Can't Look Away(31)
“Right. Shit.” Jake’s voice was gravelly and pained. “I’m so sorry—no. I’ll email her this afternoon, I promise. We’re going to a lunch now with some friends of Jerry’s. I’ll do it after that.”
But Jake hadn’t done it after that; he didn’t do it at all. Molly had never been overly brash or confrontational, so she seethed silently, in the privacy of her own mind. It was something Liz had always told her she needed to work on. Throughout the rest of January, she taught her morning classes at Bhakti, miserable as she braved the cold during the walk back and forth from the apartment, her mind spinning between missing Jake and resenting Jake, the feelings clashing and clawing at each other inside her heart, an ever-present gnawing in her stomach. The Jake she’d fallen in love with had her best interests at heart; to say he’d always gone the extra mile for her was an understatement. Molly wondered if she’d been fooled, duped, but then her love for him would bubble up and she’d be hit with a paralyzing mixture of fear and longing.
Her breaking point came the afternoon of January 26. It had been the longest month of Molly’s life, the Jake-less days trickling by—languid, interminable. As agonized as she’d been over their relationship, she still counted the minutes until he was back in New York, back in her arms. Their long-distance dynamic had been terrible—unacceptable, she knew—but once he was back, they would fix it. The old Jake—the adoring, reliable Jake, the one who buoyed her—was still in there, and he’d be home in less than a week.
It was a Sunday, and Molly was catching up on some emails when a new message from [email protected] appeared in her inbox. Molly didn’t recognize the address, and she didn’t know anyone named Lenore Smith.
There was no text accompanying the email, just a single photo attachment, which Molly double-clicked. The image came to life, filling her computer screen.
Molly’s breath stopped in her throat; she felt the color drain from her face as an overwhelming déjà vu took hold. The photo showed Jake kissing a girl—a girl who wasn’t Molly. She couldn’t make out the details of her face, but she wore a fitted magenta minidress, and her arms were wrapped around Jake’s neck, pulling him close, their lips pressed together in the middle of what looked like the dance floor of a grimy club. The girl’s hair was so blond it appeared almost white, a detail that told Molly it couldn’t be Maxine. A strange part of her expected to feel a shred of relief over this, but the horror was too all-encompassing.
Molly’s heart dropped into her gut. She felt too sick to move. Her hands trembled as she slapped her laptop shut and stared at the wall in front of her, her eyes fixed to the space beside Jake’s Led Zeppelin poster. She didn’t know how much time went by before she made her way into the bathroom and threw up.
Liz told her to dump him; Nina told her to talk to him before she jumped to any conclusions; Everly came over with a bottle of Tito’s and held Molly while she sobbed on the couch.
Molly waited until Jake got home to confront him. Nina said it was important to see the look in his eyes when she did.
When he walked in the door the following Saturday, he carried a bouquet of creamy white roses. Molly’s favorite. The last she’d heard from him was a five-minute phone call three nights before. The look on his face was oblivious, and it ripped through Molly’s heart. She hated what a relief it was to see him, at the same time white-hot rage pumped through her veins. Standing in front of him, taking in the familiar sight of his olive skin and pale blue gaze, she almost couldn’t believe how much had changed in her own mind. She felt the weight of all those nights and days without him, the countless phone checks and stomach flips and the worry that wrapped itself around her like a cobra, suffocating. And finally, the photo. The photo that was a million knives spearing her heart, more incontrovertible proof that Jake was a cheater.
Now she had to know if he was a liar, too.
“Did you cheat on me?” Molly locked on Jake’s eyes as she spoke; she watched his smile drop. Tears dripped down her face, and suddenly, she couldn’t support her own legs.
She felt her body crumple in the weight of Jake’s arms; she inhaled the smell of the roses against his jacket as the sobs escaped from her body, giant and racking.
Jake lowered her onto the couch, collapsing beside her.
“No.” His voice was far away in between her sobs. “But a random fucking girl walked up to me and kissed me at a club, out of nowhere. She literally just came up to me and started kissing me. I pushed her off, it was two seconds, I barely even got a good look at her. I was so angry, Molly. Then she just disappeared, and I never saw her again. It was last weekend—I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have, but it was honestly nothing, and I didn’t want to freak you out.”
Molly stopped crying. Her brows knitted together. She sat up slowly, leaning back against the couch. She hadn’t mentioned the photograph to Jake, and he knew exactly what she was referring to. Did this mean he was being honest? Or did he somehow know about the photograph and was attempting to sound like he was being honest?
She grabbed her laptop, flung it open. The photo attachment from [email protected] appeared on the screen.
“Someone sent me this picture.”
Molly made sure to watch Jake’s reaction closely. The expression on his face was one of sheer, indisputable shock.