’s still from all the Covid shit?”
“I honestly don’t know. I mean, he has a lot of young clients who’ve lost people. So I think that’s why he snapped at Ry. Not that it excuses it.”
“No. That was out of control.”
“And obviously the isolation and fear and all of that take a toll,” she goes on wearily. “His doctor put him on Prozac but…” She trails off. “Obviously it’s not working.”
I reach across the table and take her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s really beginning to drain me, Molls. He’s just so erratic. Drinks so much.” She starts to tear up. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this. He can be so mean.”
I walk around the table and wrap my arms around her.
“I’m so sorry, my love,” I murmur.
“I keep hoping it will get better.” Her voice breaks. “I love him so much, you know? And I know he’s in pain—I can see it—but he’s not bringing it to me. He’s turning away from me. And I don’t know if it’s to protect me or if he just can’t bear to talk about it, but I feel like I’m losing him.”
“Have you guys thought about therapy?”
“He won’t go. With me or alone.” She wipes away a tear and sniffles. “And I feel awful complaining about my marriage when so many terrible things are happening to other people. But, we’re finally starting IVF next month and I’m worried that—”
Just then Rob reappears.
“Food! Hell yeah!” he says, as though he doesn’t notice I’m holding his crying wife.
I glare at him, which must provoke some level of compunction because he says, “You all right, babe?”
“You need to apologize to Ryland and Alyssa,” Dezzie says.
“Roger, dodger.” He plops back down in his seat and tears into his steak.
I squeeze Dez and return to my chair. The sage and butter sauce on my ravioli has already started to congeal.
Alyssa and Ry return, hand in hand.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Rob says to them immediately. “I was totally out of line.”
“Yes, you were,” Ryland says, in an icy tone that makes it clear he doesn’t want to discuss it.
We finish the meal awkwardly. I try to smooth over the tension by chatting about Marian’s recent wedding to her baseball player (an intimate family-only ceremony featured in People magazine) and showing off pictures of Gloria and Emily’s twins (who are so adorable they’ve made me wonder if I should have a kid).
As soon as we’ve paid the check, Dezzie tells Rob they should get back to her parents’ house before they fall asleep. Alyssa, Ryland, and I decide to take a walk and get ice cream.
“I’m worried about Dez,” I say as soon as she and Rob are out of earshot. “She started crying while you guys were gone.”
“Poor thing,” Alyssa says. “What in the world is going on with Rob?”
“Could have strangled that fucker,” Ryland mutters.
Alyssa squeezes his arm.
For the millionth time, I marvel at how good they are together. How they radiate quiet, steadfast love.
I’m skeptical that love like theirs happens for many people, and even more skeptical that it might happen for me. I think it’s a rare gift that my dear, gentle Alyssa deserves.
But it makes me wish I had a relationship like that. One in which there is a safe, private world between the two of you.
We wend our way through the tourists, past boutiques that all seem to sell pastel sundresses and Tommy Bahama shirts exclusively. The air smells and feels like my childhood—sweet and thick. As we get closer to the ice cream shop (an iconic local establishment called Miss Malted’s) the sidewalks are packed with couples and families happily licking the towering, melting, soft-serve cones Miss M’s is famous for.
“Ry, did you know Alyssa used to work at this ice cream parlor?” I ask.
She groans. “I ended up with three cavities that summer.”
“Hey guys!” a familiar voice calls from somewhere up ahead of us.
Seth’s voice.
I stop walking. My entire body stiffens as he comes into focus.
I knew he would be here, of course.
I’ve tried to prepare myself.
But I don’t have a playbook for how to behave in front of a person you can’t stop missing.
He’s with the whole Rubenstein gang—his parents, brother, sister-in-law, and two nephews.
“Hey yourself, Rubenstein,” Alyssa shouts, bounding ahead to greet him.
“Oh my word, it’s Alyssa and Molly,” Mrs. Rubenstein cries, elbowing her way past her sons to give me a hug. “Girls, how are you? It’s been so long!”
