CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“MOLLY,” DREW WHISPERED, NUDGING me as I sat in an uncomfortable chair, staring at a giant photo of my father that had been placed on an easel. His dark eyes had so much life. His smile was contagious. Anyone could see how much charisma he had. He looked nothing like the man he’d become in his later days.
A blank expression on my face, I turned to Drew.
“We need to start. We can’t wait any longer.”
“Five more minutes?” I begged.
“We’ve already waited five more minutes…several times.”
Biting my lip, I closed my eyes.
“If you don’t feel comfortable speaking, I can do it for you,” Brooklyn interjected, clutching my hand.
I faced her, giving her a small smile. I didn’t think I would have been able to get through the past few days without Drew and Brooklyn. She’d pretty much been living at my apartment while I went through the motions of getting ready to say goodbye to my father. She’d even taken it upon herself to turn Noah away each and every time he came to see me. She never pushed me when I refused to talk to him, although I knew she didn’t exactly agree with how I was treating him. She was a good friend…better than I’d ever been to her.
“I can do it,” I assured her, then returned my eyes to Drew. “We can start.” I glanced past him to a chair with a reserved sign on it. I didn’t know why I’d hoped my mother would be here. She’d never shown up to anything else in our lives. Why start now? I supposed I had some misguided hope that she still cared about my father. I guess I was wrong.
Drew offered me a tight smile, then nodded at the priest. Father Russo had been hesitant to agree to lead the memorial service since it was being held at the local Sons of Italy, not a church, and my father had been cremated, but Aunt Gigi worked her magic, as she always did, and the Father had come around.
When Father Russo approached the podium and started the service, I zoned out, as I’d often done over the past several days. I’d lost count of the number of times Brooklyn caught me standing in the hallway of my apartment, staring into space. I would have given anything to have just a few more days with my father. To have spent more time with him when I was growing up. To talk to him more, instead of locking myself away in my room.
After listening to several people say a few words, I felt a squeeze on my arm. I shot my eyes to Drew. “It’s time, Molly,” he said.
“Oh.” I looked at the small stage, Father Russo’s eyes encouraging me. I gingerly raised myself onto my unsteady legs and made my way up to the podium. I scanned the large number of people who had come to pay their final respects. Judging by the sheer size of the crowd, it was more than apparent Vincenzo Brinks…or Enzo, as most people called him…was well-liked in our tight-knit community.
“When I was eight, my father bought me my first journal,” I began in a small voice. “I needed a way to let out my feelings, and being an eight-year-old girl without a mother limited my options. So I began to journal. And I still journal to this very day.” I clutched the podium, briefly looking down before returning my eyes to my father’s friends and family.
“Four days ago, after I watched Dad draw his very last breath, I went back to my apartment, feeling lost. I’d never known a world without my dad in it.” I struggled to fight back my tears. “Needing the comfort of an old friend, I took out my journal and started to write. But I could only think of four words… My father is gone. I wrote those words over and over.” Biting my quivering lip, I shook my head. “Even after seeing pages and pages of that one line, the truth of it didn’t sink in. Standing up here, I can admit it still hasn’t. I don’t know if it ever will. Every time I’ve gone down into our café, I feel him there. I can hear him singing as he wipes down the counters. I can see him interacting with the customers, telling those stupid jokes over and over again. And I can feel the love he had for life.
“My father didn’t have it easy. I couldn’t imagine having to raise two kids on my own.” I looked to Drew, Alyssa and Charlotte beside him. “But everything happens for a reason. My Aunt Gigi always says that God doesn’t give us anything we can’t handle. And my dad handled raising us with more enthusiasm than I think we deserved…at least I deserved. All little girls look up to their fathers. He’s our point of comparison for all men we meet in our lives. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, my father set the bar very high. I wish I had told him that.”
I looked around the crowd, seeing tears trickling down so many people’s faces. I couldn’t help but think my father would have hated this. He didn’t want people to mourn his passing. He would have wanted them to celebrate his life.
“If you’ve ever been to the café, you know my father loved his jokes. Whenever someone came in and looked like they were having a rough day, he’d work his magic.” I smiled warmly at my memories of sitting behind the counter with him, watching him interact seamlessly with everyone. “I certainly have some of my favorites. I’m sure you all do, too. Who wants to share one?” I asked, completely going off my prepared speech.
An older man toward the back raised his hand, then stood up. “What’s the difference between roast beef and pea soup?” He paused. “Anyone can roast beef, but nobody can pea soup.”
A small chuckle rippled through the audience. It warmed my heart. As the laughter died down, someone else stood up. Then another. And another…until nearly everyone had shared a joke, including Alyssa and Charlotte.
“Why don’t teddy bears ever order dessert? Because they’re always stuffed.”
“Why did the scarecrow keep getting promoted? Because he was outstanding in his field.”
