by W. Ferraro
“Is Sammy okay?” Jess asked sincerely.
“Thank goodness, but she has a couple of bumps and scrapes, not to mention a bruised heart because of her sister’s treatment,” Molly answered, hoping Jess was finally grasping the effect of her behavior.
But just when she thought she was making some headway, the ugly side of Jess popped back out.
“Well, if I didn’t have to be her keeper all the time, it wouldn’t have happened.”
Count to ten. Breathe. Getting upset isn’t going to help.
Fuck it!
“Bullshit! I have a feeling it would have happened regardless because you are constantly playing the poor Jess game and I, for one, have had it. You want to be treated like an adult. You want to have more freedom, yet you can’t do the small things that your father and I ask of you, namely taking care of the kids.” Molly fumed, continuing to look her daughter directly in the eye, “So, I hope it was worth it because this is the last day it will happen. Starting tomorrow, between Tracey and I, you will be picked up every day from school.”
Molly turned to walk away, but Jess followed.
“You can’t do that! It is so unfair!”
Molly rounded on her daughter, who was the same height, and had Molly feeling like she was looking in a mirror. “You apparently can’t handle the responsibility so I’m taking it away from you. You have no one to blame but yourself. Now, go upstairs. Leave your phone and iPad on the table because you have lost them for a week. Do your homework and go to your room.”
Molly walked back out to the restaurant, hating to have to fight with Jess but not knowing how else to get through to her daughter.
What she didn’t expect was for Jess not to listen and break numeral uno rule—causing a scene inside the restaurant.
Molly had just reached a table of customers waiting to have their orders taken when Jess barreled through the double doors, hurling her bag into the restaurant.
Molly turned around, shocked at her daughter’s way out of line outburst.
As did the customer filled room.
“As usual, it is my fault! You just need someone to blame so you don’t feel bad about being the suck-ass mother you are! I’m outta here!” Jess hollered, causing everyone in the restaurant to stop and watch the scene that was unfolding.
Jess ran out the door and up Main Street. Molly followed behind, opening the door to outside and calling after her daughter.
Her daughter ignored her and just kept going.
Molly walked back into the restaurant, completely aware of all the eyes trained on her, and felt the sudden need to scream and cry.
The silence of the restaurant broke and people went back about their business, uncaring that their business was discussing Molly’s business, which had just been broadcasted live.
Molly plastered an unaffected smile on her face and finished taking the order she had been taking. She then headed into the kitchen, throwing her order pad and letting the tears fall that she couldn’t believe she had been able to keep at bay this long.
Both Greg and Kayla, her full-time workers, came to her. Kayla placed a hand on her shoulder crooning words of positivity while Greg told her how common it was for teenagers and parents to go head-to-head.
Molly quickly went up and checked on Sammy, who remained completely oblivious to what occurred beneath her feet, before heading back downstairs and out onto the restaurant floor.
Kayla had asked Molly if she would finish up her corner booth whom she had just brought their meal to because the little league team who just walked in, celebrating their victory over Jefferson, was going to take some time.
Molly headed to Kayla’s table after filling a round of drinks at the counter when she realized who the customers were.
Grady and Bianca Dennison.
“Well, hello Judge and Mrs. Dennison,” Molly said pleased to see them but suddenly more embarrassed that they, the epitome of parenting perfection, had witnessed Jess’ outburst.
“Just wonderful, Molly,” Grady answered with a huge smile as he chewed the last bite of his steak. The patriarch’s large, bushy, signature mustache moved with every chomp of his teeth. He brought the napkin that lay on his lap up to his mouth, wiping away any remnants before returning it to his lap.
Bianca mimicked her husband’s sentiment.
Molly felt the need to offer an explanation. Funny how she prayed that all the other customers forgot what they saw, but at this table she, herself, was bringing it back to the forefront.
“I’m so sorry you had to witness my daughter’s outburst. I hope it didn’t affect your meal or visit too much.”
Mrs. Dennison turned her beautiful face toward Molly so that the truth of her words would carry that much more meaning. “Not in the least. If anything, we are sorry that what you had hoped to keep private was pushed out in public for all these busybodies to see.”
Molly knew she was being kinder than necessary.
“You are kind to say so, but I’ll deserve every derogatory statement of my character given the picture my daughter painted for everyone.”
“Nonsense,” Grady said cutting in, offering a kind smile before adding, “Parenting is not for the faint of heart. Trust us, we know.”
Bianca turned to her husband, reaching across the table and giving his hand a squeeze before agreeing aloud.
“What Jessica said isn’t anything that every other teenage girl hasn’t said to their mother at one time or another,” Bianca remarked, sliding a bit further into the bench seat and patting the vacant space next to her.
Molly knew she shouldn’t, but that didn’t stop her from taking the seat offered to her.
