Tangled Up in Daydreams (6 page)

“Happy birthday, Ms. McGuire.” Molly handed the package to Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth, please. And thank you. This is almost too beautiful to open.” Untying the ribbon. “You shouldn't have.”

“I wanted to.”

“Oh, Molly, it is wonderful.” Tracing her hand over the cover. “I love it. Thank you so much.” Giving Molly a kiss on the cheek. “It's really perfect.”

“You're welcome. I never can have enough journals.”

“Me too. I am going to go put it next to my bed. I am about to run out of room in my sketchbook, so this will be immediately used. I am so happy you came up with Liam and shared this birthday with me. My son is a lucky man.”

Molly instantly felt lighter from the inside out. From that moment on, the two of them became friends. Elizabeth would send Molly articles she thought she would like to read, little trinkets she thought Molly would like, and after Molly began her jewelry business, beads from various trips abroad for Molly to use. Molly loved this woman, loved that she had this friendship. Molly panicked that while Elizabeth was understanding now, would it last? Would she still be there for Molly? Would this whole life she and Liam created above and beyond the two of them vanish? It wasn't just about their connection and the bonds and promises they had made to each other. It was the friends and the family and the memories of a tight-knit group that could easily unravel. Molly's stomach turned and she pressed her foot a little harder on the gas. She could not drive fast enough, but she should have known she couldn't really just ride off into the sunset.

Liam was still everywhere. He was in her mind, her car. Whether it was the CDs in the changer or the pair of teal fuzzy dice slung over the rearview mirror he won for her at the street fair in Los Feliz last summer. He was everywhere, in everything. A half empty pack of light blue American Spirits, a five-year-old brown sweatshirt on the seat, dirty Nike sneakers in the back well, set lists and sheet music from his last gig, a box of Altoids, and three unread
LA Weekly
's. His mess in her car was something she used to love. It made her feel attached and part of something, not just alone and floating. The first time she found something of Liam's in her car was just a few weeks after they had met at Goldfinger's. She was looking for a pen between the seats and came across a mint-green skinny hair elastic. As she rolled it between her thumb and forefinger, she remembered how it had flown from his hands on their first real date. They had just shared a pepperoni pizza and a few beers and were heading to a movie.

“Are you sure you want to see it again?” he asked. “We can go to a different flick or rent one.”

“No, I loved it. If a movie hits that sweet, romantic but not cheesy nerve I can see it over and over again,” Molly answered while pulling the car out.

“Well then, it will be my treat.”

“Thanks.”

“I'm not really a repeater myself. At least not in the theater. Renting is a whole other ball game though.”

“And I'm not really a renter.”

“Really? Molly, how can you not? What about the classics?” Asking in amazement.

“I know, I know. I have this huge list in my journal.”

“Well, my dear, plans have changed. Name one movie on that list and we're going to go watch it at my place.”

“Let's see. How about
Raging Bull
?”

“Done. Drive on.”

“You have a rental card, right?”

“What are we going to do with you?” Liam, laughing.

He then adjusted his tiny ponytail, and the elastic went flying. He couldn't find it and it remained wedged until Molly retrieved it. When she put it in her hair, she actually felt a spark. Thank God she wasn't wearing hairspray. She was turned on just thinking about the fact that she was wearing him, touching him. It was her little secret; he could now go with her everywhere. Her own Thumbelina small enough to fit in her pocket. When it finally broke, Molly stashed it in the change pocket of her toffee-colored wallet.

Now the spark had turned into an electrical fire, Molly was burning, and his stench had to go. The sweet scent of his spell had soured, contaminated by a truth Molly could not shake. Molly drove straight to the car wash. She dumped everything into the metal trash can sitting under the handheld vacuums. The sweater, the smokes, the half-written lyrics, even the broken rubber band. She wanted nothing left to let her linger. If she had had a match she would have lit the clichéd “burn your boyfriend's stuff bonfire” despite the gas pumps nearby. She riffled through her Case Logic of CDs and searched for something that was just hers. That was a hard task. Liam had become part of her blood, coursing through her, replenishing her like water, and now she was choking. Tears welled up again and Molly barely managed to get out of the car wash in one piece. She really didn't want to throw him away, but what could she do? He promised he would stop all the bullshit, he promised he wouldn't leave her. It wasn't until a few months into their relationship, when they had hit that spend-every-single-solitary-moment-together, that she really realized he even had a problem. Liam would always have one more drink than everyone else, one more hit, one more line. He was always a little fuzzier, like a Van Gogh painting.

Molly loved it at first. He was dangerous and creative. Molly always did the right thing, said the right thing. She followed the rules. Molly had one of those great relationships with her parents where she could tell them when she experimented with drugs and they would talk about them intellectually. They would ask her questions, not grill her over an open pit of hot-tongued moralism. She had proven herself responsible and they trusted her. Liam brought out all that smoldering rebellion dormant within her. Initially, before she realized how symptomatic it was, they would occasionally stay up for days doing coke and talking about the most interesting things Molly had forgotten. It was as if they needed all those extra hours of awake time just to share and catch each other up on everything they had been and done before they met.

“Who was the first person you knew you hurt?” Liam asking her while wiping his nose.

“What do you mean?” Reaching for the tightly rolled bill.

“What was the first knowingly mean thing you did to someone else? The worst thing you ever said?”

“Why do you want to know? I don't think I want to tell you.”

“Molly, I love you. Nothing you can say will change that. I want to know everything about you.”

“What did you just say?” Sputtering out the water she just drank.

“I want to know everything because I am falling in love with you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“You are the first guy to say that to me without prompting.”

“Well, I'm glad.”

“I think I love you too.” Leaning over and kissing him.

“You think?” Looking at her in mock horror. Or maybe it was real horror, and that made Molly sure.