“If money doesn’t grow on trees, why does every bank have so many branches?”
“Two men broke into a drugstore and stole all the Viagra. The police better be on the lookout for two hardened criminals.”
With each joke, the laughter became louder and louder.
Aunt Gigi stood up, the tears that had been flowing freely replaced by a bright smile. “What car does Jesus drive? A Chrysler.”
Drew raised himself from his chair. He always hated my father’s jokes. Now I think he realized the importance of them. “It’s game seven of the Stanley Cup. A man makes his way to his seat on center ice. He sits down and notices the seat next to him is empty. He leans over and asks the person on the other side of the empty seat if someone’s sitting there. The man tells him no, the seat is empty. ‘That’s amazing,’ the man says. ‘Who would have a seat like this for the Stanley Cup and not use it?’ The other man responds, ‘The seat belongs to me. My wife was supposed to be here with me, but she passed away.’ ‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ the man offers. ‘Couldn’t you find someone else to take the seat? A relative or friend, perhaps?’ The neighbor shakes his head. ‘No. They’re all at the funeral.’”
The audience roared with laughter. Once it all died down, I approached the podium again. “When I was younger, I remember asking Dad why old people had so many wrinkles. He told me it was a way to show they lived a good life. Each wrinkle was a memory they wanted to keep close for when they had trouble remembering. My dad had a lot of wrinkles.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Because of that, I know he had a good life. Thank you for being a part of it.”
I offered the crowd a small smile, then returned to my chair. Drew draped his arm over my shoulder, planting a soft kiss on my head. “I’m proud of you, Molly Mae. Dad would have been proud of you, too.”
I looked into his eyes, struggling to keep myself together. “Thanks, Drew.”
“You bet, kid.”
I snuggled into his chest and clutched Brooklyn’s hand, reveling in their warmth, kindness, and support. It was more than I deserved, but I was grateful for it.
After the service ended, I played the dutiful daughter, mingling and sharing stories with the rest of my father’s friends. A few of the staff from the nursing home even made an appearance. I’d been concerned Noah would show up. I didn’t know if I could stomach seeing him. Not today. I didn’t think I ever could after everything.
As I listened to one of my father’s childhood friends regale the crowd with a humorous story of my father stealing bras off of the neighborhood clotheslines and hoisting them on the flagpole at the high school they attended, a movement in the doorway of the function hall caught my attention. I shot my head toward the entrance, my back stiffening. The air rushed out of my lungs when I saw Noah standing there in a dark suit and that damn blue tie.
Blinking repeatedly, I turned back to the small group. “Will you please excuse me?”
My father’s friend nodded, then continued with his story, tears of laughter dotting everybody’s eyes.
I scurried away, slipping into the women’s restroom. I knew it was childish of me, but I had no desire to speak with Noah. I still couldn’t forget his look of hesitation when I begged and pleaded with him to do something to keep my father alive. I couldn’t help but think if he had put my needs first, my dad might still be here.
As I was about to lock the door, it burst open. Noah came barreling inside, startling me.
“Noah, what are you—”
“I need to talk to you, Molly, and it appears this is the only way that’s going to happen.” He widened his stance and crossed his arms, blocking the exit.
My eyes narrowed. “Now is not the time. This is my father’s memorial,” I hissed.
“Then, by all means, please tell me when the right time will be! I waited until the service was over to come here. I’ve tried seeing you countless times over the past few days! I’ve barely been able to eat! I can’t sleep! I’ve been so worried about you, but you just keep shutting me out.” He approached me, placing his hand on my bicep. “Please, talk to me,” he begged, his voice soft. “I’m falling apart without you.”
Closing my eyes, I shook my head, struggling to fight my body’s impetuous reaction to his skin on mine.
“I love you, Molly.”
I flung my eyes open. The same unsettled feeling that formed in the pit of my stomach the first time he’d said those words returned. “No, you don’t,” I shot back, freeing myself from his touch. “What you feel for me… It’s not love. Real love isn’t real life. If you really loved me, you would have done something to keep my father alive, but you didn’t.”
His jaw tightened as he ran his hands through his hair in obvious frustration. “You know damn well I couldn’t intervene. You’re just trying to find any reason to push me away. You’re hurting and you’re scared, but you can’t stand there and say what I feel for you isn’t real.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve never felt something so real in all my life, Molly.”
“Is that true?” I peered at him through curious eyes and took a measured step toward him. A serene look passed over his face, our chests almost touching.
“I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t.” He lowered his head toward me, licking his lips. “I know you feel the same way about me. That’s why you’ve been taking your grief and anger out on me. Because you love me, too.”
“Noah,” I exhaled, then closed my eyes. His lips nearly brushed with mine before my expression hardened. “You couldn’t be more wrong,” I hissed, pushing against his chest. “You think this is real?”
