Read Online The Half Life of Molly Pierce by Katrina Leno - Free Book Online
Authors: Katrina Leno
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door.
“Yeah, Molly,” she responds. She turns around, taps her glasses down over her eyes.
“Do you know something I don’t know?”
She falters briefly, opens her mouth to respond, cocks her head like she’s forgotten her words halfway through saying them. She finally smiles.
“What about you, Molly? Do you know something I don’t know?”
A standstill. An impasse.
She smiles wider.
She turns and skips up the steps. Like a fairy. Like a sprite.
I meet Luka and Erie in the parking lot of a local diner called Sal’s. It’s basically the only place in town not overrun by tourists. It’s out of the way. You have to come here on purpose.
As soon as I’m out of the car, Erie grabs my hand and pulls me into the diner like she’ll die if she goes another moment without food. Like I said: metabolism of a hummingbird. Something equally small and blurry.
Luka brings up the rear, shuffling his feet. I swing my arm behind me to hit him but come up with only air.
“She told me everything,” he says when we sit down. We’re at a table in the back.
“Didn’t think you’d mind,” Erie explains, largely unapologetic. “How was the funeral?”
I’m still not sure how to answer that question. I sort of shrug. Why do people ask about funerals? And what are you supposed to say about them?
I settle for “Fine. It was fine.”
“How’s the brother?” Erie asks.
“Sort of good, I guess.” And then, because I can tell they aren’t at all satisfied with my lackluster recounting of events, I add, “He’s sad. I mean—obviously. He was just really sad. And it was . . . I mean, hardly anyone showed up. Or, I guess, people showed up but it just didn’t really seem . . . it doesn’t really seem like they have much family. I guess.”
Erie makes a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat and Luka looks uncomfortable, and then the waitress comes over and we all order our food and gradually Erie fills up all the empty air with conversation about her weekend, about her weird new poet boyfriend, about her unwillingness to finish Mr. Stone’s English essay. Luka systematically ignores my repeated attempts at making eye contact while attacking his grilled cheese and tomato sandwich. Luka isn’t good with stuff like this. When my last grandparent died, he avoided me for two weeks. Finally I followed him into the boy’s bathroom and refused to let him out of the stall until he acknowledged me.
I move my salad around on my plate until I realize it’s quiet and Erie is looking at me like I’m supposed to say something now. I try and respond but inhale awkwardly and choke on a cherry tomato, cutting off my oxygen for the next twenty seconds while I cough like a fool. Blinking back tears, I wipe my face with a napkin and take a careful sip of water.
“Really, Molly,” Erie says, rolling her eyes.
“I didn’t hear what you said,” I tell her.
“I asked if you’re going to see him again.”
“See him? See who?” I say too quickly. It comes out awkward and I feel my face grow hot. Erie rolls her eyes again. She’s pretty good at rolling her eyes. Lots of practice.
“What’s his name again?” Luka asks.
“Sayer,” Erie says.
“Oh, him,” I say. This comes out wrong, too. It was supposed to be more offhanded.
“Weird name,” Luka says.
“You have a weird name,” Erie says.
“You have a weird name,” Luka says. Under his breath, he says something that sounds like moon . Erie pushes her shoulder into his shoulder.
“Well, are you?” she says, turning her attention back to me.
“Maybe. I mean, I don’t know. I mean, maybe.”
“Well, that clears it up,” Luka says.
“I guess maybe, yes,” I say. “I mean, probably. He said we should see each other again.”
A tiny thrill. Saying the words out loud. Sayer wants to see me again.
Erie takes a sip of water and they both wait for me to continue.
“I said yes.”
Erie smiles, letting her shoulders fall as she leans
“Yeah, Molly,” she responds. She turns around, taps her glasses down over her eyes.
“Do you know something I don’t know?”
She falters briefly, opens her mouth to respond, cocks her head like she’s forgotten her words halfway through saying them. She finally smiles.
“What about you, Molly? Do you know something I don’t know?”
A standstill. An impasse.
She smiles wider.
She turns and skips up the steps. Like a fairy. Like a sprite.
I meet Luka and Erie in the parking lot of a local diner called Sal’s. It’s basically the only place in town not overrun by tourists. It’s out of the way. You have to come here on purpose.
As soon as I’m out of the car, Erie grabs my hand and pulls me into the diner like she’ll die if she goes another moment without food. Like I said: metabolism of a hummingbird. Something equally small and blurry.
Luka brings up the rear, shuffling his feet. I swing my arm behind me to hit him but come up with only air.
“She told me everything,” he says when we sit down. We’re at a table in the back.
“Didn’t think you’d mind,” Erie explains, largely unapologetic. “How was the funeral?”
I’m still not sure how to answer that question. I sort of shrug. Why do people ask about funerals? And what are you supposed to say about them?
I settle for “Fine. It was fine.”
“How’s the brother?” Erie asks.
“Sort of good, I guess.” And then, because I can tell they aren’t at all satisfied with my lackluster recounting of events, I add, “He’s sad. I mean—obviously. He was just really sad. And it was . . . I mean, hardly anyone showed up. Or, I guess, people showed up but it just didn’t really seem . . . it doesn’t really seem like they have much family. I guess.”
Erie makes a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat and Luka looks uncomfortable, and then the waitress comes over and we all order our food and gradually Erie fills up all the empty air with conversation about her weekend, about her weird new poet boyfriend, about her unwillingness to finish Mr. Stone’s English essay. Luka systematically ignores my repeated attempts at making eye contact while attacking his grilled cheese and tomato sandwich. Luka isn’t good with stuff like this. When my last grandparent died, he avoided me for two weeks. Finally I followed him into the boy’s bathroom and refused to let him out of the stall until he acknowledged me.
I move my salad around on my plate until I realize it’s quiet and Erie is looking at me like I’m supposed to say something now. I try and respond but inhale awkwardly and choke on a cherry tomato, cutting off my oxygen for the next twenty seconds while I cough like a fool. Blinking back tears, I wipe my face with a napkin and take a careful sip of water.
“Really, Molly,” Erie says, rolling her eyes.
“I didn’t hear what you said,” I tell her.
“I asked if you’re going to see him again.”
“See him? See who?” I say too quickly. It comes out awkward and I feel my face grow hot. Erie rolls her eyes again. She’s pretty good at rolling her eyes. Lots of practice.
“What’s his name again?” Luka asks.
“Sayer,” Erie says.
“Oh, him,” I say. This comes out wrong, too. It was supposed to be more offhanded.
“Weird name,” Luka says.
“You have a weird name,” Erie says.
“You have a weird name,” Luka says. Under his breath, he says something that sounds like moon . Erie pushes her shoulder into his shoulder.
“Well, are you?” she says, turning her attention back to me.
“Maybe. I mean, I don’t know. I mean, maybe.”
“Well, that clears it up,” Luka says.
“I guess maybe, yes,” I say. “I mean, probably. He said we should see each other again.”
A tiny thrill. Saying the words out loud. Sayer wants to see me again.
Erie takes a sip of water and they both wait for me to continue.
“I said yes.”
Erie smiles, letting her shoulders fall as she leans
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