CHAPTER SIX
“IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU got back!” Brooklyn huffed when I opened the door to my apartment to see her and Drew sitting on the couch, waiting.
Drew had taken my advice and finally shaved. His hair was still a bit damp from a shower, and he looked nothing like the scruffy hockey player I knew him to be. He looked rather dashing in his dark jeans and yellow button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up that made his olive-toned skin appear even darker.
“This thing starts in thirty minutes, and we still need to get to the Back Bay!” Brooklyn stood, the heels she wore making her already tall and lanky frame tower over my five-foot, three-inch height by a good six inches. She wore a pair of dark jeans and a loose-fitting emerald green sheath top she dressed up with a silver belt around her waist.
“I’ll be ready.” I headed toward the wet bar and rummaged through its contents to find the strongest liquor I had. If I had to pretend I was interested in finding my soul mate amongst a room full of desperate people, I was going to need a decent buzz. Plus, my father’s prognosis lay heavy on my heart. I needed to dull the pain I did everything in my power to hide. “I could use a drink after today.”
I felt Drew’s eyes on me. I shot him a sideways glance as I set a bottle and a few rocks glasses on the counter.
“Did you talk to Dr. McAllister?”
I nodded slightly. “When I was leaving, Noah…I mean, Dr. McAllister pulled me aside.” I looked at Drew. My expression said everything he needed to know.
“Noah?” Brooklyn placed her hands on her hips. “You call your father’s doctor by his first name?”
“That’s what he asked me to call him,” I answered nonchalantly, pouring a few fingers of scotch into each glass.
Before I started writing, I never drank scotch. I felt I needed to try it for research purposes since the leading men in my books tended to drink it. I couldn’t speak intelligently about it if I never touched the stuff myself. There was a lot of bad behavior I repeatedly excused away by calling it research. I did have limits, though. I wasn’t about to do drugs just because I wrote about a meth addict. Thankfully, Breaking Bad really helped in that department.
“Really?” Drew’s eyes floated to mine. “He’s never told me that.”
“That’s probably because you handle shit better than I do.” Leaning against the wall, I crossed one arm over my stomach, the other hand holding my scotch. “That guy is just waiting for me to crack.”
“What do you mean?” Brooklyn edged toward me, scooping her tumbler of scotch off the bar.
“Nothing,” I responded quickly. “It’s just… Whenever he gives me news about Dad, he does so in a way that makes me feel like he’s waiting for me to have a complete meltdown. ‘Are you okay, Molly? Are you sure?’” I said in my best deep voice, imitating Noah’s scruff tone. “It’s like he wants me to lose it in front of him. Like he gets off on that shit or something.”
“He doesn’t get off on that shit.” Brooklyn rolled her eyes. “He’s probably acting that way because you’ve never shown him any emotion at all. He’s a doctor who has to tell people on a daily basis their loved ones are dead or dying. He can probably tell when someone’s pretending they’re okay when, in all reality, they’re not.”
“Then he can probably also tell when someone is okay,” I hissed, avoiding their eyes. I raised my glass to my lips, the scotch seeming to take forever to filter through my mouth and throat, then warm my stomach. Once all the liquor was gone, I slammed the tumbler down, holding onto the quartz counter as I drew a long breath to steady myself.
“Molly.” I felt Brooklyn’s presence behind me before she even placed her hand on my shoulder. I spun around and faced her. She hesitated, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she studied my expression. My face could be blank and emotionless, yet Brooklyn always had a way of knowing precisely how I felt. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Some people would say it is.” I straightened my posture. “This isn’t a surprise to me…to either of us.” I nodded at Drew, whose face seemed to show everything mine refused to — pain, heartache, longing for the way things used to be. “We knew his time was short when he was diagnosed. Since that day, he’s been on borrowed time. Is it bad?” I shrugged. “How can I say it is when we knew this was the path his disease would take?”
I spun on my heels and headed down the hallway, closing the door to my room so I could have a minute to myself away from prying eyes that just itched for me to finally cry in front of them. I didn’t know why everyone thought I should be upset over the predictable decline of my father’s ability to function. Whether or not I exhibited any emotions had no bearing on the freight train headed straight for him. Nothing could stop it.
