Page 111 of If Not for My Baby
My laundry consists of artifacts from the tour and eachone cuts a little deeper—myCabaretshirt. TheI Enjoy Long Romantic Walks Through the Casinohat Pete and I bought Molly in Atlantic City. The now-crumpled black Pie-grièche dress from Tom that I haven’t washed because I’ve never owned anything that requires dry cleaning. I’d give anything to find his Trinity sweatpants mistakenly packed among my things, but unfortunately Lionel is no hack.
Eurydice croons sorrowfully from my laptop speakers as I press the fabric of the dress into my face and inhale. Mostly it smells like me, which is disappointing, but there’s a whiff of Tom’s cologne or aftershave or something—that post-rain smell. I have to lean into the bed to steady my legs. Scent memory really takes no prisoners.
Pain is not inevitable.If only I could get that in writing.
But maybe that’s the whole point. It’s not a leap of faith if there’s a safety net.
Before I can chicken out I grab my phone and send a text. As my fingers speed across the screen, it’s not the one I anticipate sending, but it feels right and for once I go with that feeling.
Clementine:Hey! Miss you. Hope all is well back home.
Clementine:If it’s not too late, would you mind telling your friend Jacob I’d love to audition?
Clementine:For West Side Story?
I assume it’s too early for her to see—I’ve stayed up until sunrise—but Indy responds before I’ve even sent my next text thanking her in advance.
Indy Russo:Hell yeah! What changed your mind?
Indy Russo:Wow I’m so excited. If you get the gig and move to NYC maybe we can be roomies!
I dodge her first question and respond only to the latter.
Clementine:Are you moving to New York??
Indy Russo:Why not!
I can’t help the smile that breaks across my face. I really do miss her.
Feeling steadier than I had yesterday, I open the unanswered text from Molly. Whatever she has to say to me, I can’t hide from it forever. I’m halfway through typing out a response when Willow howls her little heart out at our front door.
I hurtle from my room, leaving Molly’s text unanswered. Every bone in my body is vibrating with hope that it’s Tom. I’ve seen enough movies to be pumped full of marvelous, marginally sexist, gleeful hope that he’s hopped on a plane and flown to me, ready to sweep me off my feet.
A step from the door I realize I’m not wearing anything worthy of my first reunion with his gorgeous eyes and charming, broad grin but it’s too late and I’m too excited and I swing the door open and come face-to-face with…Molly.
“Molly?”
“Hi. You didn’t answer my text.”
“So you showed up at myhouse?”
Molly tips her dark head of hair over the threshold like she’s afraid to come in. “Yeah. Why is it so weird in here?”
“It’s Dianen— Nevermind. What are you doing here?” It occurs to me to check the time, since I didn’t sleep a wink. The vintage Humpty-Dumpty clock beside the door tells me it’s almost six in the morning. “Am I hallucinating?”
Molly steps inside and wraps her fuzzy black sweatshirt tighter around herself. “No, but I might be. Is that a porcelain zebra?”
“His name is Paul. We won him at an estate auction.”
Molly stares at me from under those thick lashes. “Are you secretly crazy or something?”
“What are you doing in my house at six in the morning?”
“I’ve been staying in Austin, doing some session work with a producer there. I’m on my way to the airport and wanted to see you before I left.”
“What if I wasn’t home?”
“Depressed girls don’t leave the house. Takes one to know one.”
