She finally lifts her face and looks at me. Her eyes are swollen and red, and her face is blotchy. Tears stream down in rivulets.
Even if she’s just crying over a TV show, seeing her like this sticks a knife in my belly. “What’s wrong?”
She points at the TV. The spoon slips from between her fingers, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“The girl in the story… She lost her mom when she wasjust a child.” Her words are slurred, and her breath smells like cheap alcohol and chocolate.
Goddamn scriptwriters, going for the cheapest sympathy point. Of course Molly’s upset—she also lost her mother early on. It’s something I can never fix for her, and I hate feeling so helpless.
Molly says, “And her aunt took her in, but the aunt’s family only wanted her because they thought that her mom left her a huge life insurance payout. Which, of course she did.”
“What a bunch of assholes.” I hope my words make her feel better. With any luck the show’s writers will get struck by lightning—or some fertilizer company’s semi packed with horseshit.
“I know, right? And they alwaysbullied her, and called herhorrible things, and evenhither, and made her do all thehousework!”
So they ripped off Cinderella. Figures. They better have her best friend’s older brother, who happens to be Prince Charming, suddenly appear to rescue her from her shitty aunt. “That’s terrible.”
Molly raises a finger. “But she stays true to herself! She’s always trying to do the right thing—to be agood person. The only thing she wants is to be accepted and loved. For. Who. She. Is.” The finger pokes my thigh with each word. “But nobody does, except for the ghosts around her.”
Ghosts? “You’re crying over a horror show—?” Actually, never mind. That isn’t the point. “But she’s going to meet somebody amazing, right? Who treats her well?” Georgia said a lot of these dramas end happily.
Molly nods.
“And…who isn’t a ghost?”
She nods again and sniffs.
There we go.“Okay! So they’ll get married and live happily ever after.” Now she’s going to smile and let out a soft, satisfied sigh…
Molly’s face crumples, and a new wave of tears starts. “No!” she wails. “She does the right thing again anddies. Allalone!”
Sons of bitches. Why the fuck does the drama have to end like that? Maybe I should buy the studio and fire all the writers. If Molly wanted to be depressed, she could’ve just watched the news. The economic indicators alone can make you want to jump off a cliff. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s like…there’sno reward. The world doesn’t appreciate you if you’re a nice person. Good things just randomly happen!” She flings a hand out, narrowly missing my nose. “Toanyone! Trying to be good is such a wasted effort. If my mom’s ghost is watching me, I doubt she’s like, ‘Yay, Molly, I love you. You’re so good and sweet.’ She’s more like dying of embarrassment. ‘What’s wrong with you that nobody likes you?’”
I don’t know anything about Molly’s mother—she passed away so long ago. But I doubt that’s the kind of thing she’d say. Now, my dad? Oh yeah.
Of course, Molly’s mom could’ve been like that, but I prefer not to think ill of the dead. “I’m sure your mother wouldn’t say that if she could see you now. She’d more likely worry about you with all this crying.”
“You know what? You’re right. It’s more like something my dad would say. He’s sooo disappointed in me.” She lets out another heartbreaking sob.
Georgia once mentioned that Molly’s dad is a dick. Back then I didn’t know exactly what she meant, but if that man is responsible for Molly thinking so poorly of herself, he isn’t just a dick. He’s a prime reason humanity is so terrible.
Wishing I could undo all the hurt from her past and feeling helpless because I can’t, I give her a gentle hug. “You’re a wonderful person, Molly.”
“Then how come nobody loves me? I tryreally hardto do the right thing and be, you know, worthy, but nobody loves me.”
I love you.
I catch the words before they spill out. I don’t want to tell her when she’s drunk or high on sugar and misery. She might not even remember I said it, just like before.
I want to tell her when we’re both sober, so she knows I mean it and will remember it. I want her to carry the knowledge that I love her above everything else, so none of the crap the world unloads on her can ever hurt her like this again.
“I have nothing,” she says, then reaches for another wine cooler. She struggles to open it, then gives up with a sigh, her shoulders so low they almost touch her knees.
What happened?It can’t be just a foreign soap opera making her lose control like this.
“What does she have that I don’t?” Molly murmurs.
