“Sabrina,” a voice says as though the universe is reading her mind, and suddenly, the woman has plopped down in the newly vacant seat beside her. “I was in your yoga class the other weekend. I’m not sure I actually introduced myself. You’re Molly, right?”
Molly nods slowly, caught off guard. “Yes. Of course I remember. Hi.” She keeps her voice low; Dr. Ricci’s waiting room is not exactly a chatty environment.
Sabrina smiles, and Molly notes, once again, how attractive she is. Her dark, glossy hair falls long and loose around her shoulders, and she wears one of those thick, knotted headbands that seem to be trendy lately. Molly tried one on in a store the other day and decided she couldn’t pull it off—her head seemed to be the wrong shape; it looked like some sort of embarrassing want-to-be crown.
“Sorry I haven’t made it back to your class yet.” Sabrina’s voice is genuine. “Things have been so busy. I’ve been in the city nonstop, dealing with a work crisis.”
“No worries,” Molly says, surprised and slightly intimidated. None of the women she knows in Flynn Cove have serious careers—or even work at all.
“I was in fashion merchandising for years,” Sabrina continues. “Now I consult for a few brands. There’s been this huge disaster with the fall line at Dolce and Gabban—” She pauses. “Well, I shouldn’t go into details. But you get it. You’re a working woman.”
Barely, Molly thinks, insecurity piercing her stomach. But it isn’t the time or place to explain to Sabrina that teaching yoga isn’t a career for her, that it never has been, never will be. She thinks of Bella’s voicemail and feels sick with something she can’t define. A kind of nostalgia for a life she didn’t choose.
Molly swallows, eager to change the subject. “You’re new to town, aren’t you?”
Sabrina nods. “This is my first appointment here, though I was seeing another fertility specialist in the city, before we moved. My husband and I have been trying for over a year.” She blinks, her emerald eyes clear and calm, and Molly wonders how a relative stranger can be so forthcoming on a topic that’s so private and painful.
“Are you seeing Dr. Ricci?” Molly asks.
“Yes. I’ve heard excellent things.”
“She’s the best. You’ll be in good hands.” Molly manages a smile, and something about the expression on Sabrina’s face—so expectant, so open—makes her want to say more. “It’s … not easy. I get it. Believe me.”
The woman to Molly’s left glances up from Good Housekeeping and shoots them a pointed look, a silent order to please shut the hell up.
Just use your words, Molly thinks of the woman, observing yet again how no one in this town ever says what they mean—it’s all fluff and insincerity and passive aggression.
Sabrina presses her lips together and lowers her voice to a whisper. “Maybe we could … get together sometime? I don’t know many people in Flynn Cove. I don’t know anyone, really.” She looks at Molly hopefully, and Molly is struck again by her candor, a quality that reminds her of Nina and Everly, one that feels glaringly absent in the Meredith Duffys and Edie Kirkpatricks of Flynn Cove.
The door at the far end of the waiting room swings open, and a nurse steps through, squinting at her clipboard. “Molly O’Neil.”
“I’d love that,” Molly says impulsively, gathering her jacket and MZ Wallace tote. “Let me give you my number real quick.”
She taps her cell into Sabrina’s phone and stands, her insides twisting as she remembers what’s about to happen. “Good to see you again. And good luck today.”
“You, too,” Sabrina replies, and her smile reveals those sparkling white teeth. “I’ll text you, and we’ll get something on the calendar.”
The blood test is routine and quick; a needle prick on the inside of Molly’s elbow. Five minutes later, she is told she can leave and that Dr. Ricci will call her with the results in a few hours. Molly wonders if she’ll see Sabrina again in the waiting room, but she is already gone.
At home, she sits on the couch and waits for her phone to ring. Hunter has sent a bouquet of white roses—Molly’s favorite—which she’s placed in a glass vase on one of the side tables. She looks around the living room and admires it, her favorite room in the house. She loves the high ceilings, the stained wood beams that Hunter sanded himself before they moved in. There are huge windows that fill two opposite walls, drenching the space in constant light.