“I know I love you.” Kissing him again. “Worst thing, huh? I don't know if I have one.”

“Molly, you
are
sweet but everyone has one.”

“Fine.” Snorting another line. “I kissed my boyfriend's brother at the junior prom.”

“You naughty thing, you.” Laughing. “Did he ever find out?”

“No, we did break up shortly after, but I never told him. Why bother if it was already ending.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I think I was just excited about being wanted. Kevin was my first sort of high school boyfriend and it was a shock to me that he actually wanted to be with me.” Getting up and getting another glass of water. “I was such a nerd, you know, braces, no boobs. I had a guy into me and when another, even if it was his brother, dug me too, I just went with it. I was overwhelmed by my own need to be wanted. Very egocentric, I know.”

“And now?”

“Now what?” Sitting back down. “Did I make out with Teddy when he was visiting?”

“Very funny. No, are you still that girl?”

“Boobless?” Eyeing her chest. “Don't think so, thank God.”

“Stop.” Liam laughed. “Seriously.”

“Yeah.” Getting a little quiet. “Sometimes.”

“Do I ever make you feel insecure?” Putting his arms around her.

“No, I just sometimes am that sixteen-year-old nerd who feels awkward and lame, and I wonder how in the hell I got lucky and got you.”

“I don't see it that way. I don't see you that way. I got lucky and got you.”

He paused a minute and took her in. Molly shivered, overwhelmed by his gaze. “Molly, your honesty blows me away every day,” he said quietly.

Molly pulled the car over, flipped open the door, and threw up. How was she supposed to move on, move past this? Even as she remembered an example of how drugs snaked through their lives, she put a romantic spin on it. Would she be permanently under some emotional voodoo curse? Under the influence of something? It was as if Liam were a stomach parasite, and Molly couldn't completely purge him. He was her phantom limb. The ache that constantly throbs. The thing you miss even when you think you have everything you need.

All the guys before Liam had always had parts and pieces of what she wanted. Things that would compliment her and make her feel whole. She always fell fast and frantically for those who offered a smidgeon of what she lacked, what she missed inside. The high was in what they made her see in herself. Their wanting was her mirror. Lucca wanted passion and spontaneity, while John wanted consistency and stability. But when Liam walked toward her that night in the bar, it was the first time she felt whole within her own skin. He was his own man, and he loved her because she was her own woman. They made a bigger whole. They looked into the mirror together. Now Molly felt like a half for the first time in a long time.

The only way to get through this was to keep going. Molly looked into her rearview and pulled herself back onto the highway. She had a long way to go. Her cell phone beeped. Molly looked down and saw she had voice mail. She pulled over again and dialed her code. Amid laughter and music Molly could barely make out the message.

Baby, it's me. I'm looking at you right now talking to Jay. You're so cute. Anyway, I didn't want to interrupt. I'm going with Zander to go grab his guitar from his pad and come back. We just worked out this great tune.
Yeah, Molly, it is hot.
Dude, give me the phone back. And, Mol, I wanted to ask you if you would marry me before we were so rudely interrupted. Forever me and you, mon petite cheese ball.

Molly stared at the phone. Why did everything have to get so fucked up? Molly kept hitting one on the cell, repeating and repeating and repeating the message. Every word a tiny stab, killing her softly, but unfortunately not in a Roberta Flack kind of way. Molly sat in her car on the shoulder of the highway for hours, just listening to Liam. She was completely unaware of the traffic around her, the subtle changes of the sun, the sounds of a living, breathing city. Molly was entombed within her car: its frame, her coffin; the message, her eulogy. Listening to her dream come true, the words she thought she would never hear, her sixteen-year-old knight on a white horse romance-novel fantasy, her every single eyelash wish, Molly's heart broke.

N
ight descended and Molly pulled into a gas station/diner outside Ely, Nevada. Bobbie's Café looked soft and safe through the dusky haze. Molly filled her tank and pulled into a small parking space at the end of the lot. She grabbed her coat and purse, and walked into the restaurant. The quiet din of lipstick-covered coffee cups, cherry pie plates, and egg-stained silverware was actually a welcome change to the melancholy dirges Molly was playing in the car. She picked up an old
USA Today
, a plastic menu from the counter, and slid into an orange vinyl booth. She flipped off her flops, folded her legs under her, and pondered the traditional fare as she wrapped her hair into a bun. As she read, she realized that she hadn't eaten in more than twenty-four hours.

“Hey, sweetie. I'm Rose,” a flaxen-haired older woman stated. “Can I start you with a cup of coffee?”

“Yeah, that would be great. Can I get some skim milk with that?” Looking up from the menu.

“Sorry, all we have is two percent. Will that be all right?”

“Fine.”

Molly returned to her menu. Usually it wasn't in her genes to lose her appetite when she was depressed. Her whole family chowed down at the first glimpse of sorrow. Maybe it is a Jewish thing to stuff oneself to stave off sadness, filling the belly with something comforting like mashed potatoes or ice cream to ease the situation. Molly's mom, Helen, even made her a big ol' chocolate cake when her first goldfish, Finger, died. She let Molly eat it without a fork, frosting first, until there was more chocolate on Molly than ever was on the cake. As Molly's eyes fixated on fries, a grilled cheese, and a black-and-white shake, she knew the tradition would not be broken as her appetite returned with vengeance. There would be no grief diet for Molly.

Liam was really good at feeding Molly whenever she felt blue. He had this knack for sensing her moods and knowing exactly what would draw her out. Whether it was a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese or imported foie gras from this little market in Beverly Hills, he knew just how to indulge her. Once Liam learned of her sugar cereal deprivation as a small child (only Kix and Cheerios were allowed), he came home from the market with twenty boxes and two gallons of milk.