I groan. "You can't say shit like that in my parent's kitchen. Now I want to tackle you to the ground."
"Maybe I think it's fun to tease you," she sasses me.
I'm about to reach for her when my dad makes his appearance.
"Well look who finally made it home in one piece. Looks like you two got stuck out in the rain." My dad walks into the kitchen wearing jeans and a Ravens fleece, his big frame filling the entire doorway. He walks to the counter and, with is back to us, lifts the coffee carafe out of the coffee maker, gets a mug out of the cabinet, and proceeds to pour himself a cup while we stand there idly.
I take him in, trying to picture what Molly see's.
It's not uncommon for people to be intimidated by him - shit, even I am occasionally.
Finally, my dad turns and faces us, slowly stirring his drink before tapping the coffee mug with the spoon, and setting it in the sink. He eyes Molly critically - one eyebrow crooked - at the same time his giant hand reaches out for a shake. "Brian McGrath. You must be Molly. Can't say we've heard all that much about you." He says this nonchalantly and sips his coffee, watching us over the brim of the mug for our reaction.
What an ass.
"Brian!" My mom admonishes, her soft features flush and she turns a dark shade of pink as she re-enters the kitchen. "What he
means
is we're so glad to finally meet you. By chance, I noticed you at the last home game."
I want to say '
Yeah, everyone noticed because I couldn't stop myself from eye fucking her from the ice
' but I hold my tongue. Molly and I aren't touching, and I find myself wanting to reach for her hand. Not necessarily to protect her from my parents - well, mostly just my dad... my mom's being way cooler than I thought she would be - but to make it easier on her.
Molly's face flushes with a little blush of her own. "Oh, well. That wasn't my choice - I was coerced into going." She elbows me shyly in the ribs and my dad's steely gaze bores holes into her, like he can't believe she'd touch me in front of him.
My dad sets down the coffee mug and crosses his arms, leaning against the granite countertop. "And how does that work? Being coerced into going?"
What is this, the
Spanish Inquisition
?
So, I mine as well tell you this: my dad doesn't want me dating.
Ever.
It's like I mentioned before - he wants me to focus solely on hockey, which I've always done. An occasional lay on the side is fine, as long as it doesn't interfere with my game and he doesn't have to see or hear about it. You know what they say: If you don't see it, does it exist?
Having someone steady or an actual girlfriend?
Not on the list of priorities he's made for me.
So yeah. It's obvious that he's not pleased - and he's acting like someone's pissed in his Cheerios.
Suddenly, the gender roles are reversed and Molly has become the proverbial guy every dad dreads and waits for on their front porch while polishing their shotguns. Thankfully, my mom crosses the room and lays her hand on my dad's arm - I consider this his warning: Mom is the only person who can calm my dad the fuck down.
"Would you kids like to sit? Let's go into the living room."
We follow my parents into the living room and much to my horror, Kendall is perched on the end of the couch with her giant, fat, tabby cat Jazzy in her lap and instead of tuning in to the television, she's watching us with a smirk on her face.
For an eleven year old, she's acting like a nosey teenager, and up until right this second it's never really bothered me. Except at
this
particular moment, she is
bugging
the living
shit
out of me.
And even her damn cat seems like a cocky little asshole.
My mom motions for us to sit on the couch - just to be on the safe side, I sit directly next to Kendall: I have a feeling she's going to be like a loose cannon and those lips aren't going to stay closed for very long. Eventually she's going to want to get her two cents in.
Wearily, I watch her from the corner of my eye as Dad sits directly across from us in his favorite leather chair. Leaning forward, he clasps his hands in front of him and props his elbow on his knees. I can hear him thinking from across the room.
My mom clears her throat and plasters her trademark optimistic smile on her face.
Could this be any more awkward?
MOLLY
"Awkward? That's an understatement..." - Molly
Can someone tell me again why I'm here?
Mr. McGrath, with his big brooding stare, is watching me from his seat - a big leather Lazy Boy recliner that looks like it has seen better days. I would even bet money that Weston's mom has tried to toss it to the curb a few times...
