Dave’s finger goes up to his lips and he shakes his head in what I gather is a parental gesture for “don’t mention ice cream.”
Alyssa flashes him a thumbs-up.
“See you at the wedding?” I ask.
“See you tomorrow, doll,” Mr. Rubenstein says.
“See you tomorrow, doll,” Jack echoes.
Ryland watches them walk away.
“Stop staring,” I hiss at him.
“You mean the way Seth was staring at you?”
The fact that they noticed makes me happy.
“Doth my eyes deceive or did you just attempt to charm a child?” Alyssa asks.
“I think she was trying to charm his uncle,” Ryland says dryly.
I consider how to respond to this. Then I laugh. “Do you think it worked?”
CHAPTER 25 Seth
“What a knockout,” my dad exclaims as soon as Molly walks away. “Is she single, Sethie?”
“You recall she broke his heart and sent him reeling into a yearslong depression, right Dad?” Dave asks.
“Yes, but is she single?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I haven’t seen her in years.”
This is, of course, a lie. But being harassed by my parents on potential romantic prospects is a pastime I try to avoid.
“Text Jonnie. See if Molly’s bringing a date to the wedding,” my mom says.
In fact, I would like to text Jon to ask why he didn’t tell me she was coming. If he had, I might be mentally prepared. Instead, I feel unsteady. (Emotionally, that is. I’m not weaving around on the street. Unlike many of the tourists currently stumbling out of the Daiquiri Deck.)
“Leave him alone, Ma,” Dave says.
“Can we go swimming when we get home?” Max asks.
“It’s late,” Clara says. “You can swim all day tomorrow.”
“With Uncle Seth?”
Clara gives me a wry smile. “You’ll have to ask Uncle Seth about that.”
“Please, Uncle Seth?” Max asks.
“Sure,” I say. It is, after all, too hot here to do anything except lounge in a pool. I love Florida weather, but even I have my limits when it comes to ninety degrees with 100 percent humidity. “We have to swim first thing though, guys, because the adults have a wedding to get to.”
“Early morning swim with these monsters?” Dave asks. “You know they wake up at six.”
“Duty calls,” I say.
“He said doody!” Jack screeches.
I don’t get much sleep.
The boys take “first thing in the morning” literally. They are in my room jumping all over me by six fifteen. It is only thanks to Clara’s maternal negotiation skills that I secure time to drink coffee and do a ten-minute meditation before putting on my trunks and cannonballing into a morning of mayhem.
The boys are a blast, if you don’t mind physical violence. All squirt guns and pool noodle fights and attempts at underwater “shark attacks” that result in surprise dunkings. I attempt to engage them in a wholesome game of Marco Polo, but they’re having none of it. They want me to throw them up into the air instead. I oblige, and it gives me a moment of nostalgia.
Molly, chasing me around Gloria and Emily’s pool almost two years ago. Molly, impulsively asking me to go to Joshua Tree.
Molly, showing me her most vulnerable self.
I wonder if she still thinks of me.
I detach myself from the boys and go inside to shower and catch up on some work emails before it’s time to get dressed. At two thirty I put on the linen suit Jon and Kevin have required for this event and gather with my family to meet the chauffeured SUV we’ve rented to squire us to and from the wedding. We arrive at the venue—an opulent, pink stucco 1920s mansion built to look like a Venetian palazzo, right on the bay.
We walk over a marble terrace and down into the gardens, which are surrounded by massive, knotty banyan trees protruding from the earth like self-contained jungles.
A young woman hands out feathered, Jazz Age–style fans, which we cool ourselves with as we mill about in the crowd. I spot Marian sitting near the front with Javier.
And then, behind him, I see Molly arriving with Alyssa and Ryland. She’s in a gold-beaded flapper dress. Jon and Kevin requested we wear white linen or gold Roaring Twenties attire, and no one here has done it better than Molly. I’ve never seen her so dressed up, or looking so elegant.