She wraps her arms around Alyssa, and then turns to Ryland. “And who is this handsome young man?”
Ryland offers her his hand. “Ryland Johnson. I’m Alyssa’s husband.”
“Barbie Rubenstein, and my husband, Kal. And this”—she gestures at her other child—“is our son David and his lovely wife, Clara. And of course, you must know Seth.”
“Nice to see you, man,” Ryland says.
“I’m Jack,” the little boy on Seth’s shoulders shouts before Seth can reply. He bonks the top of Seth’s head for emphasis. “Tell them I’m Jack.”
“My apologies, Jack, how rude of me,” Mrs. Rubenstein says with mock gravity. “Friends, this is my grandson, Jack, and that handsome gentleman is his brother, Max.”
“I’m four,” Jack yells, loud enough to wake the dead.
“I’m six,” Max provides shyly, like he is obligated to furnish this information after his brother’s announcement.
Mr. Rubenstein drops Max’s hand and squeezes my shoulder. “Why, if it isn’t Miss Molly Marks. My goodness, doll, how long has it been? Twenty years?”
I smile, because Mr. Rubenstein always called me doll, and I’ve always loved Seth’s family.
“Just about,” I say. “It’s so good to see you.”
Mrs. Rubenstein grabs my hand. “Molly. You look amazing. How is your mom? Happy and in good health, I hope? I always see her signs in town.”
I laugh. “She never met a park bench she didn’t want her face on.”
“So what brings you all to these parts?” Mr. Rubenstein asks.
“Jon and Kevin’s wedding,” Alyssa says.
“Oh how lovely!” Mrs. Rubenstein exclaims. “We’ll be there too. Except for the boys, of course.”
“I didn’t realize you were coming,” Seth says to me, taking his nephew off his shoulders and setting him down gently on the sidewalk.
“Somehow I made the list,” I joke.
He winces. “Oh, no—sorry, I didn’t mean I’m surprised you’re invited—I just know you hate weddings. And Florida. Figured you’d probably skip it.”
It’s a fair assumption. Normally, I probably would have. After all, a pandemic is a pretty good excuse to avoid mushy emotions under white tents.
I certainly don’t offer the truth: I partially came to see him.
We haven’t talked in over a year, not since he cut off contact last June. I’ve carefully avoided bringing him up to my friends. I muted him on social media. I’ve done everything in my power not to pour salt into the wound he left.
But I still think about him every day.
There is never a time I check my email that I don’t hope I’ll get one from him.
It’s pathetic.
“Uncle Seth, Uncle Seth, knock knock,” Max says.
“Who’s there?” Seth asks.
“Beets.”
“Beets who?”
“Beats me!” Max shouts.
Seth shoots me an amused glance. “Maxie here is the family comedian,” he says.
“So I see.” There is something very charming about a child enjoying the fuck out of a knock-knock joke. I bend down. “Hey, Max,” I say. “Knock knock.”
His eyes light up. “Who’s there?”
“Goat.”
“Goat who?”
“Goat to the door and find out.”
He guffaws. “I never heard that one!”
“You should steal it, bud,” Seth says. “Very elevated comedy.”
“Well,” Alyssa says. “We were on our way to Miss M’s. I don’t suppose you all want to—”
Dave’s finger goes up to his lips and he shakes his head in what I gather is a parental gesture for “don’t mention ice cream.”
Alyssa flashes him a thumbs-up.
“See you at the wedding?” I ask.
“See you tomorrow, doll,” Mr. Rubenstein says.
“See you tomorrow, doll,” Jack echoes.
Ryland watches them walk away.
“Stop staring,” I hiss at him.
“You mean the way Seth was staring at you?”
The fact that they noticed makes me happy.
“Doth my eyes deceive or did you just attempt to charm a child?” Alyssa asks.
“I think she was trying to charm his uncle,” Ryland says dryly.
I consider how to respond to this. Then I laugh. “Do you think it worked?”