Matt put on his concerned look. “We had plans, right? I thought I’d mentioned—”
Molly said, “You’re forty-five minutes early. And where’s the pizza you said you’d bring?”
He shrugged and gave her his pre-prepped I’d-like-to-thank-the-academy smile. Matt easily could have done what he’d told her he’d do, but why have integrity? He’d hated himself so well for over thirty years already. Why should Matt now become a decent human being and make it harder to do one of the few things at which he truly excelled? “Oh, I thought I’d get delivery. We can discuss toppings, then I’ll order.”
Really, he was buying time. Matt wanted a chance to talk, hang out. Make it like “old times.” They had a child to consider, after all. Regardless of Matt’s methods, his motives were good.
But if you keep pretending your relationship is a game, it will remain a match you can never win.
Matt looked over his shoulder. The thought had been so out-of-nowhere; it was like someone whispered it in his ear. But that was crazy.
“Dude. What are you looking at?” Molly.
He looked back at her.
She looked concerned, and that was never good.
He broke out his everything’s-just-fine smile. “Oh, I just thought I saw…but never mind. It’s not important. This night is about you and me and our baby and our future.”
“Seriously, Matthew, have you started taking crack? Because if this is too much stress for you…”
Matt laughed, and it practically sounded real.
If Molly had been even half a shade less kind and forgiving than she was, she wouldn’t have let him over the threshold. But she was Molly, so she took a deep breath, released her grip on the door, and stepped to the side.
The old door creaked as it drifted open to let him into the flat. By the time Matt closed and locked it, she was already halfway up the stairs. He enjoyed the view for a sec, kicked himself mentally—again—for his rudeness and perversity, and followed her.
In Molly’s living room, she snapped her laptop shut with a little more force than was necessary and bent to gather papers which were scattered across her futon.
Matt’s stomach knotted, and just like that the game was over for him. “You were working.”
Molly sighed. “It’s research for a job, yeah. I’m trying to save a little extra money for the baby.”
“I’m sorry, Mol. You know what, just ignore me. Go ahead and work. I’ll just get some pizza ordered then sit here quietly.”
“But sitting quietly can be so loud when someone doesn’t have anything to do.”
He shrugged and pulled a linty, rumpled bit of paper out of his shirt pocket. “I’ve got notes for a routine, so…”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” As if he wasn’t the one making an uninvited inconvenience on her.
“Thanks, Matt. I appreciate it.” Molly collapsed onto the sofa with a stack of papers in hand.
“No problem at all.” He settled next to her. But not too close. “Real quick, though, pepperoni or sausage?” Matt didn’t ask her which pizzeria; he already knew her favorite.
She smirked. “Chicken supreme. Cheesy garlic bread, too, and a small salad. Large salad, if you want to share the veg, because the small is all mine. Don’t go cheap on me.”
Matt’s face formed a genuine smile for the first time since that night. “They’ve got bite-size brownies now too. They come with this amazing, decadent fudge dipping sauce. I’ll get you an order of those.”
“If you want any, get two orders.”
He laughed. “How about three?”
She looked down at the top sheet of research material. “You’re speaking my language, dah-ling.” Sweets were Molly’s one major weakness.
Well, aside from Matthew himself, anyway.
Don’t go cheap on her, indeed, you fool. She’s having your baby. Matt’s eyes strayed to her lower belly.
Molly squeaked lines from an assortment of colorful highlighters across her papers and scribbled things in a yellow steno notebook, too absorbed in her work to notice his interest.
Get it together. Without a hint of grace, Matt yanked his phone from the pocket of his jeans and hurried to place their dinner order. Prayed she wouldn’t notice the further delay caused by his distraction.
Then he sat. Matt pretended to make further notes on the airport bar napkin on which he’d collected only the barest hints of a future comedy bit, but he couldn’t focus on anything but Molly. She chewed on her bottom lip from time to time, and his brain spiraled off into all the wrong places. Even rushed, Molly’s penmanship was lovely. A couple times, she even giggled at whatever she read in her various articles and photocopies.
After a while, he asked, “You’re not writing about some other comedian, are you?” Matt hated the hint of random, unjustified jealousy in his tone.
She looked up at him, surprised. “No, it’s something entirely different. Why do you ask?”
“You keep on laughing to yourself. Why?”
Molly smiled, sighed. “It’s silly.”
“Tell me.”
“No. You wouldn’t get it. No one would.”
“You can be silly with me.” Geez, their friendship hadn’t all been Matt venting his troubles on her, had it? His fantasy life with Molly took sorting through, and was all lovely. But the ugly truth? He couldn’t remember much of their actual relationship besides Molly listening to him complain and, well, the night they had sex.
She hesitated then said, “Ombudsman.”
“What?” Matt pursed his lips, knit his brow.
“Just the word. It sounds funny to me. I don’t know why, but it always makes me smile.”
Oh, man. She is so perfect. “Okay.”
“Weird, right?”
“Maybe, but it’s still legit. I do wonder, though, how the Lansing arts and entertainment scene brings up that particular jewel of the English language.”
Molly looked down at her papers again. “The regular gig barely pays the normal bills. You know that. For extra income, I’ve had to branch out.”
She wasn’t smiling now, and Matt felt sick. Again. Molly was doing work she didn’t like to feed his baby, and he, 2000 miles away, had given barely a thought for what the whole thing would cost her. Matt wanted to call himself every bad name but, for once, resisted the urge.
“Effluvium,” he blurted.
A short laugh bounced out of Molly’s throat. “What?”
“It’s a funny word. Don’t you think?”
She grinned. For half a second he even loved himself and his skill for making people laugh. People—especially Molly. Maybe only her.
“That’s a great one, because it’s funny but also disgusting, because of the definition.”
Matt tilted his head to the side. “Is it? I don’t know what it means.”
She laughed. “It’s your word.”
“Even so.”
“It’s like a bad smell in the air. Like of decay or sewage or something.”
He laughed. “Bang on! That does make it better.”
Molly nodded, pursed her lips, thought for a second. “Fandango.” She carefully emphasized each syllable.