Tangled Up in Daydreams by Rebecca Bloom

voodoo curse? Under the influence of something? It was as if Liam were a stomach parasite, and Molly couldn’t completely purge him. He was her phantom limb. The ache that constantly throbs. The thing you miss even when you think you have everything you need.
    All the guys before Liam had always had parts and pieces of what she wanted. Things that would compliment her and make her feel whole. She always fell fast and frantically for those who offered a smidgeon of what she lacked, what she missed inside. The high was in what they made her see in herself. Their wanting was her mirror. Lucca wanted passion and spontaneity, while John wanted consistency and stability. But when Liam walked toward her that night in the bar, it was the first time she felt whole within her own skin. He was his own man, and he loved her because she was her own woman. They made a bigger whole. They looked into the mirror together. Now Molly felt like a half for the first time in a long time.
    The only way to get through this was to keep going. Molly looked into her rearview and pulled herself back onto the highway. She had a long way to go. Her cell phone beeped. Molly looked down and saw she had voice mail. She pulled over again and dialed her code. Amid laughter and music Molly could barely make out the message.
    Baby, it’s me. I’m looking at you right now talking to Jay. You’re so cute. Anyway, I didn’t want to interrupt. I’m going with Zander to go grab his guitar from his pad and come back. We just worked out this great tune. Yeah, Molly, it is hot. Dude, give me the phone back. And, Mol, I wanted to ask you if you would marry me before we were so rudely interrupted. Forever me and you, mon petite cheese ball.
    Molly stared at the phone. Why did everything have to get so fucked up? Molly kept hitting one on the cell, repeating and repeating and repeating the message. Every word a tiny stab, killing her softly, but unfortunately not in a Roberta Flack kind of way. Molly sat in her car on the shoulder of the highway for hours, just listening to Liam. She was completely unaware of the traffic around her, the subtle changes of the sun, the sounds of a living, breathing city. Molly was entombed within her car: its frame, her coffin; the message, her eulogy. Listening to her dream come true, the words she thought she would never hear, her sixteen-year-old knight on a white horse romance-novel fantasy, her every single eyelash wish, Molly’s heart broke.

two
    N ight descended and Molly pulled into a gas station/diner outside Ely, Nevada. Bobbie’s Café looked soft and safe through the dusky haze. Molly filled her tank and pulled into a small parking space at the end of the lot. She grabbed her coat and purse, and walked into the restaurant. The quiet din of lipstick-covered coffee cups, cherry pie plates, and egg-stained silverware was actually a welcome change to the melancholy dirges Molly was playing in the car. She picked up an old USA Today , a plastic menu from the counter, and slid into an orange vinyl booth. She flipped off her flops, folded her legs under her, and pondered the traditional fare as she wrapped her hair into a bun. As she read, she realized that she hadn’t eaten in more than twenty-four hours.
    â€œHey, sweetie. I’m Rose,” a flaxen-haired older woman stated. “Can I start you with a cup of coffee?”
    â€œYeah, that would be great. Can I get some skim milk with that?” Looking up from the menu.
    â€œSorry, all we have is two percent. Will that be all right?”
    â€œFine.”
    Molly returned to her menu. Usually it wasn’t in her genes to lose her appetite when she was depressed. Her whole family chowed down at the first glimpse of sorrow. Maybe it is a Jewish thing to stuff oneself to stave off sadness, filling the belly with something comforting like mashed potatoes or ice cream to ease the situation. Molly’s mom, Helen, even made her a big