Kissing In Cars

by Sara Ney

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  WESTON

  "Give me a little credit for intelligence, would you son? I could eat a can of alphabet soup and shit out a better excuse than the one you just gave me." - Brian McGrath

  I wouldn't say my palms are sweaty as we walk into my house - I mean, it could be the rain making my hands wet - but I swipe them over my jeans to dry them anyways, and guide Molly into the laundry room from the garage. I can hear my mom in the kitchen and a few other noises that sound like dishes being put away.

  I glance down at the top of Molly's head, barely resisting the urge to plant a kiss on the bow of her ponytail in show of support, and brace myself as we enter the kitchen. Immediately I spot Kendall, who is sitting at the island, shoulder's bent over a notebook and markers that are spread out in front of her. Kendall glances up when we walk through the doorframe, her face registering surprise as she spots Molly, than her stare turns to curiosity as her eyebrows shoot up.

  She cocks her head and studies Molly with open fascination. "Who is that?" Kendall does all but point, setting down her marker. The question floats across the kitchen, drawing attention to us.

  Great, just what I need - my little sister gawking at Molly like she's never seen a girl before. Okay, let me clarify: like they've never seen a girl I've brought home before.

  All right. Let me clarify again: like they've never seen a girl I've brought home whom I've had good intentions towards - because I've definitely brought girls to the house - just not usually with the intention of conversing with my family - if you catch my drift.

  My mom turns and I can already see the grin forming on her face as she walks towards us, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her arms are already extended, and as she's reaching for Molly, I notice how much shorter she is. And then I think, crap, my mom's going in for a hug.

  This is going to be nightmare.

  But instead of recoiling - which is what any other girl would have done - Molly leans in and goes in for my mom's hug like it's no big deal, emitting a low, content laugh. "Hello Mrs. McGrath. It's good to meet you. It smells good in here, did you just have dinner?"

  I let out the breath I'm holding.

  "Yup, just cleaning up loading the dishwasher. And please, call me Laura. We had pot roast - Weston, shame on your for not bringing Molly home to eat with us! Just look at you both, you're soaking wet," my mom exclaims, turning to my sister. "Kendall, go get some towels sweetie for your brother and his friend." She turns and looks at us again (actually, she's only looking at Molly) smiling. She just can't wipe it off her face, it seems.

  Must be a mom thing.

  Kendall slowly inches off the bar stool. In fact, she's so slow that if I were on fire and needed her to grab an extinguisher, I would have been dead by now. She's got this shit eating grin on her face as she says, "By friend, do you really mean girl friend? Because I heard mom talking on the phone the other day about you, and that what she called you." The little brat actually used air quotes with her fingers when she said 'friend.'

  Holy shit. "Jesus Kendall, what the hell!"

  Kendall shrugs innocently. "What? It's a legitimate question."

  "Weston Richard, watch your mouth! And Kendall Rebecca McGrath, stop embarrassing your brother and go get him and Molly each a towel. Now!" My mom follows her out of the room, probably to lecture her more about embarrassing me (that itself is horrifying) and to make sure the smart ass little shit is actually going to fetch some dry towels.

  And... it's back to being a complete nightmare. I can literally feel the color rising up my neck, and my face is scorching hot. I don't even want to glance over at Molly, but I can feel her shoulders shaking next to me and can hear short sputters of what sounds like a muffled laugh.

  "You think that's funny?" I ask her indignantly, crossing my arms over my chest.

  "Oh Weston, you should see your face. Priceless" Her gaze flickers over my biceps, lazily over my forearms and she bites down on her lower lip. "You look so... cute right now, all flustered and blushing." she whispers, her green eyes shining, almost like she's stripping me naked in her mind and liking what she sees.

  I groan. "You can't say shit like that in my parent's kitchen. Now I want to tackle you to the ground."

  "Maybe I think it's fun to tease you," she sasses me.

  I'm about to reach for her when my dad makes his appearance.