It looks like Mrs. McGrath - Laura - is about to say something, but Kendall interrupts.
"So Molly, what grade are you in? Are you a senior too?" She sits innocently watching me with big doe eyes, and her hand lazily strokes the orange cat that's sleeping on her lap.
"Yes, I'm a Senior too. How about you? What grade are you in Kendall?"
She perks up with importance. "I'm in middle school this year," she says flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Sixth grade. Did you have Mrs. Deerfield for any classes when you were my age?"
"You know, I think I did! She was one of my favorites," I smile shyly as Kendall nods her head enthusiastically.
"Her class is my favorite - but I have this kid Ben that sits behind me and he's always pulling my hair. Last week I finally told him if he didn't stop, my brother would jam a hockey stick so far up his ass he wouldn't walk for a week."
To illustrate her point, Kendall takes her fist and pretends to jam it in the air.
"Kendall!" Weston's mom shrieks loudly, her horrified voice vibrating through the cavernous family room. "
What
did I tell you about using that word?! Where
on earth
did you learn to say things like that?!"
Slowly, all our eyes move to Weston, who is suddenly fidgeting in his seat. He curls his lips in a scowl and throws his hands up. "Fine! It was me!
Someone
needed to teach her to defend herself!"
Mrs. McGrath is bright red. "That is
not
teaching her how to defend herself, young man. That's threatening another person with bodily harm - and a child no less! Telling your sister you'll shove a hockey stick up his bum, indeed!"
"Bum." Kendall mutters sassily, breaking the awkward silence that followed Mrs. McGraths shocked outburst. "So Molly, is my brother as cool at school as he thinks he is?"
"Mom, please make her stop."
"Come on, I need to know! He walks around here like he owns the place. I'm not even allowed in his
room
without permission," Kendall huffs with a pout.
"Well no kidding. The last time you went in there you let Jazzy sleep in my sock drawer while you used all my printer paper to make snowflakes. There were tiny scraps of paper everywhere for weeks."
"Pfft, big deal. It's not like I was in there reading that journal you keep under your mattress."
"Oh my god Kendall, I swear to all that is holy -"
Mr. McGrath, God bless him, clears his throat for the millionth time, and I might be mistaken, but there is a laugh threatening to burst out of him. "All right guys, that's enough," he finally says, the low baritone of his voice silencing everyone else in the room. He gives Kendall a warning look, than shakes his head at Weston before directing his gaze at me. "So. Molly." He pauses. "Matthew Wakefield is your brother, huh?"
Once again, he clasps his hands in front of him and leans forward in his chair. Weston quietly groans beside me, and nudges my knee with his thigh. "Dad..." he warns.
I put my hand on his knee but snatch it back immediately, for Mr. McGrath's eyes follow my movement and narrow. I receive the message loud and clear:
no touching
.
Got it.
"Yes sir. He's finishing his last year at Madison, and he's been drafted."
"Do you suppose that's what my son see's in you?"
Weston shouts "Dad!" at the same time Mrs. McGrath shouts "Brian!"
If I had been drinking liquid at the moment, I'm fairly certain I would have spit it out.
"It's a fair question, I would think. Weston is a senior and has never had an interest in girls because he's focused on his
hockey
career, then suddenly he's "dating" the sister of a future Anaheim Duck? Am I the only one who's not seeing what's wrong with this picture?"
He scratches his chin as if in deep thought.
What a jerk.
Laura McGrath stands abruptly and marches over to her husband though clenched teeth. "Brian sweetheart, can I see you in the kitchen please?" Not waiting for a response, she jerks him up by his arm, stalking out of the living room towing him behind.
"Sheesh, this just got awk...
ward
," Kendall muses. "Bet Molly's gonna think twice about coming back over here, hey Weston."
"Shut
up
Kendall," Weston grits out, his face contorted into a look of disgust. "Come on Molly, let's go get my bike." He hauls me up and turns to his sister ruffling the top of her head affectionately with his fingers. "Tell mom I'll be back in an hour."
