Chapter 15
COME AGAIN?
GREY
Ihaven't stopped laughing in an hour.
No amount of crunches could have prepared me for a night sitting around with Molly, high as fuck, while I watch her lose her mind.
Between her questions--Isn't lasagna just spaghetti cake?
--to her observations--My tongue is too big for my mouth.
I can feel the couch breathing. I think the house plants are judging me.
Your eyebrows are yelling!--I cannot keep it together.
Like, I have the fucking giggles. At one point, I couldn't breathe.
When she took a bite of her egg roll and the contents shot out the back, I almost choked to death.
My face hurts. My chest hurts.
Christ, she's gonna fucking kill me.
She's currently fishing around in the bags for the fortune cookies.
"Aha!" She lights up, chucking one at me.
My hand pops up to catch it on instinct.
I'm almost as surprised as she is. "You are a glorious freak," she says, unwrapping her cookie.
"Okay, now this is serious, Grey. Fortune cookies are either dead wrong, or they're on the nose. "
I chuckle. "Is that how it works? They're either right or wrong?"
"Yes." The sound wobbles as it rides her giggle. She breaks her cookie and pops half into her mouth, her jaw slowing as she reads. "Welp. What does yours say?"
My skin is all buzzy, but everything else stills. Your future is closer than you think. I'm too stupid right now to think how to play it off, so I say, "You first."
She clears her throat and sits up straight, the color high in her cheeks.
"Bad decisions are life's greatest teachers.
" She tosses it onto the coffee table and eats the other half of her cookie.
"Called out like a mofo," she says around the bite just as Scout jumps on the table and shoves her entire head into my box of lo mien.
Molly's on her feet and tries to grab the cat, but Scout takes off, lo mien flying behind her and Molly on her heels scolding her.
I shove the fortune into my pocket where she won't see it and pray she forgets.
Hers was bad enough. Bad decisions? Teachers?
And here I am, Mr. Don't Do It, teaching her shit I have no business teaching her.
I should feel regret. I don't. But I beat myself up all the same in the hopes that maybe I'll find the will to do the right thing and leave her alone.
When she comes back in, she's out of breath. "Foiled again. I'll get her next time." She flops onto the floor where she's been all night, putting the coffee table between us. It's covered in takeout boxes. I imagine sweeping them onto the floor so I can lay her down on it.
She's too young for you. And a virgin. You're not the guy who gets that. Who gets her.
Looking into her big brown eyes, I think, I can't figure out how nobody's snapped you up.
Molly draws a little breath of surprise, her cheeks flushing deep, her gaze dropping so she can hide behind her lashes.
I turn to stone.
Oh my fucking god, did I say that out loud?
"I…well, there hasn't been much of a chance, I guess," she mutters, confirming my nightmare.
I clear my throat, sit up a little. "Sorry. That's none of my business." Stupid, stupid idiot. You should have stayed sober.
"It's okay. I wondered that about you too."
Anything not to acknowledge what I said.
"I dunno. Baseball's been eating my life since I was a kid, from playing to coaching--.
I don't have much left to give. Being this busy, I've always figured I couldn't build a family.
It's something I had to figure out. I dated, in my twenties and thirties, but I always hit a compatibility wall.
She wanted kids and I wasn't sure. She wanted city life, I'm tied to Roseville.
Some we just…didn't communicate the same.
They didn't get that sometimes, I'm quiet.
I tend to…brood, I guess. So I assumed it wasn't for me. "
Molly's quiet, soft. She nods but doesn't say anything. For some reason, I keep talking.
"And then…" My chest tingles, and I rub my sternum absently. "My…my parents were addicts, you know. Dad was the initiator between him and my mom. They'd start to get clean, but he'd drag them back into it. He gambled. Sold drugs sometimes. She overdosed when I was twelve, and I can’t help but wonder…if he’d only let her go, if he’d let her get sober, would she have lived?” I push through the thought.
“When she died, he left town. Never saw him again.” My pulse thumps in my ears.
“In the end, my father ruined himself, he ruined my mom, and he would have ruined me too, if it wasn't for my grandma.
I know what a shitty man can do to a family, and I decided not to risk being half in. "
When I stop there, I pray she doesn't ask questions, not about them, not now.
