Whoever it was, it appeared that Molly had been dumped or had landed in Seattle and liked the town.
Rumors had run rampant that there might be a room or even a whole wing dedicated to Molly in the Experience Music Project, and that her first diaphragm was among the museum’s eighty thousand rock artifacts. Jon had never believed any of it, and the opening of the museum last June had proved the rumors false, but even if they had been true, it wouldn’t have changed Jon’s feelings for Molly. She was acerbic, witty, and warm —at least to him. If she wasn’t exactly a friend, she was a long-standing acquaintance and every time he rode by the blowsy, shimmering EMP, twenty-one thousand metallic shingles and the flapping, bright colors made him think of Molly.
“On your own, then, luv?” she asked now, though she knew the answer. Jonathan still p. 56 shook his head as she indicated the empty seat with a jerk of her head. “The usual, then? Adam and Eve on a raft? Or are you going to wait for Little-Miss-Sorry-I’m-Late?” Molly asked sarcastically.
“I’ll wait,” Jonathan replied.
“Loyal, just like my Lab.” Molly left the table briefly, then returned with his favorite drink. “One mochaccino light while she takes you for granted.”
Jon looked up at her. “You really don’t like Tracie, do you?” [“missingquote”]
“Bingo! What insight. That must be why Micro/Con pays you the big bucks.”
“But why?” Jon asked innocently. “She’s so nice.”
“She’s so stupid. Thick as two short planks,” Molly said matter-of-factly as she placed his coffee in front of him, then straightened the place mat and silverware opposite.
“Hey! She is not,” Jonathan answered defensively. “In college, she had a four point oh in everything —except maybe calculus. She graduated with honors.”
“Oh. Summa cum stupid,” Molly said as she turned around, only to see Tracie looking in through the window advertising the Mother’s Day special. “I’ll leave you to it.”
A glowing Tracie entered and hurried toward Jonathan. Of course all the other guys’ eyes followed her, but she acted oblivious to that. Jon sometimes wondered whether or not she knew the effect she had on men. He quickly crumpled the newspaper and tried p. 57 to hide it, pulling out the latest Little Nickel. He smiled when she sat opposite him in the booth.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “Nice try, but I already saw the butcher job. Marcus always cuts my best parts. Could my editor be Edward Scissorhands’ evil twin brother?” Tracie shrugged out of her coat, then picked up the menu. He knew her well enough to know she was upset, but also not to push it now. “I’m starving,” she said, then looked at him as if for the first time. “God, you look beat!”
Jon smiled and shrugged. “Today was my annual Mother’s Day Olympics.”
Tracie moved the menu away from her face. “Oh God! I was so wrapped up in my article and . . . everything. I completely forgot! Did you see all the steps? And how did you squeeze in your actual mom?”
“I saw mine for lunch.”
“Did she like the earrings?” Tracie’s face lit up with hope.
“She loved them!” Jon assured her. “And I took all the credit. But she sends her love. I saw stepmoms one through five before or after.”
“You actually visited the toad who wouldn’t let your dad come to your high school graduation?”
“Oh, Janet’s not so bad.”
Tracie snorted. “You have way too much compassion and too many mothers. I’ve got neither.”
Jon had to smile. “That’s probably why p. 58 we’re such good friends —opposites attract. Did you miss your real mom this Mother’s Day?” Jon asked gently.
“You can’t really miss what you don’t remember.” Tracie repositioned the menu to avoid looking at him. In all the years they’d been friends, she’d never spoken of her mother’s death. Jon felt awkward, and there was a momentary silence
Rumors had run rampant that there might be a room or even a whole wing dedicated to Molly in the Experience Music Project, and that her first diaphragm was among the museum’s eighty thousand rock artifacts. Jon had never believed any of it, and the opening of the museum last June had proved the rumors false, but even if they had been true, it wouldn’t have changed Jon’s feelings for Molly. She was acerbic, witty, and warm —at least to him. If she wasn’t exactly a friend, she was a long-standing acquaintance and every time he rode by the blowsy, shimmering EMP, twenty-one thousand metallic shingles and the flapping, bright colors made him think of Molly.
“On your own, then, luv?” she asked now, though she knew the answer. Jonathan still p. 56 shook his head as she indicated the empty seat with a jerk of her head. “The usual, then? Adam and Eve on a raft? Or are you going to wait for Little-Miss-Sorry-I’m-Late?” Molly asked sarcastically.
“I’ll wait,” Jonathan replied.
“Loyal, just like my Lab.” Molly left the table briefly, then returned with his favorite drink. “One mochaccino light while she takes you for granted.”
Jon looked up at her. “You really don’t like Tracie, do you?” [“missingquote”]
“Bingo! What insight. That must be why Micro/Con pays you the big bucks.”
“But why?” Jon asked innocently. “She’s so nice.”
“She’s so stupid. Thick as two short planks,” Molly said matter-of-factly as she placed his coffee in front of him, then straightened the place mat and silverware opposite.
“Hey! She is not,” Jonathan answered defensively. “In college, she had a four point oh in everything —except maybe calculus. She graduated with honors.”
“Oh. Summa cum stupid,” Molly said as she turned around, only to see Tracie looking in through the window advertising the Mother’s Day special. “I’ll leave you to it.”
A glowing Tracie entered and hurried toward Jonathan. Of course all the other guys’ eyes followed her, but she acted oblivious to that. Jon sometimes wondered whether or not she knew the effect she had on men. He quickly crumpled the newspaper and tried p. 57 to hide it, pulling out the latest Little Nickel. He smiled when she sat opposite him in the booth.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “Nice try, but I already saw the butcher job. Marcus always cuts my best parts. Could my editor be Edward Scissorhands’ evil twin brother?” Tracie shrugged out of her coat, then picked up the menu. He knew her well enough to know she was upset, but also not to push it now. “I’m starving,” she said, then looked at him as if for the first time. “God, you look beat!”
Jon smiled and shrugged. “Today was my annual Mother’s Day Olympics.”
Tracie moved the menu away from her face. “Oh God! I was so wrapped up in my article and . . . everything. I completely forgot! Did you see all the steps? And how did you squeeze in your actual mom?”
“I saw mine for lunch.”
“Did she like the earrings?” Tracie’s face lit up with hope.
“She loved them!” Jon assured her. “And I took all the credit. But she sends her love. I saw stepmoms one through five before or after.”
“You actually visited the toad who wouldn’t let your dad come to your high school graduation?”
“Oh, Janet’s not so bad.”
Tracie snorted. “You have way too much compassion and too many mothers. I’ve got neither.”
Jon had to smile. “That’s probably why p. 58 we’re such good friends —opposites attract. Did you miss your real mom this Mother’s Day?” Jon asked gently.
“You can’t really miss what you don’t remember.” Tracie repositioned the menu to avoid looking at him. In all the years they’d been friends, she’d never spoken of her mother’s death. Jon felt awkward, and there was a momentary silence
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