“You just keep your chin up high and know that being a mother is the hardest job ever. Sometimes, in fact, more times than not, when Bree was growing up, I wondered why I chose to do it for a sixthtime.” Her open admission ended with a laugh, confirmed by the nod of Grady’s head and the raise of his brow. “With our five boys, we never had half as much grief as we did with our beloved only daughter. I’m not saying raising five boys, six if you count Jamie, was sunshine and roses all the time, but it was walk in the park compared to my Bree.” Bianca patted Molly’s knee, unaware of the comfort such a small action was offering. “The fights she and I used to have over everything had me calling Grady on more than one occasion and demanding for him to come home right away. It could have been anything, something as frivolous as what I made for dinner, to how someone in the house answered the phone when one of her friends called, to a critique or a mention of her competitive dance career. The amount of tears and number of broken household items, generally a dented pan,” she nudged Molly’s shoulder and winked, wanting Molly to read between the lines before adding, “in the span of eight years was enough to have me question why I even got up in the morning. The number of times Bree ran out my door, hammering home her unjust life, there is no number measuring as high.” With another squeeze to Molly’s knee, she wrapped her arms around the younger woman and finished, “The point is, mothers and daughters fight. But, I promise you, the fights lessen and your relationship will grow and it’ll all be worth it. I know it is tough, believe me, but you have to keep being tough with her. It is so easy to want to be her friend, but she had enough friends, and she needs a mother. Keep your head held high; she will be back soon after blowing off some steam. Sometimes they want us to react, giving them justification for doing what they were just going to do anyways. No one knows what is better for your daughters and the line they need to toe better than you. Always remember that. And don’t give another moment’s thoughts to all these busybodies.” Molly looked at the older woman who always seemed to be put together—physically, emotionally, and family-wise—and suddenly, she did feel a bit better.
Molly stood, asking the Dennisons if they needed anything else other than their check, when Bianca added a closing remark on the subject. “Molly, just remember, if being a mother was easy, men could do it.” The older woman winked ag
ain surprising Molly and making her laugh aloud.
“Excuse me! I resent that,” Grady exclaimed, taken aback by his wife’s statement.
Molly watched as the older woman reached across the table once again, grabbing hold of her husband’s larger hand and giving a tender squeeze. And with the experience of age and marriage, the matriarch said softly, “You may have been known for being heavy handed when you were on the bench, dear, but we are all well aware of how much of a marshmallow you were when it came to disciplining your children, especially your precious baby girl.”
As Molly stepped away from the table, she could hear the judge grumble heavily, “I wasn’t always a marshmallow.”
Molly was walking toward the door with a small smile on her face when Greg stuck his head out of the kitchen door signaling a thumbs-up, which told Molly that Jess had come through the back door and was now upstairs. As much as Molly wanted to go up and clear the air between them, she thought about the words of wisdom that the Dennisons had just shared with her, and she knew that she needed to let Jess have some breathing room. Jess could use it just as she needed it, too.
Deep in her thoughts, she didn’t realize she had missed the bell of the door opening nor the body that she practically almost ran straight into.
Hunter.
He grabbed onto each of her arms, steadying her, but also bringing warmth to her skin where his hands touched her.
“Molly, I’m sorry.”
His warm minty breath brushed her cheek and the way he looked down at her with those clear blue eyes had her wanting to know what they saw when they looked at her.
He began to apologize again, but this time she spoke as well, causing both of them to laugh.
Molly took a step backward before smiling and saying, “No, no completely my fault. Needless to say, it has been a crazy night here, and I let it take over my brain there for a moment. I should have been paying better attention.”
With a devastatingly handsome smile and a sexy hint of the dimple, he had her wanting to lift her fingers to touch him. But soon the spell was broken and Molly took another step back and asked, “Can I get you anything? Your parents are back there in the booth if you are looking for them.”
“Uh, yeah, thanks. I’ll just head over there.” He took the first step to head in that direction then turned back and asked politely, “If Greg’s got any of that cherry pie he holds for ransom, I’ll take an extra-large piece with a cup of coffee, please.”
Suddenly, the night didn’t seem so daunting, after all.
“I think we can come up with that combination. Whip cream?”
Flashing bright was that sexy dimple. “Always whip cream. It makes everything better.”
Visions of Hunter Dennison, alone in a secluded place with just a can of whip cream, had Molly wanting to cross her legs.
God, the feelings this man could provoke in her with just a look or a word. Too bad she didn’t have the backbone to do anything about it.
A few minutes later, Molly delivered the pie and cup of java. When she placed them down in front of Hunter, who was sitting next to his mother, her hand accidently brushed up against his, sending a jolt of awareness shooting straight through her bloodstream.
Easy girl, remember your last run-in with him had you reeling for hours and chiding an all too familiar mantra to yourself for even longer.
“Thank you, Molly,” Hunter said, catching her eye and holding the gaze a few moments longer than politeness called for.
“You are very welcome.”
Break the connection. Break the connection.
Easier said than done.
With a forced changed in eye direction, Molly looked at Grady as she inquired if he and Bianca were all set. Molly excused herself with instructions that if they needed anything, Kayla would be finishing up with them.
She began to step away and got a few feet further when Hunter called to her.
“Any chance you are up for some company tomorrow on your morning walk?”
Molly turned around quickly, stumbling in fact before righting herself and looking at him to confirm if she heard him correctly
“Uh, come again?”
