got to talk to her. I don't like that she's spending so much time away from you either, but in her defense, the girl's not a mind reader."
"I know," Molly said again.
She was well aware of her propensity toward passive-aggressiveness. It came from her
mother, from years of watching a good, kind-hearted woman think too little of herself and
allow others to make all her decisions, run her life, and trod all over her like an old doormat in the process. You do that long enough and you don't know how to live any other way, and
Molly had followed obediently in her mother's footsteps.
Now, she found herself breaking out in a cold sweat, dread seeping into her bloodstream
like poison at so much as the thought of a confrontation that might end unpleasantly.
Better to go on miserable but conflict-free, right? She'd had this conversation in her head
so many times, it was practically scripted. She was starting to understand, though. The
reality of what was happening was becoming searingly, painfully clear. If she didn't do
something—and do it soon—her relationship of more than seven years was doomed. That
thought made her stomach churn and bile rise in her throat.
"I love her so much, Ames," she choked out, tears welling in her eyes. "And I miss her. God, I miss her."
"Oh, I know you do, sweetheart." Amy wrapped an arm around Molly's shoulders. Molly leaned into her, a quiet sob escaping from her lips.
"I'm so unhappy." Her voice was no more than a whisper and it broke Amy's heart. She kissed the top of Molly's head and tightened her hold on her dear friend, hoping to convey
her love and support through her arms as she rocked her gently back and forth on the bed.
It was a good half hour before Amy had Molly calm enough and cleaned up enough to head
back downstairs to the others in the group. When they reached the bottom of the stairs
and rounded the corner, they stopped in their tracks. Amy began to laugh and Molly
actually smiled.
Darby saw them first. She swept her arm over the tree like one of the models from The
Price is Right showing a prize. "What do you think?"
"What in the world is that?" Amy asked.
"It's a lesbian Christmas tree," Jo said, an unspoken duh in her voice.
Amy glanced around, seeing the tossed-aside pair of scissors and the scattered remnants
of half a dozen magazines including Curve, The Advocate, and People. The tree held more
than twenty pictures of various women, hanging from branches with bent paperclips. A
string of popcorn circled the entire thing. Amy and Molly moved closer, studying the
"decorations" with big grins on their faces. Angelina Jolie, k.d. lang, Jennifer Beals, Maya Angelou, Mariska Hargitay, Melissa Etheridge, and Ellen DeGeneres all hung dutifully.
Amy's eyes trailed up the tree to the top where Jodie Foster was perched like a queen
looking down at her subjects.
"Jodie was Aunt Jo's addition," Darby informed her.
"I'm not surprised," Amy replied, knowing her wife's age-old love for the actress. She glanced sideways at Molly and almost sighed aloud with relief. Her face was lit up, and the
pain had left her green eyes.
"This is awesome," Molly said and vowed anew to enjoy herself this week, with or without Kristin standing by her side.
Darby inched up next to her. "You okay?" she asked softly as the others were talking.
Molly shot her a look of gratitude. "Yeah. I will be. Thanks."
"Sure." Darby quickly touched Molly's cheek in an affectionate way, not quite a pinch, but more than a stroke. It reminded Molly of the way her grandfather used to touch her face,
with such fondness, and she swallowed down an unexpected lump.
"Hey, Molly." Sophie held out a needle with a long strand of thread and a bowl of raw cranberries. "I saved these in case you wanted to do them. If not, I can."
"No, no, that's great." Molly took the offered items, knowing some busywork to keep her hands moving would help calm her roiling, churning thoughts. "Thanks."
Sophie nodded,
"I know," Molly said again.
She was well aware of her propensity toward passive-aggressiveness. It came from her
mother, from years of watching a good, kind-hearted woman think too little of herself and
allow others to make all her decisions, run her life, and trod all over her like an old doormat in the process. You do that long enough and you don't know how to live any other way, and
Molly had followed obediently in her mother's footsteps.
Now, she found herself breaking out in a cold sweat, dread seeping into her bloodstream
like poison at so much as the thought of a confrontation that might end unpleasantly.
Better to go on miserable but conflict-free, right? She'd had this conversation in her head
so many times, it was practically scripted. She was starting to understand, though. The
reality of what was happening was becoming searingly, painfully clear. If she didn't do
something—and do it soon—her relationship of more than seven years was doomed. That
thought made her stomach churn and bile rise in her throat.
"I love her so much, Ames," she choked out, tears welling in her eyes. "And I miss her. God, I miss her."
"Oh, I know you do, sweetheart." Amy wrapped an arm around Molly's shoulders. Molly leaned into her, a quiet sob escaping from her lips.
"I'm so unhappy." Her voice was no more than a whisper and it broke Amy's heart. She kissed the top of Molly's head and tightened her hold on her dear friend, hoping to convey
her love and support through her arms as she rocked her gently back and forth on the bed.
It was a good half hour before Amy had Molly calm enough and cleaned up enough to head
back downstairs to the others in the group. When they reached the bottom of the stairs
and rounded the corner, they stopped in their tracks. Amy began to laugh and Molly
actually smiled.
Darby saw them first. She swept her arm over the tree like one of the models from The
Price is Right showing a prize. "What do you think?"
"What in the world is that?" Amy asked.
"It's a lesbian Christmas tree," Jo said, an unspoken duh in her voice.
Amy glanced around, seeing the tossed-aside pair of scissors and the scattered remnants
of half a dozen magazines including Curve, The Advocate, and People. The tree held more
than twenty pictures of various women, hanging from branches with bent paperclips. A
string of popcorn circled the entire thing. Amy and Molly moved closer, studying the
"decorations" with big grins on their faces. Angelina Jolie, k.d. lang, Jennifer Beals, Maya Angelou, Mariska Hargitay, Melissa Etheridge, and Ellen DeGeneres all hung dutifully.
Amy's eyes trailed up the tree to the top where Jodie Foster was perched like a queen
looking down at her subjects.
"Jodie was Aunt Jo's addition," Darby informed her.
"I'm not surprised," Amy replied, knowing her wife's age-old love for the actress. She glanced sideways at Molly and almost sighed aloud with relief. Her face was lit up, and the
pain had left her green eyes.
"This is awesome," Molly said and vowed anew to enjoy herself this week, with or without Kristin standing by her side.
Darby inched up next to her. "You okay?" she asked softly as the others were talking.
Molly shot her a look of gratitude. "Yeah. I will be. Thanks."
"Sure." Darby quickly touched Molly's cheek in an affectionate way, not quite a pinch, but more than a stroke. It reminded Molly of the way her grandfather used to touch her face,
with such fondness, and she swallowed down an unexpected lump.
"Hey, Molly." Sophie held out a needle with a long strand of thread and a bowl of raw cranberries. "I saved these in case you wanted to do them. If not, I can."
"No, no, that's great." Molly took the offered items, knowing some busywork to keep her hands moving would help calm her roiling, churning thoughts. "Thanks."
Sophie nodded,
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