Page 65 of Love in the Lab
It’s astounding how quickly I’ve fallen for Molly. I’ve always recognized her beauty and intelligence; now I also know how funny she is, how nurturing, how bold and creative. When I’m with her, I experience everything in dazzling saturation; ordinary scenes are more vibrant and resonant. Before we started working together, my life felt full and satisfying. I didn’t realize anything was missing. Now that I know what life is like with her beside me, I can never go back to the sensory deprivation of life without her.
By the end of the parade, Molly feels confident enough to leave my arms. She still stays close to my side, our elbows linked. We laugh and dance, grabbing for the candy and other swag falling from above our heads. Her eyes light up at the impressively designed Krewe of Boo! float showcasing a spooky skull the size of a small car, flanked by dancers in extravagant costumes.
Tonight, I’m falling in love with the parade all over again, because watching Molly experience it is a blast of dopamine like I’ve never felt before.
After the last of the festivities roll past us and the crowds of people start to disperse in every direction, Molly and I walk back to her apartment hand-in-hand. We don’t have far to go, and when we get there, I don’t want to leave.
Standing on the sidewalk next to my truck, I scratch my chin. “Do you think your sister is home yet?”
“I doubt it. They were watching the parade closer to Jackson Square, so even if they were coming straight home afterward, it would take them a while. And I’m sure they aren’t coming straight home.”
I raise my eyebrows and give her an expectant look.
She knows exactly what I’m suggesting. She puffs out a breath. “I’m not inviting you up, Jonathan. Not tonight.”
I consider exaggerating a pout, making her laugh, but I need her to see how serious I am about her, that I’m not just a prankster.
So instead, I tilt her chin up until her eyes meet mine. “I don’t want to say goodnight.”
“Me neither,” she whispers. “We could sit in your truck and talk for a while.”
I unlock the doors, and we climb in, settling into the seats.
“What did you think of the parade?” I ask.
“It was amazing. So much fun. No wonder you love Halloween.”
I chuckle. “And other reasons, too. How about you? I know you’re not a big fan of Halloween. Does that mean you’re one of those Christmas-obsessed people?”
Molly smirks and shifts her gaze from side to side. “Maybe,” she says, elongating the word.
“What’s your favorite thing about Christmas?”
Before she can answer, the cab light clicks off, dropping us into a murky darkness. Beams from the streetlights shine in through the windows, but the half-light feels cozy and private.
“My favorite thing about Christmas. Hmm … I’d have to say opening my stocking on Christmas morning.”
“What do you mean, opening your stocking?”
“Well, my family’s rule for Christmas morning was that when me and my sisters woke up, we weren’t allowed to open gifts right away. We had to wait for our parents to get up, and then we opened presents one at a time. That always felt like a lot of pressure to me. Everyone was watching me, rushing me, especially if one of my sisters was eager to open their next present.” She grimaces. “Opening presents felt like a performance. As excited as I was for whatever toys Santabrought, I wished I didn’t have to experience them with an audience.”
I bob my head. “That makes sense, though I would have guessed you would like the orderly, one-at-a-time method better than the chaotic mass-unwrapping method.” I grin. “We’re a chaos family.”
She scoffs. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“So, you didn’t like all eyes on you while you opened your presents, but you did like opening your stocking?”
“Yes. The stocking was different. That we were allowed to open as soon as we came downstairs, no waiting for our parents or going one at a time. My parents figured it would keep us occupied until they woke up. Anyway, even when all three of us came downstairs at the same time, my sisters were so preoccupied looking through their own stockings that they didn’t pay me any attention as I opened mine. I was free to pull out each item at my own pace, and I stretched it out as long as I could. It felt peaceful and … magical.”
I reach over the center console and find her hand, interlacing our fingers. I remember magical Christmases. When I was really young, Christmaswasmagical and peaceful—my parents and sister and I would be together all day, playing with our new toys and eating sweets. Then we’d go to my grandmother’s house for a big family Christmas dinner. But after my mom left and I was angry with the world and taking it out on my dad, the day always felt haunted with thoughts of what I didn’t have.
Some of this must be showing on my face because Molly asks, “Do you not like Christmas?”
I squeeze her hand. “I … do. I mean, sure I do. But Christmas is such a family-oriented holiday, and after my parents divorced, I had a tough time feeling like I still had a family. My mom was gone; I was angry with my dad. I think that’s why I gravitatedtoward Halloween—it’s a friend holiday, you know? Not a lot of pressure to go home and see the family.”
Molly shifts in her seat and leans closer to me. Her eyebrows are pinched together, creasing her forehead. “I’ve noticed…” She hesitates before continuing. “I’ve noticed that you don’t talk about your dad much. When he calls, you send it to voicemail. I feel like I know a lot about your mom and your sister, your nieces, and even your brother-in-law, but not your dad.”
My chest tightens and my instinct is to deflect, make a joke or flippant remark and move the conversation along. I almost do, until I feel Molly’s hand caress my shoulder, squeezing with the perfect amount of pressure to unfurl the tension I’m holding in my muscles. She moves her hand to the back of my neck and runs her fingers through the hair at the nape.
