Straight Up Love (The Boys of Jackson Harbor #2)(38)

“I’m fine,” Molly tells Dad. She wraps her arms around Jill and squeezes. “It was good.” When she turns her attention on me, her smile is tentative, and I feel a pang of guilt. Molly hasn’t come home much in the last five years, but I haven’t done my part in keeping in touch either. “Hi, Ava. How are you?”

“Great.” I hoist my glass of wine.

Molly chuckles softly. “I could use one of those too.”

“Jill, pour the girl some wine,” Dad says.

Jill obeys, and Molly takes the glass with the reverence of someone taking sacrament.

Molly is everything I’m not. She’s brave and adventurous. She’s blond to my dark and bold to my cautious. I know saying that my father always loved her more makes me sound like the whiny little girl who wanted her father’s attention all for herself. But sometimes even the ugly things we feel are true, and Dad’s affection for Molly always outranked and overpowered his affection for me.

“Have a seat,” Jill says. “I’ll get dinner from the kitchen.”

“Grab another bottle of the ’79 from the fridge while you’re at it,” Dad calls after her, taking his seat at the end of the table.

“May I help, Jill?” I ask.

Molly and I nearly collide, simultaneously filing behind Jill toward the kitchen.

“Girls, sit,” Jill says sternly. “You’re my guests.” She flashes a glance toward my father, who’s seated at the end of the table scrolling through something on his phone. For the first time since I’ve known her, I detect a hint of resentment from her toward my father. Good for you, Jill.

“Sit,” she says again, and Molly and I obey, taking seats across from each other and sipping at our wine in the awkward silence.

“Still teaching?” Molly asks.

I nod. “Yeah. Still in New York?”

She nods. “Yep.”

It takes Jill a couple of trips to get everything on the table. She tucks a couple more bottles of wine into the bucket of ice, then brings out a big bowl of salad and a platter beautifully arranged with breaded chicken breasts and roasted potatoes.

“This looks delicious,” I say.

“I’m starving,” Molly says. “Thank you, Mom.”

Jill beams, and we fill our plates and pass food around the table.

“Molly, what’s your announcement?” Dad asks when our plates are full. “We can’t wait to hear your good news.” He waves toward me. “Maybe it’ll inspire Ava to do something with her life.”

“I have a great life, Dad,” I say.

“Of course you do,” Jill says with a smile, then a scowl toward my oblivious father.

Molly cuts her eyes to her mom before looking at Dad. “I . . . I don’t have an announcement.”

Jill frowns. “But you said . . .”

“I said I needed to talk to you about something. There’s no announcement.”

Jill grimaces. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I misunderstood. We can talk later. Of course.”

“Nonsense. Don’t keep us in suspense,” Dad says. “What do you need to talk about?”

Molly puts her fork down and draws in a deep breath. “I need a loan. I lost my job, and I’m struggling to keep my apartment.”

I can practically hear the tires screeching in my father’s head as his fork drops to his plate and he stares at his favorite child. “What do you mean, you lost your job?”

I hold my breath. Dad always wished I could be more athletic, then he got a daughter who was. He always wished I, his above-average daughter, could excel in school, and then he got a daughter who did. He pushed me to pursue something more practical than theater and literature, and when he married Jill, he got a daughter who did.

All that considered, I sometimes forget that Dad is just as tough on Molly as he is on me—maybe even tougher. She’s his shining star.

There’s a vulnerability all over her face as she avoids his steely gaze. I can’t blame her. It’s pretty intense. “We lost funding. There’s no work. I’ll find something else, but it’ll take some time.”

“But you already have applications out,” he says. She stares blankly back at him. “Résumés, cover letters—that’s child’s play. You have so much great experience, and the world is your oyster. This shouldn’t be an issue.”

“I’m working on it.” She bows her head and pushes her food around her plate.

My father takes a breath and exhales slowly.

I hate this for her. While I’ve always hoped for evidence that Molly isn’t perfect, I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of Dad’s disapproval, and it sucks.

“You have savings, though,” my father says. “Money to live on until you find the next job? You always put thirty percent of your pay into savings. I taught you that.”

“Dad,” she says, exasperation clear in her voice now. “It’s not easy for a single woman to live in the city on a non-profit management income. I don’t have savings at all, and if I don’t want to lose my apartment, I’m going to need some help until I find a new job.” She looks to her mother. “I was hoping—”

My father’s already shaking his head. “No. We made it very clear to you girls from the beginning that we would help you get where you’re going, and then you’d be on your own. We’re not going to be those parents who let their children fail over and over again throughout their lives with no consequences. At some point, you have to let the baby bird fly free, and if she falls, she falls.”