WESTON
Kendall was right. That was freaking awkward.
What the fuck was my dad's deal?
We drive in silence for a few miles in Molly's jeep (she let me drive) the rain still coming down, but in a gentle rhythm - more of a delicate mist than a heavy downpour that would be soothing if not for the circumstances surrounding us like a cloud inside the jeep.
I honestly have no idea what to say. "Molly...." is all that comes out. If she were one of my guy friends, I would demand that she shrug it off because my dad is nothing but an overgrown prick and a bully - but she's
not
one of my guy friends.
She's...
Different. I want to say 'special' but that sounds douch-ey, and sappy, and we've already established that I'm neither.
"It's okay. You don't have to say anything," Molly says softly next to me, and now I feel like an even bigger ass. But it's not like I was going to waltz into my parent's kitchen and tell my dad off to defend her: he would have kicked my ass.
"I know but..." My eyes are trained on the road, and I'm trying my damndest to focus on our conversation, but the combination of wet road and the glare from the street lights make it hard to find the yellow line in the middle of the road - I don't want to get us in an accident.
Molly takes a deep breath. "Listen Weston. That totally sucked back there, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to take it personally," another deep breath. "But... don't think for one second that I haven't witnessed that scene before - or some version of it. I mean... Matthew is my brother, and he had girls falling all over him for all the wrong reasons. Still does." Her head is down, and she's fiddling with the zipper pull on her jacket. "Your parents just don't want some gold digger to get their claws into you because they think you're going to be playing Pro someday - or worse, for you to get some sleaze pregnant. No matter who her brother is, so... Yeah. I get it."
"I know you're not a gold digger Molly, and to be honest... I wish you were a bigger sleaze."
Shocked (but probably not as much as she's letting on) Molly gaps at me with her mouth hanging open, and we both burst out laughing.
"I feel bad for my mom - my dad is so out of control with the whole hockey thing. Did you see how pissed she was? He's probably
still
getting his ass chewed out."
I say the words, even as I clutch the wheel out of frustration.
"Yeah, I think she felt bad for me more than anything," Molly says, a wide grin illuminating her face. "That sister of yours is a little stinker."
"You think? Dude, you have no idea how many times that kid has embarrassed the shit out of me. She's a beast."
"Oh yeah? How so?"
I cock my head in thought, trying to come up with a really good Kendal story. "Ah, I've got one. For starters, last year my parents dropped me off at a hockey clinic in Cleveland - are you picturing this? And when we get to the ice rink there were
alll
these coaches standing around outside the locker room. Instead of keeping her mouth shut like a normal 10 year old, Kendall walks up to Jeremy Hartman from Philly and says in this snotty voice '
Just so you know, my brother here says you suck and he's going to totally whoop your guys' butts
' and if my mom hadn't grabbed her and clamped her hand over Kendall's' mouth, she would have kept talking. That was the world's shittiest week. I got checked into the boards every time someone from Philly skated by. Bruised for weeks afterwards."
"No!" Molly gasps.
"Yeah. And don't think for one second that kid didn't know those guys were going to be after me. She isn't an idiot."
"Maybe she's around too many hockey players," Molly laughs, resting her damp hair against the back of the seat, her neck thrown back and exposed. Like a moth to a flame I look over and have the urge to pull the Jeep over just so I can run my fingers across the smooth skin of her cheek. Instead, I clear my throat and focus on the road.
I'm not even going to try examining my feelings for her right now.
Too complicated.
MOLLY
"It just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?" - Jenna
As hard as I tried last night lying in bed, I cannot lose the image of Weston's dad from my head. The image of him leaning forward to glare at me like I was the devils spawn out to corrupt his son.
His golden child.
For the first time in a few weeks, I'm more than a lot confused. Instead of the fluttery butterflies that once resided in my stomach, I've had a knot transplanted there.
I can see Jenna in the lunch line, bouncing on her heels as she retells a story (or at least, I'm going to assume that's what she's doing) to Olivia Wilder. I'm not alone at our lunch table, but I definitely feel like an island with so much weight on my shoulders.