The day after Mike’s birthday, he wakes to find a note from the mysterious woman with whom he apparently shared quite a night. Delighted by the memories, he’s only missing one happy element–her name. He hopes Molly will be able to supply it, but isn’t sure she will.
“Parents who play favorites, should be lined up and shot—twice! I never played favorites with my kids,” Molly said.
I knew, from everything her kids told me, that she spoke the truth. They none of them ever complained that their mom played favorites. They loved her above and beyond the call of motherhood. I had to admire all of them for that and wished I could say the same.
“I’ve got coffee and your favorite strudel here.” She dangled the lure of food, knowing I had nothing in my apartment worth eating.
“I’ll be right over!” I grabbed my wallet and keys.
Molly met me at the door with a mug of coffee fixed just the way I liked it. She had a cinnamon apple strudel on the counter, fresh from the oven. She cut a huge slab and put it on a plate.
“You’re awfully chipper this morning. The last few months you’ve been dragging around like a lame hound dog. I thought we were gonna have to haul you out and shoot you.”
“I feel great,” I said through a mouthful of food.
“Not hungover?”
“Amazingly not. I can’t remember a time I drank that much.”
She looked slightly tight lipped and disapproving. I could see that she wanted to say something, but didn’t want to spoil my mood. I set down my fork and mug, folding my hands in front of me.
“Look Molly. I know you don’t approve of how I comported myself toward the end of the party. I don’t drink that much very often. I can’t remember the last time I was that drunk. And . . . well . . . It’s been awhile since I broke up with my last girlfriend. I’m not trying to justify my behavior. But I apologize if I offended you.”
“Did you enjoy yourself?” She raised a disapproving eyebrow, her nostrils tight.
I blushed like crazy. I could feel it burning my neck and ears. “Yeah. . . . Oh, yeah.” I concentrated heavily on my strudel.
Molly chuckled, patting my hand. “Honey, you’re not my son and you’re not a kid. I may not approve per se, but you sure needed that. You should have brought her over for breakfast.”
“She left before I woke up. She had to get to work. She left me a note.”
“I see. Will you be seeing her again?”
I looked uncomfortable. I know I did, cause I felt damn uncomfortable. “Well, there’s this one tiny problem.”
Her eyes grew wide and she looked at me, appalled. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember who it was?”
I didn’t say anything, my sheepish expression saying everything. She sniffed again, tossing her head.
“I was pretty drunk, Molly. Normally, I don’t do anything with a woman I can’t identify. Give a guy a hand, would you? Tell me who rocked my world?”
Pursed lips and pinched nostrils told me she wasn’t gonna give it up.
“Please! I’d like to see her again. Not just to fuck. . . . Sorry. Fool around. I’d like to take her to dinner, romance her a little. Kind of like a thank you. . . . Okay, that sounded different in my mind.”
She moved the rest of the strudel away from me, covering it in foil. I was in deep shit and didn’t exactly know how to get myself out.
“If you can’t remember something that important, why should I help you? I think you should pay for your mistake.”
“Molly, that’s so not fair.”
“Obviously she remembers you!”
“She woke up in my bed with me sleeping next to her. Of course she knows who I am. I woke up to a note with no name. She had dark hair, that much I remember. She was hot and all kinds of sexy and fun—a lot of fun. If I’d known how much fun, I’d have asked her out a long time ago.”
Molly didn’t say anything. She refused to tell me, vowing it was a secret she might just take to her grave. We collected Jesse and drove to the grocery store. She sensed something wrong between us and asked. I told her, in no uncertain terms, what the problem was.
“So, he waxed his willie and you’re mad at him? Molly Harper, you sure are a contradiction. You were hoping the boy would find a nice girl at the party. We talked about it.”
© Dellani Oakes 2014