A blank expression on my face, I sat at the vanity against the far wall, staring into the antique mirror that had belonged to my grandmother. I grabbed a tube of eyeliner off the table and began to apply some, bringing my eyes back to life. I continued through the familiar motions of putting on blush, mascara, and lip gloss, the plain version of myself disappearing as a flirty, sexy young professional out for a good time on a Friday night took her place. I’d done this same song and dance so many times now, I was getting tired of it. I hated feigning interest in someone else’s life, someone else’s hobbies, someone else’s passion. I hated pretending to be someone I wasn’t, even around Brooklyn and Drew.
“Get a move on, Molly!” Brooklyn shouted from the kitchen.
I snapped out of my daze, jumping off the stool. Perusing the clothes in my small closet, I scrunched my nose, unsure of the proper attire for speed dating. I wondered if this was something Google could tell me. Or Siri. That bitch seemed to have all the answers. She had no problem reminding me of that fact in her smug little voice, either.
Short on time, I grabbed the staple of every woman’s wardrobe…a little black dress. Zipping up the fitted dress that hit mid-thigh, I surveyed my reflection in the mirror, turning around and kicking out my leg to check the slit that exposed a little more skin, but in a tasteful manner. Pairing it with animal print heels that added three inches to my short stature, I finished the look with a long, silver beaded, layered necklace and matching earrings. I glimpsed at my reflection in the mirror and plastered a fake smile on my face, pretending to laugh at my make-believe speed date’s dry sense of humor. I knew what men liked. I knew how to act, what to say, what to wear to hook whatever guy was my unknowing victim that evening.
The fake smile still plastered on my face, I sauntered back down the hallway.
“You look great, Molly,” Brooklyn exclaimed when I reentered my living area.
“Not like it matters. This whole thing is a joke.”
“Molly,” she cautioned. “At least give it a chance. You never know who you’ll meet.”
I grabbed my coat out of the entryway closet and headed toward the door, my brother and Brooklyn following. “I could be wrong, but I highly doubt I’ll meet anyone at speed dating who will make my stomach flutter.”
I stopped dead in my tracks, instantly reminded of my afternoon discussion with Dr. Noah McAllister, M.D., and the tingling in my stomach when he winked at me, coupled with a Harry Potter reference. That had to be it. The sensation of little wings flitting madly in my stomach as I jumped into my car earlier had absolutely nothing to do with his sweet smile, his sinful eyes, or his husky voice. I’d always been a sucker for a man who could talk Harry Potter to me. I may or may not have had some rather inappropriate fantasies regarding Neville Longbottom… Year seven Neville, not year one.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” Drew added, nudging me.
I snapped out of my thoughts and continued down the stairs of my building, exiting onto the street. He was probably just as skeptical about the whole thing as I was. Not to mention people actually knew who he was. He’d already had his heart broken by a hockey groupie. I hated the thought that he’d never meet anyone who wanted to be with him for him, hated that all anyone would see when they looked at him was the hockey celebrity.
“At least this might be some good material for your column.”
“You’re right about that. I wonder how many guys would be desperate enough to date an escaped mental patient.” I gave them a crazed look. Drew laughed. Brooklyn shot daggers at me.
“Play nice, Molly. There are still some people out there who believe in the idea of love. Maybe three minutes is all you need to know if they’re the one.”
I rolled my eyes as we trudged down the narrow streets of the North End, the smell of garlic, tomatoes, and spices filling the air. Tourists roamed the sidewalks, debating which restaurant to try for dinner. They couldn’t go wrong. No matter which spot they chose, they’d be treated to an authentic Italian meal unlike anything they’d ever had. It was a miracle I didn’t weigh three hundred pounds living in an area surrounded by all this amazing food.
“You’ve been reading too many of my books lately, Brooklyn.” I pulled my jacket closer, a subtle wind blowing between my legs, chilling me in the cool April evening. A dress probably wasn’t the best idea, but I had shaved my legs earlier this morning. I couldn’t waste the opportunity. “No one looks into someone’s eyes and knows, at that moment, they want to spend the rest of their life with them.”
