But when I look at Dad, I know that's not true, at least not for him. He's not trying to understand. He's building a case.
"It's just that it worries me, chicken. You're young, this is your first relationship."
"I'm not a child."
"Of course you're not, Molly, but we just want to make sure he's right for you."
He's not who we'd choose, who we pictured. He's too old, too rough. You're too young, too inexperienced, too naive.I can hear it as if she said it out loud.
But I'll prove them wrong. They'll see. Once they get to know him, they'll see.
"He's perfect for me, Mom. Thanks for your concern. How long are you staying?" I ask, hoping I ended the conversation.
I see her working on a way back in, but in the end, she lets it go and puts that smile back on. "Well, we were thinking through the week. We've just been so interested about your life here and wanted to meet everyone and do all the things you love to do. Plus, we miss you like crazy, honey. The house is so quiet without you."
But all I hear is through the week. "Oh! That's…great! Where are you staying?"
"With you, silly! Don't worry--we brought the air mattress, and the weather is still cool, so the boarded windows are no big deal. We figured we'd…"
She's still talking but I can't hear her on account of the ringing in my ears.
Here. In my house. Of course. Why did I even ask?
And I'm left reeling, trying to figure out how my week went from heaven to hell in a handful of minutes.
CHAPTER 47
TIP-TOE
MOLLY
Inever thought that as a grownass homeowner, I'd have to sneak out of my own house. But here I am, sneakers hooked in my fingers, tiptoeing through the house I pay the mortgage on, praying to god I don't wake up my parents.
A floorboard screams under my bare foot, and I wince, freeze, listen--silence. Then, Dad snores, thank god. So I creep onward slowly, eyes on the dark floorboards as I try and remember which ones were aggressively squeaky., which is most of them squeakedSomehow going slower makes it worse.
This is absurd.
But if they catch me? I'm not interested in an interrogation or their concern.
I'm so thankful when I reach the front door, I sigh. And then I turn the doorknob and remember that the ancient slab of wood creaks squeals like a pig. I should have oiled the hinges. The second I can squeeze through the slight opening, I'm through it.
Once down the porch steps, I feel a little better and pause to pull on my shoes. It's quiet tonight, no crickets or frogs,not nearby at least. The fine little hairs on my neck and arms rise. I search the dense tree line separating my house from my neighbors on every side and catch movement--my heart stops.
A bunny hops out from the underbrush and bolts under the house.
I sigh my slight relief, but pull my cardigan a little tighter, my eyes lingering on the tree line for a moment longer.
Maybe I'm just on edge. I keep finding things in the house moved, missing, the doors unlocked when I'm sure I locked them. I chalked it up to me just being forgetful, but I can’t shake the feeling someone’s been here when I’m not., reminding us both to be more vigilant about making sure we locked the doors
But I'm sure I'm just being a dink. My ghost hand is working overtime because I'm so distracted.
Anyway, we have bigger fish to fry.
The second I see his truck, I feel truly relieved, the weight of everything floating off me and away, for a moment at least. I hurry to his truck and hop in, glad the console is up so I can tuck into his side and kiss him and smell him and be with him.
The kiss has only just deepened when he breaks it, kisses my forehead, puts the truck in drive and heads for his place.
"I missed you too," he says, his free arm clutching me to his side.
