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Chapter Two
Grace
My big sister, Cari and I have a lot in common. We both have blonde hair and blue eyes. We’re both tall for women, although she’s a bit taller. We’re both allergic to mushrooms, and we’re both jerk magnets.
Seriously—if it drives a Porsche, uses teeth whitening strips and has even considered a spray tan, neither one of us can spend more than fifteen minutes in a public place without attracting the attention of what I call the Jerkus Erectus.
I learned my lesson a long time ago. Learned to give a wide berth to every Chet, Trip and Harry that came sniffing around. And when the wide berth doesn’t work, I’m not above going full-blown honey badger to keep them at bay. Cari, on the other hand, has historically had a hard time quitting the species.
Which is why when she came home last year, all banged up and lower than dirt, I was ready to hop on a bus and find the Jerkus Erectus that did a Savion Glover all over her face and make sure he understands what it means to fuck with a Faraday. When I asked her what happened—what really happened, not the shit she fed our parents—she told me that her ex-boyfriend did it. She emphasized the ex.
I didn’t believe it but as the weeks stretched into months, and she never so much as whispered his name, I started to hope that she finally learned her lesson too.
Started to hope that this thing she had for her nice guy roommate Patrick was real. I even started to believe it.
Then I met him.
I’ll admit he does seem nice.
Open and friendly.
Genuine and kind.
But he’s obviously loaded and looks way too good in a suit to be any of those things. Not to mention the fact that every once in a while, I get the feeling that there’s something else lurking behind that Boy Scout grin and those lickable dimples. In my experience, whatever it is, it’s dangerous.
Molly stepped on his perfectly polished dress shoes while we were getting ready to leave tonight. I was sure he was going to freak out. Start yelling about how much they cost so I jumped in, told her to apologize before he blew his stack. When she looked up at him and offered him a half-hearted shrug and a tepid sorry, he just grinned down at her and gently tapped the toe of his shoe against the top of her tennis shoe and said now we’re even with a wink.
Not gonna lie—even though Patrick Gilroy is raising ever red flag I’ve got, my ovaries exploded a little.
Where the Faraday girls are concerned, exploding ovaries is the mother of all red flags. Because nothing lights our fuse faster than Jerkus Erectus.
As soon as we get to the gallery, I wander away from my parents. Snag a champagne flute from the tray of a passing waiter and find a quiet place to sit because like any mother, single or otherwise, I crave solitude. Need to take it where and when I can. Store it up like a squirrel hordes nuts for the winter, so when my patience is wearing thin because Moll suddenly doesn’t like the crunchy peanut butter I bought her even though she begged for it at the store or because my mom doesn’t approve of my second job, (surprise, you really can’t raise a kid on part-time, minimum wage work) I can break one of them out, my little solitude chestnuts, and crack it open. Use the fleeting moment of sanity if gives me to not completely lose my shit.
I’m rarely alone. If I’m not working at the post office or pulling a cocktail shift at the Slide Inn, Bennet, Ohio’s decidedly more skeezy answer to Gilroy’s, I’m with Molly.
Even now, sitting here in a dress that, even though Cari had the sale’s woman cut the tags off before she gave it to me to try on, I know cost more money than I’ve made in my entire life, while I drink moderately expensive champagne, she’s literally right in front of me. Cari painted her last summer, running through the sprinklers in the backyard, in streaks of bold, bright color. So beautiful, I can’t help but catch my breath.
That’s the crazy thing about being a mom. As insane as Molly makes me, as hard as life is with her arms wrapped around my neck, I’d never want to live any other way. I’d die for her. Kill for her. Do anything I had to, to make things okay for her. I knew it, the moment the nurse placed her in my arms.
Molly is my reason.
The only reason I need.
Checking the title card mounted on the wall, next to the canvas, I’m relieved to see the red sticker stuck to it because, while Cari told me it would be on display for her opening, she promised it wouldn’t be sold.
Summertime with Molly Mae.
“Cute kid.”
Sigh.
Alone time was sweet while it lasted.
Plastering a polite smile across my face I look up and into the face of my first Jerkus Erectus for the evening. First because they always travel in packs. Where he came from there is always more. And to them, no isn’t just a foreign word. It’s a word they’ve never heard before. Not in any language.
“Thank you,” I tell him, taking in the slick hair and blindingly white teeth. The expensive watch. The even more expensive suit. He’s standing next to the bench I’m sitting on, one of his hands dug into his pocket while the other holds a cut-crystal rocks glass. “She’s my daughter.” Usually telling them I have a kid gets them to move along with a nervous smile and a have a good night. Some of the braver ones risk a few minutes of small talk before hitting the eject button and scurrying away to warn their buddies.
Don’t bother—she has a kid.