“It could be real,” she offered in a quiet voice. “My dad always told me he fell in love with my mother before she even said a single word. Between classes, she worked at the library on campus. He would go there every day just to see her. It took him months to finally work up the courage to talk to her. When he finally did, well… The rest is history.” She looked down. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe love at first sight doesn’t exist.” Her eyes met mine before briefly floating over toward Drew. “But maybe people believe it does because it gives them hope they won’t be alone forever.”
“What’s so bad about being alone?” I asked when we reached the Haymarket T station. “Why does society put so much emphasis on getting married and having a family? It’s not for everyone. Some people value their independence and don’t want to give that up.”
“You don’t have to give up your independence to be in a relationship,” she argued, parroting what Drew had told me earlier in the day.
“Relationships change people, and usually not for the better.” There was no way anyone would convince me otherwise. I’d been in my fair share of semi-relationships. There was still a little give and take involved, even in the casual arrangements I had. “I’m not willing to give up who I am just to make someone else happy.” We scanned our passes at the turnstiles and headed down the stairs, the sound of metal on metal screeching in the distance. I turned to face Drew and Brooklyn as we waited for the train.
“Listen, I know you two always bring this up because you care about me and want me to be happy. I am happy. One day, I may find someone who’s just as crazy as I am. Maybe we’ll fall madly in love and have lots of crazy sex and babies. But today’s not that day. The only reason I even agreed to this is because I have a deadline and am in desperate need of a muse. A professional young man who looks great in a suit.”
“Can’t you just find a picture of some hot guy online?” Drew asked. “You have a pretty active imagination. I’m sure you could get creative.”
“I tried to write a book without a living, breathing muse once…and ended up having to do a complete rewrite.”
“Why?” Brooklyn scrunched her brows.
“Because it was crap.”
“No. I mean, why did you try to write without a muse? You’ve always seemed pretty insistent on having one.”
“It was unavoidable,” I lied, hiding my eyes from theirs.
I swore I’d never tell another soul what had happened with one of my arrangements. If Drew knew the shit the slimeball of a politician I was seeing tried to pull, I was fairly certain the asshole would have required facial reconstruction surgery. I knew my approach to dating was unconventional, at best, and there was a certain risk involved, but that could be said of normal relationships, as well. Regardless, the incident unsettled me to the point of temporarily ditching the whole muse thing.
“I procrastinated and had to write a book in about four days. As luck would have it, it was the four days Aunt Flo decided to come visit,” I added.
Drew eyed me. “We don’t have an Aunt Flo.”
Brooklyn and I giggled. My brother could be somewhat naïve at times. All men wore blinders when it came to things they’d rather not think about.
“Use your brain,” I encouraged him.
He shook his head, his brows still furrowed.
“My vagina was bleeding,” I said loudly. Other people waiting for the subway looked in our direction. “So there was no getting laid. I mean, I guess I could have, but my sheets would have looked like a crime scene.”
“Jesus, Molly.” Drew looked away, blushing, his tall stature shrinking. “A word of advice for tonight. Most men don’t want to hear about…bleeding vaginas.”
I placed a hand on my hip as the train came to stop. “That just proves my point.” I stepped into the car and sat down. Brooklyn and Drew lowered themselves on either side of me.
“What point?” he asked.
“People are forced to change when they’re in a relationship. I, for one, like talking about bloody vaginas. I refuse to change my ways just for a man who doesn’t.”
Brooklyn laughed. “Only you would have on your list of positive character traits: ‘must enjoy talking about bloody lady bits’.”
“The bloody vagina is just part of the bigger picture. I’m not willing to change who I am for anyone, regardless of the size of his one-eyed willy. The right man will want to listen to me talk about my vagina in all its states — bloody, wet, dry, hairy, shaved.”
“I can’t believe I’m listening to this,” Drew muttered, nodding across the aisle to an older couple who were giving him that look he was all too accustomed to, like they recognized him, but weren’t sure if he was someone they should know or just a random doppelgänger.
“Well, the right man for me will have no problem listening to this.”
“I’m pretty sure the only man who won’t have any problem discussing your intimate lady bits will be a gynecologist,” Brooklyn commented, then her expression brightened. “Hey! Maybe you’ll meet a doctor tonight!”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t hold your breath.”