“Molly Nichole,it’smyjob to take care ofyou.”
And there it was,the confusion that always bit at my skin, like little stinging gnats. Was thatall I was to her? An obligation? Another job where she had to pick up all of mydad’s slack?
I accidentally bentthe neck of my crane napkin. I tried to fix it, but the napkin wasn’t stiffenough and I only made it worse.
My dad’s heavyfootsteps could be heard ambling down the hallway. Without verbally discussingit, Mom and I shut down our job conversation and focused on our individualtasks.
“Patty, have youseen my green t-shirt?” my dad started talking before he’d even reached thekitchen.
“It’s in thelaundry room,” my mother answered, still staring at her ham balls. “It’sdirty.”
“Son of a bitch,”my dad grumbled in return. He turned the corner to the kitchen and stopped inhis tracks, surprised to see me standing over his table. “Well, now, if itisn’t the most beautiful girl in North Carolina.”
I looked up from mytask and grinned at this man I wanted so desperately to be the hero instead ofthe villain in my life story. He was thin and gangly, but for his round bellystretched by his six-foot three-inch frame, made it an awkward effort for himto stay standing. He leaned against the doorframe and smiled back.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Hey, kitten.Missed you.”
I left the table towrap my arms around his middle. “I missed you, too.”
He kissed the topof my head and said the same thing he always said to me. “You know, I didn’tthink this growing up thing all the way through. I didn’t think you’d move awayand stay away. You were supposed to come back, Molly Monster.”
I sniffled againsthim, feeling frustrated tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I would not letthem fall, but the pain in my chest had become a crushing, shaking,life-smashing pain and it was all I could do to hold myself together for him.
He smelled likecheap beer, Old Spice, and my dad. I squished my eyes closed and imprisonedevery rogue tear.
“I’m here now,” Itold him. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
He kissed my headagain, not calling me on the lie. He knew I would miss this if I could. That Ihad missed plenty of invitations for supper with my parents. He knew I wouldrather be a hundred different places because so would he.
“It’s ready,” mymom declared.
Dad and I movedapart. He ambled over to his seat while I pulled water glasses down and filledthem. My mom and I added ham balls—which sounded gross, but were, in fact,amazing—rice pilaf and lettuce salad to the table. Once we were all seated, webegan passing the food around.
“Well, MollyMonster, let’s hear it. Tell us all about your life,” my dad demanded with hisrich, warm voice. “Who are the boys that are chasing after you?”
Just like that Iwas transported to my twelve-year-old body that had no idea what to do withboobs or how to get my knees to stop being so knobby. “There aren’t any boys,”I answered honestly. “I’ve decided to focus on cats instead.”
I always assumed mymom was uninterested in this conversation or at the very least rebelliouslyuncooperative. But tonight, she surprised me by asking, “I thought you had adate with someone last week?”
“No, not in months.I’ve given up going on datesforever and ever amenfor now. I always endup with refreshed disappointment with the human race as a whole,” I corrected.“I hung out with Wyatt and Vann last week. Is that what you’re thinking of?”
“Now what’s wrongwith Vann?” Dad asked. This wasn’t the first time or the hundredth time he’dtried to convince me to go after Vann. Since I was a kid, dad had constantly beenpushing me toward him. “He’s a nice boy. And he won’t disappoint you like therest of them poor bastards.”
I smiled patientlyat my dad. “Vann and I are never going to happen, daddy. We’re friends. Nothingmore.”
My mother’s lefteyebrow rose. “What about the other one?”
“Wyatt? He’s afriend too.”
“All thesefriends,” my mothertsked. “You say they’re goodguys, but you’re never interested in them. Maybe you’re too picky for your owngood, Molly Nichole.”
I was definitelythat. “Is it so bad to be picky?”
“Of course not,” mydad assured me.
My mom’s voicehardened and she threw surreptitious glares at my dad from across the table.“Of course, be picky. You’re not in a hurry. Just make sure they do whatthey’re saying to do. Don’t just listen to the words they say or believe themat their word. Most of the time those mean nothing. Find a hard worker, Molly.Find someone that’s going to work hard all his life.”