Now with what she was sure was a complete look of confusion, she faced a table whose entire attention lay on her.
Hunter smiled once more, causing that all too familiar tingle to take place before he said louder and clearer, “Mind if I tag along on your walk?”
Her bumbling and then inability to form words sure as heck proved just how off balance his question set her.
“Uh, yeah, that would be fine . . . I guess.”
His blue eyes twinkled with mirth. “Well, if that isn’t a decisive acceptance, I don’t know what is.”
For some miracle, she could form a somewhat realistic laugh because she knew the moment called for one, but it didn’t stop the puzzlement from which she was feeling. As attuned as he always was, Hunter added with a shrug of his shoulder, “It’s okay if you’d rather not. My feelings won’t be hurt. I just thought a nice walk with a friend would do me some good.”
A friend. Maybe that was exactly what she needed, too.
“That sounds nice.”
Hunter, obviously thrilled with her answer, forked a large gooey piece of pie and met her gaze once more. “Nice is a great place to start.”
Like her mornings weren’t busy enough. Now, she stood in front of her less than spectacular closet mentally putting different pieces of her wardrobe together for the perfect walking outfit.
Molly fell back on her bed and threw her arm over her eyes. Suddenly feeling every bit of the almost thirty-seven years she was.
It is a walk, Molly! Not a marriage proposal!
She actually grunted at the appeal of her own sarcastic thought.
Just because Hunter Dennison asks you to take a walk, and just because he makes a point to say he is looking to do it with a friend, and just because he says that idea struck him as nice, is no reason to not enjoy it for its face value. It is a NICE WALK with a FRIEND.
If you could follow that logic, girlfriend, you are one up on the rest of the population.
“It is so amazing that I can actually dress myself with all this other crap that goes on in my head,” she muttered to herself dryly.
Get up! Just get up, get dressed in something you would wear any other day, and stay out of the bathroom.
“The bathroom?” Molly questioned herself aloud, wondering why her subconscious would say such a thing then she answered herself.
If you enter the bathroom, it will just result in your primping for another twenty minutes.
“It is just a walk,” Molly said, thinking if she said it aloud, it would drill it further into her brain.
“What’s just a walk?” Sammy asked curiously, as she hopped on her mother’s bed.
Definitely not going to try to explain it to an eight-year-old when I myself can’t figure out why I’m so crazy over such a simple task.
“Oh nothing, baby. Mommy’s just talking to herself.”
This diversion was apparently good enough for the smallest Jenson female. Because she accepted, moved on, and began asking her mother all about the town’s Memorial Day Festival events for this year.
Molly answered each question as best she could while she finished dressing in her usual black yoga pants with a white Molly’s t-shirt and her hair up in a high ponytail.
“Can I sit in the dunk tank this year?” Sammy asked jumping up and down excited about the idea of such a fun thing to do for an eight-year-old.
Never stop being so free spirited, my love.
With a smile etched on her face and placing her hands over each of her daughter’s ears before gently shaking her head, Molly remarked playfully, “Sweetie, we don’t need to wait until the festival for you to be dunked. I can dunk you right here in the tub over and over again.”
The mother-daughter duo giggled and embraced as Molly rolled her eyes when Sammy thought that was an excellent idea.<
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“Don’t mean to interrupt happy mommy-daughter time but can we leave so I’m not late for school . . . again?” Jessica inquired as she stood with her arms crossed in the doorway.
Molly gave Sammy one last hug before lightly pushing her forward through the door before taking a long look at her oldest.
Jess was still so angry. Molly tried to clear the air a little bit when she came up last night, but Jess was in bed, turned away from her, and refused to acknowledge her presence. It was hard, but Molly respected it, and turned and left the room. She even went as far as to invite Sammy to sleep in her bed to provide Jess with all the space she needed.
To see the pain and anger so obvious on Jess’ face slashed straight through Molly’s heart.
Plastering what she hoped would be a sincere and normalized smile, she replied, “Yes, of course. Are you ready to go?”
With her hip jutted out and her bright green painted index finger tapping a beat against her crossed forearm, Jess rolled her eyes and said, “Am I ready to get out of here? Absolutely!” Then she walked away heading for the door.
The car ride to school was eerily quiet, even a usual overexcited Sammy was quiet as she looked out the back window. Molly first pulled into Jess’ school where Jess got out without even a word or goodbye. As she walked away from the car, Molly rolled down the window and spoke to her back.
“I’ll be here at two, Jess. I love you.”
Molly didn’t expect a reply or acknowledgment, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt all the same.
When she drove over to Sammy’s school, Sammy got out and happily kissed her mother. She began to head into school before turning back and saying something that would stay with Molly for the rest of her life. “She doesn’t really hate you, Mom. I think she’s just being mean to make herself feel better.” Sammy then blew a kiss and with an energetic wave, Molly watched as she skipped into school. All remnants of her injury and tension filled morning gone.
Bright beyond her years.
Molly got back in her SUV and headed over to the park. With each mile closer, her anxiety increased by monumental levels.
