A rail-thin guy sporting a man bun and a beaded necklace paused in the entryway to Bhakti. He grinned at me, holding the door open. “Coming in for Molly’s eight thirty?”
I was in such a state of shock from seeing you in the flesh again—after years of you existing only in my mind—that several moments passed before I realized his question had been directed at me.
My breath was shallow, choppy. I shook my head. The hippie man shrugged and walked inside.
I roamed around Williamsburg aimlessly for the next hour, maybe longer. The June air was warm and soft, conducive to wandering, and I don’t know how much time went by before I finally hailed a cab to take me home.
I didn’t sleep that night. My thoughts spiraled—electric, hopeful, relieved. You were very much still pregnant. You were with Hunter and you were marrying him and you were having his baby. I couldn’t imagine why you would’ve willingly deceived a man as beautiful and extraordinary as Jake, but it didn’t matter.
And as I figured out how to reappear in Jake’s life, I kept the memory of you at Bhakti Yoga—the sight of your cantaloupe belly—stashed in the back of my mind. A reminder that if I ever needed proof of your deception, it would always exist, and I’d never have to look very far.
Proof that lived, that breathed. Your child with Hunter.
Chapter Thirty-two
Molly
2015
Molly woke, a pang of panic striking her chest. The memory of the night before came violently rushing back, and for a fleeting moment, she thought it couldn’t possibly be more than a terrifying dream. But then the edges of the memory began to reappear, giving it weight, substance, and no—it wasn’t a dream. This was real. Too real.
Cold sweat dampened Molly’s brow, at the same time her skull felt cracked open, like her brain was being stabbed by little knives. That was the price you paid for doing half a dozen shots of Fireball from an ice luge. Ugh, the ice luge. Nina and Cash’s housewarming party at their new apartment. Molly recalled only snippets of the evening: drinking vodka sodas with Nina, Ev, and Liz in the kitchen before the other guests arrived; Cash clearing the floor so he could do the worm to a Kanye song; her intense conversation with Nina in the bathroom. Had they all gone out to a bar afterward? She had no recollection. But the end of the night—that she remembered clearly. For better or for worse.
God, she hadn’t been that drunk in a long time. Which only made her guilt worse. She needed to call Jake, immediately. From bed, Molly flung her arm toward her nightstand, to the spot where her phone was normally plugged in to charge overnight. Phew. It was there. In the haze of her drunkenness, at least she’d kept track of her phone.
On the screen were several missed calls and texts. Most of them from Nina and Everly, asking where she’d gone, rows of question marks. And there was a message from Hunter. 3:52 a.m. Molly’s stomach churned.
Hey, you were clearly wasted tonight. Call me in the morning, ok?? I want to make sure you’re all right.
Fuck. She really had to get in touch with Jake. He was in Zurich until Tuesday, she was pretty sure—it was hard to keep track of his tour stops, and it had been a few days since they’d spoken. What time was it in Zurich? Six hours ahead, she was almost positive.
Molly tried him, but the call went straight to voicemail. Shit. She needed to talk to him, and not just about last night. She was supposed to be flying to Germany on Wednesday, but Jake still hadn’t sent her the flight information. Molly was spending two weeks in Europe, traveling with Jake and the band from Munich to Amsterdam to Brussels and then finally to Paris, where they would spend Christmas and New Year’s. Molly couldn’t wait. She hated to miss Christmas at home with her mom and Andrew, but when Danner Lane’s tour manager had offered to book her flights for this segment of the tour, Molly had been unable to say no. Christmas in Paris with Jake—what could be more romantic? She missed him desperately; plus, she’d never been to Europe. She’d never even been out of the country.
Molly rolled out of bed, trudging to the kitchen for water. Her mouth felt dry and rough, like it was made of sand, and she chugged two glasses of water at the sink. Her phone chimed on the counter, and she lunged for it, praying it was Jake. But Hunter’s name appeared on the screen.
Are you all right? Just let me know you got home ok … worried.
Molly chewed her bottom lip, nerves coiling in her stomach. She typed out a response.
I’m fine, just hungover. I’m sorry about last night, hoping we can just forget it? I was way too drunk …