Molly’s ‘90s Hits, Now Playing:
WANNABE — SPICE GIRLS
By the timeMolly and I emerge from what can only be described as a Sad-Girl Beach Cry™, most of the nearby loungers have been claimed by boisterous (and, frankly,verynosy) families. It’s not exactly the ideal backdrop for a trauma dump a decade in the making.
But it doesn’t matter. I really didn’t care who heard us. Being with her, talking, sharing what each of our lives had looked like without the other one in them…it was cathartic.
I hadn’t planned to go into too much detail about my dad, but when I revealed that he’d died and she asked how I was doing, it all just came pouring out. His stroke, the hospital stays, finances and bills, medical charts, research into what he would need to come home, and then, when that no longer looked possible, having tough conversations about what wouldcome next.
So many memories that I had buried were unearthed the moment Molly’s arm snaked around my shoulder and pulled me close.
And she just listened. I knew she would. It was all I had wanted from the people around me when he passed. I needed them, not to try to fix things, but to sit with me in my grief, let me experience it for as long as I needed to without trying to pull me out, distract me, or change the subject.
We also talked about Colin, and what had happened. Apparently, she had tried to get him to change my mark. She spent the hour after he kicked us out of his office banging on his door, and then she showed up at his apartment later that night and they argued.
“Why didn’t you go to the school and explain what happened?” I asked.
“I tried, but they didn’t believe me. Everything he submitted looked legit. He was buddies with a few of the deans on the academic integrity council as well, and I just felt like there was no use. And then…I was too embarrassed to face you. If I couldn’t prove it to them, how could I prove it to you?”
“I would have believed you,” I murmured.
“Would you?”
“I should have.”
She had just given me a glassy, knowing smile and pulled me in tighter.
After two hours of talking, crying, and hugging, I finally start to notice our lounger sinking into the rocks, slanting slightly toward the shore. I curl precariously into Molly, our shoulders pressing into one another—something that should feel weird, but doesn’t anymore.
Just as I move to stand up, the pebbles behind us crunch. I know it’s Nolan before I even turn to see him—his familiar scent of spicy citrus mixing faintly with the brine of the sea on the breeze.
While my heart feels full from my talk with Molly, I’m relieved to see Nolan. His kind eyes find mine immediately, and a lopsided, cocky grin blooms across his face. All of it—all ofhim—makes my pulse race. I want to throw my arms around his neck and tackle him to the ground.
Obviously, Idon’t.
I play it cool—sort of.
Spotting the tray of coffee he’s holding in one hand, and a bag of what I’m praying is pastries in the other, I practically moan.
“Oh, baby, you have never looked sogood.Come here?—”
But instead of reaching for Nolan, I swipe a coffee from the tray, pressing it against my cheek with a gentle caress like a tactless maniac.
“I see you’ve been reunited with your one true love,” Molly smirks, then turns to Nolan. “And you’re the chef.”
“Nolan,” he says, flashing her a warm smile. “I got you coffee, too.”
“Oh, Chlo, this guy is a keeper.” Molly’s head swivels toward me, eyes wide, as if astonished by the existence of such a man—one who brings coffee, unbidden, to his not-girlfriend’s-ex-best-friend-turned-archnemesis-turned-friend-again.
It’s thoughtful, is all I’m saying.
“I had a feeling you two would sort things out,” Nolan says, handing her a cup and passing me the bag. “And I know we’re not in France, but?—”
I rip it open and am immediately hit with the most heavenly aroma known to man. “Chocolate croissants!”
“Figured you’d like that,” he chuckles as I dig aggressively into the bag. I pass Molly a pastry and practically inhale my own in under a minute.
“So…what’s the plan?” Nolan asks, giving me a cautious look.
