“The regular mascot was sick. Molly filled in. I figured it out when she was standing beside me, so on some level, wedidknow who we were exchanging vows with.” I glance at Molly, who’s biting her lip. “But we thought it wasn’t real. It turns out, though, we signed a real marriage license by accident. When we found out, we could have gotten it annulled right away, but…”
“But we decided to get to know each other first,” Molly finishes. “To see if maybe the accident was actually meant to be.”
It feels so good to hear her say that out loud.Meant to be.
“So you’re really married? Like, legally?” Sinclaire looks justifiably confused.
“Yes,” I say.
“I tried to fix it, but apparently, once it’s done, it’s done,” Molly adds.
“And you’re…” She gestures between us. “Together? Like a real couple?”
Molly speaks up. “We’re trying to be. I know the age difference is a lot. I know this whole situation is unconventional. But I care about your dad, a lot.”
“Do you love him?” Sinclaire pivots to me. “Doyoulove her?”
“With everything I have,” I say, and I mean it. “I know this happened fast. I know all the reasons it shouldn’t work. But I haven’t felt this alive in years. Maybe ever.”
“Well,” Sinclaire says slowly, “this is a lot to process.”
“I know.”
“You could have told me sooner.” But she’s laughing now, and I feel some of the tension drain from my shoulders.
“So you’re not… upset?” Molly asks, cautiously.
“Oh, I’m processing a lot of feelings right now,” Sinclaire says. “But upset? No. Vindicated over the grief he gave me aboutTrick? Yes.”
I rub the back of my neck. “That’s fair. But listen, we don’t want to tell anyone about this just yet. It’s still very new.”
Sinclaire mimes zipping her lips shut. “Got it,” she mumbles.
Our conversation is interrupted by the return of Silas, now with an armful of toys, so we migrate to the kitchen.
The conversation flows better than I expected now that the initial shock has worn off. Molly and Sinclaire bond over my lack of social media acumen, although Molly’s critique of me sounds so loving, it’s getting pretty close to unexpected praise.
She even shows Sinclaire the video she made at the grocery store.
“That’s more vegetables than I’ve ever seen my dad buy at once,” my daughter snarks.
“Hey, I haven’t had a good reason to before now.” I squeeze Molly’s hips as I shift past her to take food out of the fridge.
As soon as I open the doors, Sinclaire makes a surprised sound. “Whoa, that’s full.”
“Again, the Molly Effect.”
“Good job, Molly,” she mutters.
Molly laughs.
We eat lunch on the back patio, Silas toddling around the putting green while we watch. Molly fits seamlessly into the conversation, asking Sinclaire about ranch life and listening with genuine interest to Trick’s enthusiastic explanation oftheir summer pasturing routine, which involves moving hundreds of cattle into the hills and monitoring them mostly from a distance, using drones.
“But sometimes we go up for a day, to check on the fencing and watering holes,” my daughter adds, gazing at her husband adoringly, in a deeply intimate way that would have made me uncomfortable two years ago—or hell, two months ago—but now I see through a different lens.
Maybe it’s taken me fifty years to finally grow up and recognize the value of a deeply intimate relationship with the right person.
As if she can feel my breakthrough, Sinclaire slides a knowing look my way. I hold my daughter’s gaze.Thank youI try to silently say. She nods. She gets it. I was a dick to Trick when he announced he was in love with her, and I owe him an apology for that. The heart wants what it wants.