Every voice in my head yelled at me to stop what I was about to do, but I was still hurting. And I wanted Noah to feel the same pain that was ripping me open.
“Of course it is.”
“Nothing about us is real. The feelings you think you have for me are based on a lie,” I confessed, an ache in my throat.
“What are you talking about?”
“I used you,” I sneered, my lips forming a tight line. I tried to fight back the tears rolling down my cheeks. It pained me to do this, but I couldn’t stop the words that fell from my mouth. “The book I’ve been working on is a forbidden romance. I had writer’s block. Nothing helped. I tried everything that had worked in the past, but I was still completely uninspired…until I began spending time with you.”
His eyes widened, his jaw dropping as he absorbed what I was telling him.
“That’s why I spent time with you. Because I was able to write again. That’s why I kissed you. That’s why I fucked you. And now that my book is done, I don’t need you anymore,” I choked out through my tears, barely able to say the words.
“You… It’s not true. You’re just saying that because you’re upset.”
I shook my head. “It’s all true. Every last word.” I avoided his gaze, not wanting him to see through my lies, to see that I had developed feelings for him…feelings stronger than I ever thought possible.
“You can think that all you want, but your eyes don’t lie, Molly. I see the love in them. I see the desire. I see the passion, the yearning, the hunger. You can’t fake that.”
“All the guys I slept with before you, even your buddy, Daniel… I used them, too. I’ve been doing this for years. You don’t know how good I’ve gotten at making people believe I have feelings for them. And that’s all I did with you.” I swallowed hard, my chin quivering at the notion. “It’s not my fault you’re too blind to see what’s been right in front of you all along.”
“I’m not blind at all, Molly. I see you. I see you so fucking clearly. I see a woman so scared of being in love, she’s lying to herself about her feelings. Even if what you say is true, I don’t give a damn you got close to me because of a book. If that’s the reason, I’m grateful. As much as you want me to believe otherwise, at some point, this stopped being about your book and became something bigger.”
I shook my head, vehemently denying his accusation.
“You know damn well you care about me, that you love me.”
I began to shake my head again, caught by complete surprise when Noah cradled it between his hands. He crushed his lips against mine, trapping my body against his. I tried to fight him, banging my fists against his chest, but I was no match for his strength.
He pulled out of the passionate exchange that left me breathless and lightheaded. “Tell me you feel nothing!” he bellowed. My knees almost buckled at the hunger in his eyes. People could probably hear us, but neither one of us made an attempt to reel in our overwrought emotions. “Tell me you don’t feel even so much as a tingle or spark every time our skin meets.”
I simply stared at him, unable to form any words. This time, my brain refused to let me admit something that wasn’t true.
“Tell me each time our lips touch, it doesn’t make you crave more.” He brushed his lips against mine softly. A current ran through my veins, my body betraying me. “Tell me that I never gave you an orgasm so intense, you fucking cried.”
Memories of the last time we were together flooded back. The passion. The emotion. The power. The tenderness. Noah was right. I was scared. Fear always made people do things they’d regret. Just like fear made me push Noah away when I should have been running toward him.
“Tell me you don’t care about me and I’ll go,” Noah’s husky voice whispered. “Tell me you’d rather throw it all away.”
Biting my lower lip, I took a deep breath, pushing out of his embrace. “There’s nothing to throw away.” I met his eyes, struggling to get the words out. “Because I feel nothing.” I spun on my heels and scurried out of the bathroom.
As I darted through the function hall, Drew and Brooklyn attempted to stop me, but I didn’t listen. I couldn’t be there anymore. I just wanted to curl into a ball and have my daddy assure me everything would be okay. But that was no longer possible.
Tears streaming down my cheeks, I stormed out of the building.
“You know what, Molly?” Noah’s voice called out as I hurried down the busy sidewalk. It was a perfect September day. The sun was shining and there was a crispness in the air. It was the type of day my dad always loved.
I stopped and faced him, remaining silent. He stepped toward me, and I straightened my spine, doing everything I could to rebuild the wall he had disassembled, brick by brick, over the past several months.
“I thought you were this beautiful woman with an even more beautiful soul. So many of my patients are abandoned in nursing homes, their family forgetting about them. Here was this young, vibrant woman who made sure to take the time to visit her father every single day. Where’s that woman? Because that’s the Molly I’ve been dating these past several months, not the Molly I see today. The one who’s just trying to make other people hurt like she does.”
“That woman was a lie, Noah.” I turned around, feeling like someone had just ripped my heart out as I looked on with morbid curiosity.
“I don’t believe you.”
With a deep breath, I glanced at him over my shoulder. “So it goes.”
He shook his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “You don’t…”
Observing the disheartened look on his face, I knew he remembered our conversation that very first night together, the meaning those three words carried.
“So. It. Goes,” I repeated, more firmly this time. Then I continued down the sidewalk toward my apartment. I expected him to run after me.
He never did.