Page 69 of Pity Present
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
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Kissing Molly is my new favorite hobby. Forget hobby, I want it to be my new profession. I’m pretty sure we could take the gold if the Olympics ever added kissing to their roster. I’m confident that we’d be so great, if we could convince Nike to sponsor us, they’d be forced to change the company swoosh logo to a pair of lips.
Molly and I never do go back into the ballroom. Instead, we sit in front of the fire for another two hours. I learn a wide variety of things about her, such as, she orders her pizza with extra onions and garlic; she broke her leg skiing when she was twelve; and she’s watched every episode ofI Love Lucyat least five times, but closer to twelve for her favorites.
I share that I hate corn—which is almost sacrilegious when you live in the Midwest; that I am allergic to mussels; and that I dream of spending a month in Singapore where I would zipline every day at a place in Sentosa. I have yet to experience a sixty-mile-an-hour descent but I’m ready.
“I’d need a diaper if I did that,” Molly jokes.
I laughingly agree. “I’m pretty sure I would, too. But it would be worth it to fly at that speed.”
“Have you ever jumped out of an airplane?” Molly asks. “You seem like the type.”
“While I appreciate your belief that I could do such a thing, the answer is no,” I tell her. “I went up with some buddies once, but I was the only one who didn’t leave the plane.”
“You mean the pilot jumped, too?” I love Molly’s sense of humor.
“Luckily, no, but even if he had, I think I would have taken my chances trying to land the plane before throwing myself out an open door at fourteen thousand feet.”
Molly changes the subject. “Where did you live when you were in LA?”
“Brentwood.”
“How did you affordthaton a barista’s pay?” She sounds surprised, which she should because Brentwood is not cheap. Even when you’re renting a condo like I did.
Avoiding the truthagain, I tell her, “Every town has a ghetto.”
Luckily, she doesn’t push for more information. Instead, she asks, “Where do you live in Chicago?”
“Wrigleyville.”
Squinting her eyes, she shakes her head and declares, “You must make one heck of a cup of coffee.”
Hurrying to take the focus off me, I ask her, “Where do you live?”
“Gold Coast. I’m on Oak Street.”
“That’s a nice neighborhood, too.”
“I grew up in Evanston,” she says. “I stayed there for college at Northwestern before moving into the city.”
“I went to Loyola,” I tell her.
We spend nearly another hour sharing details of our lives. By the time eleven o’clock rolls around, I feel like I’ve known Molly forever. When she yawns for the third time, I tell her, “I think it’s past your bedtime.”
Nodding wearily, she says, “I don’t want to leave, but you’re right. I’m never up later than ten.”
“Even when you’re on a date?” I ask.
She snorts. “I haven’t been on a date since Kyle and I broke up.”
“Are you serious?” I can’t imagine that Molly isn’t asked out daily.
“Even though I know Kyle and I would have never made it in the long run,” she explains, “it was pretty soul crushing to be cheated on. I guess I’ve just felt too vulnerable to risk something like that happening again.”
I want to punch Kyle right in the face for hurting Molly so badly. Yet, I don’t mind that she’s not been spending her time with other men. “What’s weird,” I tell her, “is that I don’t think Kyle’s a bad guy at heart. I just think he made some poor choices.”