I see the recognition of that thought on her face as it softens, brushing past it. "Do you date now?"
I shrug, relieved. "Just casual stuff here and there. You won't be surprised that you couldn't pay me to get on a dating app." I humph, but it sounds like a chuckle. "But no. Nothing serious."
"Can I ask you something?" Her tone is somehow determined and timid all at once.
"Anything."
"The other day, when you said you were too old, what did you mean?"
Fuck. Anything but that. I shift, reaching for my glass of water so I don't have to look at her. "Did I say that?"
"You did. You said, sometimes I made you feel too old more than you think of me as young."
I shrug, staring at the ice as I shake the glass a little, watching it swirl around. "Just in the general sense, I guess. I'm a lot older than you."
"I know, but…well, the way you said it kind of felt like you were really saying--" She frowns. Looks up. "Do you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
A thump sounds above us, and we both start. I'm on my feet.
"What is that?" she whispers.
I don't know how I got here, but I've put myself between her and the noise. Another thump, this one with a scurrying and scratching. An animal. I relax a hair.
"Go get the flashlight we got the other day and a towel."
"Okay."
I follow the scurrying as it traverses the living room toward the hall where the attic ladder is. I'm staring up at it, listening to the scratching when she returns, wide eyed, and presses the flashlight into my hand. I take the towel and unfurl it, slinging it over my shoulder.
"What are you going to do?" she hisses.
"I'm gonna go up there and get that fucker." Click--the Maglite is on.
"Get it with what?!"
"The towel. Stay back."
She's behind me again and takes a step back. Flashlight up, I reach for the pull and yank. The old hinges squeak and groan, the smell of musty pine hitting me like a wall.
And sitting at the top of the ladder, three dirty raccoons stare back with beady little eyes. The one in the middle is standing on its hind legs, and I swear to god, its eyes narrow on me in that long, pregnant silence.
And then, they launch out of the attic like paratroopers straight for us.
I'm yelling and Molly's screaming and the raccoons hiss and chatter and scatter, running around almost too fast to see.
Two of them fly onto the coffee table, double fisting anything edible, slinging noodles like whips all over the place.
They're knocking over cartons, kicking trash, and when I run for them with my towel, they hiss again and blast off.
One runs over the couch. The other runs around it, penning me in from the back.
"Open the back door!" I fling my towel, hands out to grab the fucker, but he's already gone.
Behind me. In the Chinese food. He grabs the last egg roll and waves it in the air, cussing me out in raccoon.
I chase him into the kitchen--my hopes rise when I see the open door.
But he circles under the table and back out.
I snatch a broom and run after him. Molly is at my elbow brandishing a cookie sheet.
"Yah! Git! Git, bandit cats!"
For a second, I bust out laughing, but she's too busy herding raccoons to notice.
And then I follow, waving the broom and yelling god knows what.
We manage to get them into the kitchen, and I stand guard while Molly waves her cookie sheet.
Two of them have takeout boxes, and that other with the egg roll has a Rangoon in its other bony hand.
One runs. The second follows. But that last one stands up, holds up its prizes, cusses us out again, and bolts.
I slam the door shut and throw the lock, leaning back against the door like they might break it down.
Then I drop the broom and bend over so I can put both hands on my knees, panting and sweating next to Molly, who is also panting and sweating, hands on her hips in front of me.
I raise my head to look at her, and we bust out laughing.
I say laugh, but we are howling. Cackling.
There's at least a bit of guffawing. And then we're sitting next to each other on the floor, leaning on the back door.
The house is trashed. Scout came out from wherever she hid and is currently living the high life with her head completely inside a paper container.
A pause. Molly's face falls.
"Wait!" She yells as she starts to get up. "Wait!! That fucker stole my egg roll!"
We devolve into laughter again, and I grab her wrist and pull. She falls right in my lap.
I'd break the arm of anybody dumb enough to try to move her.
She's still laughing, relaxed and comfortable. I keep expecting her to stiffen, to pull away, but she doesn't. The air shifts. Everything is soft. Easy.
"Well, we survived a raccoon raid. We can survive anything," she says, and then we're laughing again.