  "Well look who finally made it home in one piece. Looks like you two got stuck out in the rain." My dad walks into the kitchen wearing jeans and a Ravens fleece, his big frame filling the entire doorway. He walks to the counter and, with is back to us, lifts the coffee carafe out of the coffee maker, gets a mug out of the cabinet, and proceeds to pour himself a cup while we stand there idly.

  I take him in, trying to picture what Molly see's.

  It's not uncommon for people to be intimidated by him - shit, even I am occasionally.

  Finally, my dad turns and faces us, slowly stirring his drink before tapping the coffee mug with the spoon, and setting it in the sink. He eyes Molly critically - one eyebrow crooked - at the same time his giant hand reaches out for a shake. "Brian McGrath. You must be Molly. Can't say we've heard all that much about you." He says this nonchalantly and sips his coffee, watching us over the brim of the mug for our reaction.

  What an ass.

  "Brian!" My mom admonishes, her soft features flush and she turns a dark shade of pink as she re-enters the kitchen. "What he means is we're so glad to finally meet you. By chance, I noticed you at the last home game."

  I want to say 'Yeah, everyone noticed because I couldn't stop myself from eye fucking her from the ice' but I hold my tongue. Molly and I aren't touching, and I find myself wanting to reach for her hand. Not necessarily to protect her from my parents - well, mostly just my dad... my mom's being way cooler than I thought she would be - but to make it easier on her.

  Molly's face flushes with a little blush of her own. "Oh, well. That wasn't my choice - I was coerced into going." She elbows me shyly in the ribs and my dad's steely gaze bores holes into her, like he can't believe she'd touch me in front of him.

  My dad sets down the coffee mug and crosses his arms, leaning against the granite countertop. "And how does that work? Being coerced into going?"

  What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?

  So, I mine as well tell you this: my dad doesn't want me dating.

  Ever.

  It's like I mentioned before - he wants me to focus solely on hockey, which I've always done. An occasional lay on the side is fine, as long as it doesn't interfere with my game and he doesn't have to see or hear about it. You know what they say: If you don't see it, does it exist?

  Having someone steady or an actual girlfriend?

  Not on the list of priorities he's made for me.

  So yeah. It's obvious that he's not pleased - and he's acting like someone's pissed in his Cheerios.

  Suddenly, the gender roles are reversed and Molly has become the proverbial guy every dad dreads and waits for on their front porch while polishing their shotguns. Thankfully, my mom crosses the room and lays her hand on my dad's arm - I consider this his warning: Mom is the only person who can calm my dad the fuck down.

  "Would you kids like to sit? Let's go into the living room."

  We follow my parents into the living room and much to my horror, Kendall is perched on the end of the couch with her giant, fat, tabby cat Jazzy in her lap and instead of tuning in to the television, she's watching us with a smirk on her face.

  For an eleven year old, she's acting like a nosey teenager, and up until right this second it's never really bothered me. Except at this particular moment, she is bugging the living shit out of me.

  And even her damn cat seems like a cocky little asshole.

  My mom motions for us to sit on the couch - just to be on the safe side, I sit directly next to Kendall: I have a feeling she's going to be like a loose cannon and those lips aren't going to stay closed for very long. Eve
ntually she's going to want to get her two cents in.

  Wearily, I watch her from the corner of my eye as Dad sits directly across from us in his favorite leather chair. Leaning forward, he clasps his hands in front of him and props his elbow on his knees. I can hear him thinking from across the room.

  My mom clears her throat and plasters her trademark optimistic smile on her face.

  Could this be any more awkward?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  MOLLY

  "Awkward? That's an understatement..." - Molly

  Can someone tell me again why I'm here?

  Mr. McGrath, with his big brooding stare, is watching me from his seat - a big leather Lazy Boy recliner that looks like it has seen better days. I would even bet money that Weston's mom has tried to toss it to the curb a few times...

  It looks like Mrs. McGrath - Laura - is about to say something, but Kendall interrupts.

  "So Molly, what grade are you in? Are you a senior too?" She sits innocently watching me with big doe eyes, and her hand lazily strokes the orange cat that's sleeping on her lap.

