“It’s been nice to travel with him,” Molly admits. “Most of the time, he and Jett go on their own, and I miss him desperately when he’s gone.”
“You don’t get tired of him?” I ask, mostly teasing.
“Gosh, no. I could spend every waking moment of the rest of my life with him, and it still wouldn’t be enough time.”
Her response resurfaces my inner turmoil from the bus ride.
I can’t think of a single man I’ve dated who I felt that way with—like a piece of me is missing when they’re away. Never a desperate melancholy when they’re gone. Never counting down the minutes until they return.
Well, not until recent days.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask when we reach a lookout.
A bench faces outward, the cliffside covered in pine and eucalyptus trees, varying from sage to evergreen to a bright chartreuse. I revel in the soft breeze creeping above the tree line.
We linger, capturing the memory, before moving farther up the path.
“What’s up?”
I fiddle with the hat’s tattered brim, the frayed edges dragging along my thumb pad. I hesitate, ready to shake my head and dissolve the conversation before it can begin, but in the end, my curiosity wins out.
“Why did you choose Doug?”
I’ve seen few people as happy in their marriage as Molly. And while I know there’s always more that happens when the camera’s off, the genuine joy she radiates with her husband isn’t something she can fake.
“Well, I mean, look at him,” she says, her head snapping up the hill.
Doug is bent over, digging for something in his bag while Jett…supervises? His hands press against his hips like a dad watching a reality television show from behind the couch after swearing up and down that he didn’t care.
“He’s got a great ass,” she continues, “but I don’t think that’s what you’re asking about.”
I shake my head. “I—” I sigh, struggling to get the words out. “I don’t know what to look for to find the right man.”
After Tommy, I was hell-bent on finding someone better, but all I’ve found is disappointment. Half our relationship was spenthoping he would propose and convincing myself I wanted to say yes. Creating hypothetical futures and curating Pinterest boards of engagement rings and wedding venues.
The other half was spent second-guessing and barely treading water while trying to keep him happy. Whatever he wanted, I did. I bent and folded every edge of myself to morph into something he desired, and in the end, I couldn’t remember what shape I had been before we met.
“I was married once before,” Molly admits, her voice low. Cautious. “At first, it was fireworks. Soul-consuming. I thought I’d never find anyone like him again. He hit me for the first time after a year of marriage. I didn’t know what to do—he had apologized, swore it would never happen again. And for a while, that was true. Until it wasn’t. Took me three tries before I worked up the courage to divorce him.”
Tears brim my lashes as Molly shares her story, the strings of my heart twisting and knotting with every word. Her memories revive some of my own. For so long, I lived in denial that Tommy was emotionally abusive. It took even longer to believe I wasn’t at fault for the way he treated me.
The club we belong to—the one neither of us signed up for—shouldn’t exist. Our experiences are different, but I understand, perhaps more than even Doug. Our membership is not a reflection of who we are or our past, but proof there’s hope and love and belonging on the other side.
“When I met Doug, I didn’t know how to trust a man. I knew most men weren’t like my ex-husband, but the trauma ran deep. I almost quit our dancing class when we were partnered. I had the same fireworks with him, and I wasterrified. He knew it, too. It was how he responded to a fear he didn’t understand that told me everything I needed to know about him.”
Molly pauses her steps and faces me fully. “With Doug, I am safe—it’s not the only reason I chose him, but it was the firstof many. He saw what was missing in my life, and he filled the space, bringing light and love. He helped unravel years of fear and trauma without reproach. Whenever he’s around, I know I’m protected and cared for, and that’s what I needed but didn’t know how to ask for.”
The small laugh lines around her eyes crinkle, and her soft brown irises are like glass. “I’m happy you found him,” I say, offering her a smile of my own.
“Me, too.”
I hustle alongside her, one step of hers covering the same distance as two of mine.
“Can I offer you some advice?”
I offer the universal hand wave of “go ahead,” and she clears her throat.Oh, god, no gentle advice begins with the clearing of a throat.
“You spend a lot of time planning, preparing, and anticipating so everything is perfect.” It’s not a question but a statement that slices right to my core. “Let some of that go. You can’t plan for love. It doesn’t fit neatly in checked boxes, and it’s far from perfect. It’s messy and complicated, so trying to hold something so multifaceted to such a high standard is doomed to fail.”
