“Never put up with a man who puts you second,” her mother had said on New Year’s Eve, after Molly had been particularly quiet at dinner. Molly’s mother was the strongest person she knew—she always had been. She was the type of beautiful, successful, steadfast woman who’d never let a man walk all over her. Molly had never doubted her mother when she kicked her father out, told him to never come back.
She was only in third grade then. When she got a bit older and would ask for details on why Dad had left, her mother’s answer was simple and pragmatic: he was selfish, he strayed, he was careless with money.
Molly had always been grateful to have a mother like hers as a role model. As she and Jake argued, the words played on repeat inside her head: Never put up with a man who puts you second. It was a piece of advice that made all of this so refreshingly simple.
“I’m going to stay at Everly’s for a bit,” Molly said.
Jake sat on the couch and rubbed his eyes, which were red around the rims. “Please don’t.” He stood, his tall, strong body a magnet threatening Molly’s stance. “I fucked up, but I didn’t cheat. You have to believe me.”
“I told you, Jake, it’s more than that.”
“I know, I just … I don’t know what happened. I got sucked into this … other world when I was on tour, but it didn’t mean for a second that I stopped loving you. My love for you is everything. It’s my baseline, my reason for getting up in the morning. You have to know that.”
“It doesn’t fucking matter, Jake!” Molly was sick of yelling, her throat raw. “It doesn’t matter if you love me if you can’t actually show up for me. My dad loved my mom, and he was a piece of shit!” She closed her eyes, which were swollen from crying. He was selfish, he strayed, he was careless with money. So far, Jake was two out of three.
She heaved the canvas bag over her shoulder—a shoulder that had become bonier in the last several weeks—and blinked.
“So, what, I’m a piece of shit, then?” Jake stared at her, shaking his head in disbelief. He looked as destroyed as she felt. “I’m not your father, Molly.”
She swallowed. She was so thirsty, suddenly. “I love you, but the past month has been hell for me, and I can’t just…” Molly sighed, heavy with exhaustion. “I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. I need to go.”
Molly left the apartment before she could change her mind, stepping over the bouquet of roses that now lay on the floor, the brown paper crinkled, the snow-colored petals littering the entryway.
It was cold outside, but the air felt fresh in her lungs. Molly had almost forgotten it was a Saturday night; despite the late hour, Driggs swarmed with barhopping twentysomethings, loud and drunk and oblivious to her pain. That was the thing Molly loved most about New York—the city never let you get too caught up in your own problems; it was always reminding you that there was something more, something bigger than yourself.
A vacant taxi cruised down Driggs, and Molly stuck out her arm. She gave the cabbie Everly’s address.
Chapter Fourteen
Molly
June 2022
The last week of June, Sabrina invites Molly and Hunter over for dinner. Molly had been with Sabrina earlier that day—they’d gotten mani-pedis then lunch on the back patio at Gwen’s—and Sabrina had suggested it. I think we’re free Friday, if you are, she’d said. Let me double-check with hubby and I’ll text you.
Hunter is lounging on the couch watching ESPN, and Molly looks up from her phone. “Dinner at Sabrina’s on Friday, okay?”
“This Friday?” He takes a sip of his beer, eyes glued to the television. “As in, the day after tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“My brother and Tara are coming down this weekend.”
“So? They live an hour away. They come down all the time.”
“So they’ll want to have dinner.”
“Well, you didn’t mention that until now. Can’t we just see them on Saturday?”
“Moll.” Hunter places his glass on the coffee table. He wraps his arms around her hips and pulls her down on the couch. “Why are you so worked up about this?”
“I’m not worked up.” She fidgets in his grasp. She hates when he tells her she’s worked up, even when he’s sort of right.
“Okay, but why the urgency about Friday? You’ve seen Sabrina practically every other day since the two of you met.”
Molly sighs. She has seen lots of Sabrina lately—they go for coffee, and walks, and Sabrina comes to nearly every Sunday yoga class—but an invitation to dinner at her house feels different. More formal. Plus, Molly has been curious about Sabrina’s husband, a workaholic who hardly comes up for air. She explains as much to Hunter.