Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(34)

“Tell me honestly. Do you think Kali is depressed?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Well, your mom says Kali has been quiet and withdrawn. All the signs, she says, point to a depressed kid on the verge of acting out and making drastic calls for help.”

Molly blew out a long breath. “Mom is overreacting. The last few times we went to see Mom, it was at her office. Kali gets bored there, so she plays a game on my phone. She got into it and shut out the rest of the world.”

“Yeah, because she’s a normal kid with a screen in front of her face. But the last thing I want is your mother convincing her that there’s something wrong with her.”

“Mom would never do that, Finn.”

“Really?” I gaped at her. “Of course, she would. The woman has no limits. She tried to stop our wedding.”

“Now who’s overreacting?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Listen, that was a long time ago. But I remember, Molly. You wanted to cancel the wedding.”

“No, postpone.”

“Does it matter?” I shot back. “Cancel. Postpone. We were a week away from the wedding and you wanted to call it off because your mom had convinced you that we were rushing into it. Two months wasn’t long enough to be engaged, and we were breaking one of her rules.”

“She was just worried. We were both so young and the wedding planning was stressful.”

“See? You always defend her.”

“What’s wrong with me defending her?” she asked. “She’s my mom.”

“Then maybe she could support you and your choices for once instead of always questioning them.”

Molly was an incredible mother. Somehow she always knew the right thing to say to Kali when she was upset. Or how to communicate with Max with just a single look. Because she was such a good mom, it baffled me that she didn’t see how toxic her own mother’s words could be.

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” Molly waved it off. “We worked it out.”

Not fifteen minutes after I’d finishing writing that letter, Molly had knocked on my door. I’d apologized for getting so upset. She’d told me she didn’t want to postpone the wedding, then we’d made love for hours, the fight forgotten.

Until that letter had shown up last week.

Now, thirteen years later, it was all coming back again.

The wedding lost some of its shine because of that argument. The week leading up to the ceremony, I was in a constant state of alert, waiting for Molly to change her mind.

I took over as much as I could to help reduce her stress, not just for Molly’s sake but to keep Deb at bay. I became the liaison for the florist, caterer and photographer, making sure everyone knew when and where to show up. I packed up Molly’s apartment and moved everything into mine so she could concentrate on the wedding and her classes. And I cleared my schedule, taking off more days from work than I’d planned so I was completely available to help if she needed it.

The day of the wedding, I stood at the altar in a panic that she’d changed her mind. When she appeared at the end of the aisle, I nearly cried. She was beautiful, my Molly. Full of joy and confidence. I would never forget how she looked that day in her white gown.

The strapless top was adorned with lace and a belt wrapped around her waist. It separated the lace from the billowing tulle skirt, one that had barely fit into the cab of my truck. We’d laughed about it, after we’d shared our vows and kissed. After we ran through a shower of birdseed to my truck—not a limo, because she hadn’t wanted to share those first few moments after the ceremony with a driver.

It took us ten minutes to get her dress into the truck. The skirt filled up every available inch of room. We laughed the entire drive from the church to the hotel where we had the reception.

That laughter, it had erased the stress of the wedding. With Molly’s ring on my finger, it was easy to forget the fight from the week before. The bad had simply been overshadowed by the good.

“We never talked about it,” I said. “About that fight. We didn’t really work it out, did we? We just went forward but never actually fixed the problem.”

“You mean the problem of my mother?”

I nodded. “I wrote that letter because I had to get those feelings out. I’d been holding them in for so long. I know it was harsh but that was how I felt.”

Molly walked to the desk and slumped down on the edge. Then she toyed with a green hair ribbon on her wrist. “I didn’t like reading that letter.”

“I know.” I sat by her side.

“The other two letters were so special. There was love there. This one . . . it was so angry and raw. It took me right back, and I don’t like being in that place again. It’s been bothering me all week.”

“Same here.”

“It’s made me think though. You were so . . . honest. Nothing in that letter was downplayed. You didn’t sugarcoat anything.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Because you weren’t supposed to read it.”

“I’m glad I did though. It made me see things from your perspective. And you were right. Mom has a way of making me question my decisions. I think she does it to challenge me and test my conviction. But because of the way she does it, I do end up doubting myself at times. I see that now.”