"Alex." Mollie's voice is quiet.
"She might not want to be at the house, it's fine, I can?—"
"Alex." Her hand finds my arm. I keep my eyes on the road. "It’s going to be fine."
My mom has gone very still in the back seat. Mollie turns and touches her gently. “Are you okay, Amanda? Is there anything we can do to make you feel better?”
My mom sniffs and wipes her eyes. “No. You can’t fix any of this.”
“Are you sure? Just say the word.”
“Aren’t you sweet.” Mom shakes her head. “Just ignore me. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. You just let us know if that changes.”
We drive home in silence. My mom has her head against the window. Turning on soft jazz, I don't try to fill the quiet. I just let it fill the car.
Mollie puts her hand on my knee and that seems like enough.
When we get back to the house, my mom squeezes both our hands in the entryway and says goodnight in a voice that's mostly held together. Then shedisappears down the hall to the guest room. I hear the door click shut.
I stand in the kitchen and stare out at the lake. The water is dark and still, the dock lights playing on the surface. Gordie wanders over and leans against my leg. I put my hand on his head.
“Good boy.” He licks my hand.
Mollie doesn't say anything, just leans into my side the way she does, her shoulder against my arm, her head tipping toward my shoulder.
We stand like that for a while.
"Your mom’s going to be okay," Mollie says eventually.
"I know." I do know. My mom is resilient in ways that took me years to understand. "It's just hard to watch."
"Yeah." She's quiet for a moment. "You went straight into fix-it mode in the car."
"I always do."
"I noticed." She peeks up at me. "Who does that for you when you need it?"
I look down at her. She's watching the lake, her profile soft in the low light, and she's not asking to make a point. She's genuinely asking.
"Nobody, usually.”
She nods slowly. "That's what I figured."
I put my arm around her. She tucks herself against me and I hold on a little tighter than I need to. Gordie sighs heavily and lies down on my feet.
"Mollie." Her name comes out rougher than I intend.
She tilts her face up. "Yeah?"
There are about six things I want to say, bubbling up inside my chest, pressing to spill out of my mouth. The thing is, I don't know how to say any of them. Mostly, I think I might be in love with her.
The thought terrifies me in a way that has nothing to do with Beck or the team or any of the reasons I gave myself for keeping her at arm's length.
"Tonight meant a lot," I say instead. "Having you there."
Her expression does something complicated and gentle. "I know it did."
