Not Pretending Anymore(92)

The woman at the hostess station said, “Molly?”

“Yes. That’s me.”

She gestured to a table by the window. “Come sit.”

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Am I eating here?”

“Your boyfriend asked that we set you up with a snack-sized portion of your favorite gnocchi, along with a chocolate-covered cannoli. Enjoy, and then I’ll provide you with an envelope that will lead you to your next destination, per his instructions.”

This was one of the strangest experiences of my life, but I decided to go with it and enjoy every second. I sat alone, staring out at the people passing by as I ate my gnocchi and sipped the glass of white wine the waitress had brought me. A few people trickled in for an early lunch.

I tried to take my time, but I was anxious to get that envelope. I stuffed the cannoli into my mouth and finished it in three large bites. I left a ten-dollar bill on the table and, with my mouth still full, walked over to the waitress. “Thank you so much. That was delicious. I’m ready for my envelope now.”

She handed it to me. “Have a great rest of your day, Molly.”

“Thank you.”

Outside on the sidewalk, I rushed to open it.



This is the point where you might need to go back and grab your car. Next destination is because I thank God every day that I met you. If my sister Catherine were here, this might be her favorite hangout. Hint: it rhymes with Notre Dame.



I paused. Catherine. Was there a convent nearby? A church?

Rhymes with Notre Dame .

Then it hit me: Holy Name! That was the large cathedral here in Chicago.

I speed-walked back to the apartment to get to my car, and then typed my destination into the GPS.

After a short drive downtown, I found a parking space and looked up at the grand structure with its massive bronze doors, wondering what I was supposed to do here.

Inside, the quiet space was a peaceful escape from the noise of the city. Surrounded by beautiful stained glass, I breathed in the soothing atmosphere.

“Are you Molly?” someone asked.

I turned to find a guy who looked about my age, dressed in Spandex and a hoodie. He must have been a bike messenger.

“Yes?”

“This is for you.” He smiled, handing me an envelope. “But before you open it, sit for a while in the cathedral. Take a moment to quiet your thoughts and reflect with gratitude.” He nodded and slipped away.

“Thank you. I will,” I said, though he was already halfway out the door.

As I sat in the near-empty church, I looked over at an old woman in one of the front pews. I wondered what she might have been thinking about, whom she might have lost. I reflected on how fortunate I was. Even though I’d lost my dad too soon, I had a man in my life who loved me as much as my father had.

After several minutes of silent prayer, I stood up, feeling refreshed. Before I left, I lit a candle.

Back outside, I was met once again by the noise of the city. I opened the envelope.



Because you’ll always be a daddy’s girl. Think pink.



My eyes flitted back and forth as I processed that. Think pink.

The pink room in my dad’s house! It had to be.

As I got back into my car, my heart beat faster in anticipation.

Once I got to Lincoln Park, the previously sunny weather turned drizzly as I made my way up the steps of my dad’s house. The front door opened before I even had a chance to knock. It seemed Kayla was waiting for me.

“Hey, Molly.” She smiled, looking utterly amused.

“So you’re in on this little game, huh?”

She moved aside to allow me to enter. “The envelope is waiting for you on the bed in the pink room, but before you open it, there’s a little surprise.”

“Is Siobhan home?” I asked as I headed up the stairs.

“No. Your sister is at ballet.”

“Oh. I’m sorry I missed her.”

I spotted the white envelope on the bed and chills ran through me.

“So, before he died…” Kayla said, “your father left something else for you, in addition to the cards he wrote. Last weekend at dinner, I asked Declan’s advice as to when I should give it to you, and he suggested today.”

She walked over to the desk and handed me a small, pink-velour pillow. “Squeeze it,” she said.

When I did, I heard my father’s voice. “Love you, my sweet Molly.”

I hugged it tightly as tears filled my eyes.

I squeezed it again. “Love you, my sweet Molly.”

His voice sounded frail. He must have recorded it toward the end of his life.

I turned to her. “Oh my God. When did he do this?”

“I’m not sure exactly, but he left it in the box of stuff he gave me that was designated for you.”

Wiping my eyes, I squeezed it a few more times, cherishing the sound of my dad’s voice.

“I thought receiving that birthday card was amazing, but nothing beats getting to hear his voice again.”

“I know he wanted to do a lot more toward the end—wanted to make an entire series of videos for you and your sisters—but he was just too weak and ultimately didn’t want to be remembered that way.”

“Can I take this home?”