  "Yes, I'm a Senior too. How about you? What grade are you in Kendall?"

  She perks up with importance. "I'm in middle school this year," she says flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Sixth grade. Did you have Mrs. Deerfield for any classes when you were my age?"

  "You know, I think I did! She was one of my favorites," I smile shyly as Kendall nods her head enthusiastically.

  "Her class is my favorite - but I have this kid Ben that sits behind me and he's always pulling my hair. Last week I finally told him if he didn't stop, my brother would jam a hockey stick so far up his ass he wouldn't walk for a week."

  To illustrate her point, Kendall takes her fist and pretends to jam it in the air.

  "Kendall!" Weston's mom shrieks loudly, her horrified voice vibrating through the cavernous family room. "What did I tell you about using that word?! Where on earth did you learn to say things like that?!"

  Slowly, all our eyes move to Weston, who is suddenly fidgeting in his seat. He curls his lips in a scowl and throws his hands up. "Fine! It was me! Someone needed to teach her to defend herself!"

  Mrs. McGrath is bright red. "That is not teaching her how to defend herself, young man. That's threatening another person with bodily harm - and a child no less! Telling your sister you'll shove a hockey stick up his bum, indeed!"

  "Bum." Kendall mutters sassily, breaking the awkward silence that followed Mrs. McGraths shocked outburst. "So Molly, is my brother as cool at school as he thinks he is?"

  "Mom, please make her stop."

  "Come on, I need to know! He walks around here like he owns the place. I'm not even allowed in his room without permission," Kendall huffs with a pout.

  "Well no kidding. The last time you went in there you let Jazzy sleep in my sock drawer while you used all my printer paper to make snowflakes. There were tiny scraps of paper everywhere for weeks."

  "Pfft, big deal. It's not like I was in there reading that journal you keep under your mattress."

  "Oh my god Kendall, I swear to all that is holy -"

  Mr. McGrath, God bless him, clears his throat for the millionth time, and I might be mistaken, but there is a laugh threatening to burst out of him. "All right guys, that's enough," he finally says, the low baritone of his voice silencing everyone else in the room. He gives Kendall a warning look, than shakes his head at Weston before directing his gaze at me. "So. Molly." He pauses. "Matthew Wakefield is your brother, huh?"

  Once again, he clasps his hands in front of him and leans forward in his chair. Weston quietly groans beside me, and nudges my knee with his thigh. "Dad..." he warns.

  I put my hand on his knee but snatch it back immediately, for Mr. McGrath's eyes follow my movement and narrow. I receive the message loud and clear: no touching.

  Got it.

  "Yes sir. He's finishing his last year at Madison, and he's been drafted."

  "Do you suppose that's what my son see's in you?"

  Weston shouts "Dad!" at the same time Mrs. McGrath shouts "Brian!"

  If I had been drinking liquid at the moment, I'm fairly certain I would have spit it out.

  "It's a fair question, I would think. Weston is a senior and has never had an interest in girls because he's focused on his hockey career, then suddenly he's "dating" the sister of a future Anaheim Duck? Am I the only one who's not seeing what's wrong with this picture?"

  He scratches his chin as if in deep thought.

  What a jerk.

  Laura McGrath stands abruptly and marches over to her husband though clenched teeth. "Brian sweetheart, can I see you in the kitchen please?" Not waiting for a response, she jerks him up by his arm, stalking out of the living room towing him behind.

  "Sheesh, this just got awk...ward," Kendall muses. "Bet Molly's gonna think twice about coming back over here, hey Weston."

  "Shut up Kendall," Weston grits out, his face contorted into a look of disgust. "Come on Molly, let's go get my bike." He hauls me up and turns to his sister ruffling the top of her head affectionately with his fingers. "Tell mom I'll be back in an hour."

  WESTON

  Kendall was right. That was freaking awkward.

  What the fuck was my dad's deal?

