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“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Anna flirted with literally everyone. She couldn’t help it. Sometimes we joked about the fact that we’d never hooked up for some reason. I just wasn’t into casual hookups. I had a hard time separating sex and relationships. But if that worked for her, then go for it.
Molly blushed, which surprised me, but it was probably just from embarrassment. I gave Anna a look and she just smiled her sweet smile. Freaking Anna.
“So, what are you doing here?” I asked as she picked up her fork to get started on the fruit salad.
“I wanted to see you. I . . . um, hadn’t heard from you so I figured I should take a chance. Because you said you’d think about being friends and I hadn’t heard anything.” Oh, right. That. I was kind of hoping that she would just never contact me again and then I wouldn’t have to deal with it. Ever.
Honestly, I didn’t know if I could handle being friends with her. Between the tingles I got when she hugged me, to the distance and the awkwardness, I just didn’t think my life needed this complication. Sure, it was a loose end, but I just . . . I didn’t think I could do it. I liked my life the way it was. I didn’t feel like shaking it up, thank you very much.
But then I looked up at her and I could just see that she wasn’t going to let this go. Like that time she decided that the two of us were going to put up a hammock in her room instead of her bed. It didn’t go well. There was a lot of plaster damage. I told her before we even started that it wasn’t going to work. And then it didn’t work. Molly hadn’t given up until we tried, though.
“I’m guessing by the look on your face that you’ve thought it over and you don’t want to. That’s . . . that’s fine. I just wanted an answer. That’s all I wanted.” Her voice broke just a little bit, and damn that hurt. She was hurting and now I was hurting. I didn’t want her hurting. Even though I was still smarting from the fact that she hadn’t bothered to contact me for eight years.
“That’s not . . .” I started to say. “I mean . . . I don’t know, Molly. I mean, I guess we can try it? I mean, we were friends then, so who’s to say that we can’t be again?” I guess we at least owed it to our past and to each other to give it a shot. And I knew she wasn’t going to let it go. Even though part of me thought it was going to be a disaster, I was going to say yes. I guess.
I was a big girl and I could put on my big girl panties and be friends with her. Just friends. I could do it. I hoped.
“Really?” she said and the joy that bloomed on her face made me ache. She really did want this. You couldn’t fake an emotion like that and I knew she wouldn’t. She wasn’t some stranger trying to get something out of me. Hopefully next week she wouldn’t ask me for money. I didn’t think she would. This was Molly. The girl that I’d spent so many nights with, cuddled up in the same bed. Who I’d whispered all my childish secrets to. Who I’d shared everything with. Once. Could it work again?
I guess I was going to find out.
I found myself smiling back at her and trying to ignore the way my blood warmed at the look on her face. She wasn’t smiling at me in that way. She was a friend smiling at another friend. Nothing more.
“I should probably get back to work,” I said, glancing back at the bakery. I had cupcakes to frost and pizza dough to roll out.
“Oh, right, of course. You’re working.” She blushed a little and ducked her head. If she got any cuter, I wouldn’t be able to stand it.
“I’ll talk to you later? I’ll be sure to text you back, promise.” She bit her bottom lip and I thought I was going to die. I was seriously catching feels and this was going to be a huge problem.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll talk later.” Now I was the one blushing as I stumbled back to the bakery and tried to screw my head on straight. I mean, at least try not to think about Molly in a non-gay way.
Good luck with that, Daisy.
*^*^*
She waved goodbye again when she was leaving and a few minutes after that there was another text from her asking if I wanted to hang out after I got off work. Since I didn’t have anything better to do (besides watching old episodes of The Great British Bake-Off), I said that I’d meet her at my apartment about an hour after I finished work. So I could shower and make sure I didn’t have a ton of flour under my fingernails.
I rushed home as quickly as I could, not only to shower, but to clean my apartment as fast as I could. “Clean” was probably the wrong word. It was more like cleverly hiding how much of a slob I was. Not that Molly didn’t know that already, but I wanted to give the impression that I’d improved over the years. Or something.
As soon as I had gotten out of the shower, I flew through the apartment and tried to do as much damage control as I could, but there was only so much I could do. After braiding my hair back and throwing on some jeans and a nice shirt, I figured things were good enough.
Of course she was on time, I thought as I went to answer the door. She’d knocked instead of ringing the doorbell, which I was glad about. The doorbell always made me jump. If I knew how to disable the thing, I would.
I took a deep breath before I opened the door, but it didn’t help any. She still knocked me out. Had she gotten prettier by the hour? Because it was seriously ridiculous. She had on skinny black pants and a loose purple top that fell off one shoulder. Like she just came from a fabulous dance party and decided to bless me with her presence.
“Wow, I mean, hey,” I said, wanting to die. I was doing great at this friendship thing.
“Wow yourself,” she said, looking me up and down in a way that made me blush even more. I was totally reading too much into all of our interactions and I had to stop.
“Well, this is it. Come on in,” I said, stepping back. She didn’t reach forward to hug me, and I was grateful. That would have just driven me over the edge and I would have done something awful, like smell her hair.
“Nice,” she said, taking in the small space. I wasn’t much of a decorator, but I’d done my best with stuff my mom had found at yard sales and foisted on me and a lot of crap from the Target discount aisle. It was cute and comfortable, which was all I could really ask for. I didn’t want to live in a place that looked like a Pottery Barn catalog. Plus, it would be a lot more cleaning, which, ew.
“Thanks,” I said, edging toward the kitchen.
“Do you want something to drink?” We hadn’t really made an actual plan for what we’d do tonight so I was kicking myself for not having an itinerary.
“Yeah, sure,” she said, sitting down on the couch. Okay then. Did that mean she wanted water or alcohol? Water was probably a better bet. I didn’t need to get drunk with her. When I got drunk, I got handsy. That definitely wouldn’t be appreciated right now. By her.
