Page 52 of Pity Present
“I’m fine.” She doesn’t say anything else.
“I miss talking to you,” I tell her.
She shrugs her shoulders like she couldn’t care less.
“Are you on your way to the dining room?” I ask.
“Maybe.”
I spot a waiter walking down the hall in our direction. He’s pushing a cart that I hope is carrying my breakfast. I was so hungry this morning I ordered three different things. I figured if I had to be here against my will, the least the newspaper could do is make sure my stomach is happy. It may seem petty, but I want to make them pay in some way, other than just my paycheck.
Stopping at my door, the waiter announces, “I have your family’s food.”
Molly’s eyes narrow like she’s decided that means I have company. “Your family, huh?”
“Would you like to come in and join us?” I ask her.
Unable to resist the temptation, she pushes me to the side before storming into my inner sanctum. While she looks around for whoever she thinks is there, I sign the check and walk the waiter out.
When I come back into the room, Molly is bent over at the waist looking under the bed. “There’s no one there,” I tell her.
She stands up so quickly she nearly tips over. Leaning into the mattress, she asks, “Is she in the bathroom?”
“I’m the only one here.”
“So, she’s already left?” She says this like I didn’t show my fake date a good enough time to warrant her staying.
“I’m all alone, Molly.”
Staring at the food cart, she charges, “You’re eating french toast, an omelet, and oatmeal all by yourself?”
“Everything sounded so good this morning, I couldn’t decide what I wanted.” Her stomach growls with such intensity I ask, “Would you like to join me? You can have whatever you want.”
“I shouldn’t …” she says petulantly.
“I won’t take it as a compliment,” I assure her. “I’ll just assume you’re so hungry you don’t want to wait another forty-five minutes that going to the dining room would entail.” Her stomach rumbles again as if she couldn’t possibly make it that long.
“Fine,” she says, before crossing the room and sitting down at the table by the window. “But I get the french toast.”
Pushing the cart toward her, I agree. “That’s okay with me.” Then I ask, “Would you like me to make you a cup of coffee?”
She shakes her head while reaching out to take my glass of orange juice off the tray. “I’ll just drink this.” I love how sassy she is. I really have missed talking to her.
Sitting down across from her, I ask, “Have you been enjoying yourself?”
She looks up from her plate sheepishly. “I guess.”
“Have you met any nice men?”
“I’ve been talking to Kyle a little bit.”
“I hope you told him to hit the bricks,” I tell her.
“I’m not taking him back, but it’s nice to spend time with someone who knows me. Someone who’s interested in me.” That jab meets its target—me.
“I’m interested in you, Molly.”
She nearly spits out her orange juice. “As a friend.”
