“Molly?” Sabrina’s voice snaps her back to the moment. “Sorry, maybe I’m wrong, I didn’t mean—”
“No, you’re right. What Jake and I had was … fleeting.” Molly says this kindly, trying to imagine how she’d feel if it were the reverse situation and Sabrina were Hunter’s old flame. She wouldn’t want a reason to worry, either. “There’s something I remember, though,” she continues, suddenly nervous but unsure exactly why. “Something I wanted to ask you.”
“Of course.”
Molly slides onto one of the island stools in the kitchen, pressing her forearms onto the marble counter. Hunter is picking Stella up from a playdate—she has the house to herself. “So, the other night, Jake called you Sisi. And I … I have this distinct memory of him, when we were together, talking about a girl named Sisi. A girl he’d dated just before me. Was that you?”
There are several long beats of silence. It’s a bit odd, Molly thinks, how long Sabrina waits to speak. She hears her breathing on the other end of the phone.
“Yes,” Sabrina says eventually. “I suppose I didn’t realize our timelines were so close. But yes, Jake and I dated for a year or so when he first moved to New York. I was finishing up at FIT. We were young and immature—it fizzled, then. We didn’t reconnect until later in our twenties.”
“Got it,” Molly says, though she’s immediately certain that Sabrina isn’t sharing the full truth. Jake’s words echo inside her head: Sisi wanted to move in together, and I guess … I guess I didn’t love her as much as she loved me.
During moments of doubt in her relationship with Jake, Molly used to think back on these words, comforted by them. Jake had loved her enough to move in together. Their love was reciprocal, not the way it had been with this Sisi girl.
But people change, Molly reminds herself, resenting the egotistical part of herself that feels she still deserves to reign over some small corner of Jake’s heart. Obviously, Jake’s feelings for Sabrina evolved the second time around.
“And yeah, I used to go by Sisi.” Sabrina laughs. “A dumb nickname from way back when. No one really calls me that anymore. Except for a few friends and Jake.” She pauses. “Listen. What’re you guys doing for the Fourth of July? Why don’t you come to the club? I know it’s kind of a scene, but there are supposedly great fireworks. Could be fun for Stella? And we can just get drunk.”
Molly considers this. They usually spend the Fourth with Becky, watching the town fireworks from her Boston Whaler. But Molly has heard the FCCC fireworks are supposed to be incredible—a true spectacle—and she knows Stella will go crazy over them. And maybe Whitney Cooper will be there; maybe Molly can introduce Sabrina to Whitney—they’d probably like each other—and she could display what small bit of clout she has after nearly three years in this town.
“That sounds really fun,” she says. “Thank you. Count us in.”
After they hang up, Molly pours herself another glass of wine. She takes a sip—the Sancerre is cold and crisp. And she knows it’s wrong, she knows her mind is playing tricks on her, but still, she closes her eyes and savors the fact that in less than a week, she’ll see Jake again.
* * *
On the Fourth of July, Molly, Hunter, and Stella leave the house at six to meet the Danners at the club.
The early evening boasts clear skies—perfect conditions for fireworks, Molly explains to Stella, who is wearing a red-and-white-striped dress, her butter-blond hair in two neat braids.
Jake and Sabrina meet them in the lobby of the clubhouse, which feels more formal to Molly than inviting. The floors are a dark, polished ceramic, and plaques naming the annual golf and tennis tournament winners climb the walls in high stacks.
“O’Neils!” Sabrina raises her hands from the other end of the lobby, striding toward them with her megawatt smile. She’s wearing an ivory sheath dress and espadrilles, her long, dark hair pulled back into a low, sleek pony. Gold statement earrings are pinned to either ear, bringing out the flecks in her perfectly made-up eyes.
Jake appears behind her, a small, ambiguous smile playing over his mouth. For a moment, Molly is knocked off center by that familiar, throbbing longing. Her bones feel heavy and hot. Something tugs at her from below. She watches him shake Hunter’s hand—the two men she has loved most in her life. They are similarly tall, but different almost everywhere else. Jake’s curls are as unruly as they always have been; Hunter’s thick black hair is neatly combed.