  We drive in silence for a few miles in Molly's jeep (she let me drive) the rain still coming down, but in a gentle rhythm - more of a delicate mist than a heavy downpour that would be soothing if not for the circumstances surrounding us like a cloud inside the jeep.

  I honestly have no idea what to say. "Molly...." is all that comes out. If she were one of my guy friends, I would demand that she shrug it off because my dad is nothing but an overgrown prick and a bully - but she's not one of my guy friends.

  She's...

  Different. I want to say 'special' but that sounds douch-ey, and sappy, and we've already established that I'm neither.

  "It's okay. You don't have to say anything," Molly says softly next to me, and now I feel like an even bigger ass. But it's not like I was going to waltz into my parent's kitchen and tell my dad off to defend her: he would have kicked my ass.

  "I know but..." My eyes are trained on the road, and I'm trying my damndest to focus on our conversation, but the combination of wet road and the glare from the street lights make it hard to find the yellow line in the middle of the road - I don't want to get us in an accident.

  Molly takes a deep breath. "Listen Weston. That totally sucked back there, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to take it personally," another deep breath. "But... don't think for one second that I haven't witnessed that scene before - or some version of it. I mean... Matthew is my brother, and he had girls falling all over him for all the wrong reasons. Still does." Her head is down, and she's fiddling with the zipper pull on her jacket. "Your parents just don't want some gold digger to get their claws into you because they think you're going to be playing Pro someday - or worse, for you to get some sleaze pregnant. No matter who her brother is, so... Yeah. I get it."

  "I know you're not a gold digger Molly, and to be honest... I wish you were a bigger sleaze."

  Shocked (but probably not as much as she's letting on) Molly gaps at me with her mouth hanging open, and we both burst out laughing.

  "I feel bad for my mom - my dad is so out of control with the whole hockey thing. Did you see how pissed she was? He's probably still getting his ass chewed out."

  I say the words, even as I clutch the wheel out of frustration.

  "Yeah, I think she felt bad for me more than anything," Molly says, a wide grin illuminating her face. "That sister of yours is a little stinker."

  "You think? Dude, you have no idea how many times that kid has embarrassed the shit out of me. She's a beast."

  "Oh yeah? How so?"

  I cock my head in thought, trying to come up with a really good Kendal story. "Ah, I've got one. For starters, last year my parents dropped me off at a hockey clinic in Cleveland - are you picturing this? An
d when we get to the ice rink there were alll these coaches standing around outside the locker room. Instead of keeping her mouth shut like a normal 10 year old, Kendall walks up to Jeremy Hartman from Philly and says in this snotty voice 'Just so you know, my brother here says you suck and he's going to totally whoop your guys' butts' and if my mom hadn't grabbed her and clamped her hand over Kendall's' mouth, she would have kept talking. That was the world's shittiest week. I got checked into the boards every time someone from Philly skated by. Bruised for weeks afterwards."

  "No!" Molly gasps.

  "Yeah. And don't think for one second that kid didn't know those guys were going to be after me. She isn't an idiot."

  "Maybe she's around too many hockey players," Molly laughs, resting her damp hair against the back of the seat, her neck thrown back and exposed. Like a moth to a flame I look over and have the urge to pull the Jeep over just so I can run my fingers across the smooth skin of her cheek. Instead, I clear my throat and focus on the road.

  I'm not even going to try examining my feelings for her right now.

  Too complicated.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  MOLLY

  "It just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?" - Jenna

  As hard as I tried last night lying in bed, I cannot lose the image of Weston's dad from my head. The image of him leaning forward to glare at me like I was the devils spawn out to corrupt his son.

  His golden child.

  For the first time in a few weeks, I'm more than a lot confused. Instead of the fluttery butterflies that once resided in my stomach, I've had a knot transplanted there.

  I can see Jenna in the lunch line, bouncing on her heels as she retells a story (or at least, I'm going to assume that's what she's doing) to Olivia Wilder. I'm not alone at our lunch table, but I definitely feel like an island with so much weight on my shoulders.

  Hurry hurry hurry, I chant inside my head.