"You're nuts."
She's so close. I've never been this close to her for this long.
Molly smiles, cups my cheek, her thumb brushing the lines at the edges of my mouth. Then the laugh lines fanning from my eyes. Her touch is soft, gentle. Warm. Everything. "You're smiling. And laughing. You should laugh like this more often."
I can't breathe. My gaze is locked on her lips.
And then she climbs out of my lap. I feel like I got a chair kicked out from under me. She turns, extends a hand.
"Come on, Coach, before the raccoons regroup."
Instead of taking it, I grab her wrist and shift to put her over my shoulder, standing with a grunt. She's a wiggling, squealing thing, hanging onto her glasses, saying, Put me down! on a peal of laughter.
"Okay." I dump her on the couch, smiling down at her for a second, soaking in the sound of her laughter and the sight of her breathless and happy. And then I turn to look at the mess. There's food everywhere, and as much as I want to sit down with her, I can't leave all this.
"Turn on the TV, find us something to watch," I say, stopping her when she protests and tries to help.
"I got it. It's gonna take a year to pick something out--get a head start.
" I nudge Scout's head and take the container along with whatever else I can carry.
Unbothered, she just eats straight off the coffee table.
It takes a substantial amount of brain power to clean up.
And honestly, I do a shit job of it. But I at least get up all the trash, clear the debris, wipe off the table, and sweep a little with the broom I'd used as a weapon before Molly says my name.
I was concentrating so hard, I didn't see her get up to get blankets, but she's all snuggled up and smiling and pats the seat next to her.
"I found a show."
"Gimme a second."
My heart is in my throat as I empty the dustpan and put it and the broom away, washing my hands after.
I'm nervous. Why am I nervous? I haven't felt this nervous about a girl since high school.
You're just high, I tell myself. And you like her, I admit.
When I walk back in and see her my heart flips in my throat.
When I sit next to her, it starts to drum painfully.
I purposely put space between us, but the couch sinks a little in the middle, and within seconds, we've slid into the middle and are leaning into each other.
Her head is resting on my shoulder, her body pressed into my side.
It feels so good, I hope she never moves.
"Okay, now--I need you to trust me on this," she warns, and I look at the TV to see she's queued up K-Pop Demon Hunters. When I groan, she laughs. "Give it a chance. For me!"
"All right. For you."
She cheers and starts it, and I melt into the couch, melt into Molly, propping my feet on the coffee table.
"You know," she says quietly, her head still on my shoulder, "you've coached me through all this stuff. What else are you gonna teach me?"
Oh shit.
My voice is rough, low, not hesitating when I ask, "What do you want to learn?"
No. Why. Why did you say it?
"Well," she's timid again, shy. "You know, there's one thing I've been thinking about for a while now."
"And what's that?" The words are too soft. My breath is shallow and tingling, anticipating what she's going to say. Wondering if she's going to say what I think she's going to say.
"Well, you know I've never been kissed, right?"
Oh god. "Right."
"I wondered if maybe you could teach me that too?"
Oh my fucking god. I am as still as stone, my lungs frozen. Not in indecision. But because if I don't restrain myself, I will kiss her. I will kiss her into next fucking century.
When I don't answer, she adds, "I wouldn't be mad about learning the other stuff too."
I swallow a groan, my heart jackhammering so fucking hard, I think I'm about to have a heart attack.
"Molly--"
"I know it's crazy to ask," she rambles like she's afraid of what I'll say, and the thought of saying no and making her feel rejected twists the knife in my gut.
"But I like you, Grey. And I trust you, and…
I just…I don't think other guys would make me feel so good, so safe.
I don't think they'd treat me like you would. "
I know for a fact they won't. I can't breathe.
"I know you won't hurt me."
I know for a fact I will.
"I trust you," she says again. "And I'm tired of not knowing. So will you--"
"Ask me again when we're sober."
Molly's head pops off my shoulder, and she looks at me with those big velvety eyes. "Really?"
"Ask me again. Sober."
I watch the hope rise in her. She bites her bottom lip and nods, nestling back into my side.
And I pray to god that she forgets. That she comes to her senses when she's sober and changes her mind.
Because I don't know if I can tell her no.