He loved it. “Blunderbuss. And I happen to know it’s, like, an old type of gun.”
Giggles like music. “Well, good for you. You get the gold star then.”
Winner! But they weren’t ending this yet. “Do you have any more?”
“Canoodle.”
“Indeed.” Matt’d love to canoodle with her, but it would be beyond lame of him to say so at the mo. “Discombobulated.”
“Is that how the definitions make you feel?”
No, it’s how you make me feel. Matthew was right giggling now, like a schoolboy at a fart joke.
“Shenanigans!” Molly announced.
“Oh, I love that word.”
“It’s a good one. But go ahead; it’s your turn.”
“Hmm…bubbles.”
“Well played. Simple and perfect. How about frittata?”
He laughed and grimaced at the same time. “It sounds funny, but I have no clue about it.”
“It’s a sort of Italian omelet.”
“Omelet’s a funny word.”
“Or maybe it’s more like a quiche without a crust.”
“All French food words are funny. Omelet, quiche, bouillabaisse, escargot, egouts.”
Molly grimaced. “That last one is not food.”
“Isn’t it?”
“It means ‘sewers.’”
“Does it? I thought you took Japanese in school. How do you possibly know that?”
“Laura learned French, and Mom and Dad took us to Paris to celebrate her high school graduation. My sister tried to talk Mom into going to the Musée des Egouts de Paris. Said it would be an authentic Parisian experience.”
“Wait…Museum of Sewers?”
“Yup.”
Matt chuckled. Even on the mild acquaintance he shared with Molly’s mother, she struck him as reserved and appearances-obsessed. Mrs. Cooper’s uptight, defensive personality had trained Molly from the womb to be susceptible to emotional manipulation. And Matt took advantage of that vulnerability, because he had all the moral fiber of a horse’s backend…or what comes out of one. “I’m guessing the Cooper family Museum of Sewers visit didn’t happen.”
“Of course not. Laura knew it was a lost cause from the beginning. I think she just brought it up to make my mother feel uncomfortable.”
“No offense, but that’s kind of Laura’s whole thing with your mother.”
Molly nodded. “It’s kind of Laura’s whole thing with…well, a lot of people.”
“Anyone she doesn’t like. Including me.”
“I mean…I love my sister, but, yeah. You’re definitely one of the people whose buttons she tries to push.”
He deserved it, really. As much as Matt liked to tell himself differently, he didn’t always have Molly’s best interests in mind when he did things with her. Okay, new topic. “So did you go to Tokyo to celebrate your high school graduation then?”
Molly shook her head. “No. Traverse City.”
“Huh? Isn’t that still in Michigan?”
“Younger child syndrome, you know.”
“I don’t, of course. Only child and all.” Besides, with his da gone, they’d been poor. Matt’s whole life it seemed, his mum tried to save up to send him to Sydney to meet his dad’s parents. Only, her car would break down or Matt’d wear holes through the soles of his trainers. Iris never quite made it. When Matt was about thirteen, his grandparents died within a couple months of each other. He’d gotten a used surfboard instead of a trip and an after-school job down at their local market. Matt saved his own money for a trip…out of the country.
He still hadn’t been to Sydney.
He’d gone all over America, though. Not, however, to Traverse City. Matt looked up at Molly.
She watched him closely, her brow wrinkled. “You okay? What are you thinking?”
He dodged her question. Molly knew enough about his sad childhood. “I hope I wouldn’t do that to my kids, though. I wouldn’t want to make a bigger deal of one than the others. I mean, if I had another sprog or two after this one. Which will never, ever happen, so me banging on like this means bugger-all.” Matt was staring at Molly’s lower abdomen. Completely inappropriate. Would he ever get over the fact she was pregnant to him? Before she gave birth even? Matt exhaled and forced himself to make eye contact with Molly. “Crap. I’ve made it awkward again, haven’t I?”
Molly shrugged. “Mukluk.”
“Mishmash,” he replied.
“Pootle.”
Matt paused. “I think it’s pronounced, ‘puddle.’”
“No, that’s good one, too, but I don’t mean puddle. I mean pootle.”
“Oh, like the dog.”
“No, it has a ‘t’ instead of a ‘d.’”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “That can’t be an actual word.”
“It is. You know, ‘pootle around.’”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s like ‘dillydally’ or ‘lollygag.’”
“You’re so not speaking English right now.”
Molly snickered. “Like ‘frolic’ or ‘cavort,’ only less energetic.”
“You, my girl, have quite the imagination.”
“I do, but—”
Then Matt made a daft face at her—one he could never recreate later if he tried. Molly fell into helpless, breathless laughter, and Matt followed her, like he would follow her anywhere else. Into hell if he had to, because Molly was the only person in the whole universe with whom he could laugh this hard—or at all—about nothing, in fact, at all.
When they calmed, though, when they caught their breath, when silence once again reigned over her stolen study time, Matt felt instantly sad.
Right. He frowned at her. “It wasn’t all bad, was it?”
“Mattie…what?”
“I mean, it wasn’t all me crapping on you, dumping all my mental rubbish on your shoulders.” He shrugged, as if trying to drop the burden away. “We did have fun, too, didn’t we? Sometimes?”
“Yeah. Lots. Don’t you remember?”
“I try, but, no, not usually.”
“Oh, honey. Yes.” Molly smiled, but it was sad. “You’ve always been the best at making me laugh. Always, always.”
“In spite of everything? It was good, too? Being my friend?”
“So good. The fun and laughter felt like forever. You thought of me, too, like no one else ever cared to do. I loved being friends with you.”
A great enough speech, but he noticed something about it. “Oi. Past tense, though. All past.”
Molly reached for him, but stopped herself from touching him. “I’m so sorry.”
The doorbell rang.
Hallelujah. I love you, Pizza Man.
Not because Matt had any appetite left. He didn’t. At all. But because now, he didn’t have to reply.
∞
White-knuckled, sweaty hands. Molly took a deep breath and pried them from the steering wheel. She folded them in her lap instead. “Dear God,” a bare whisper, “help me today.”