Tangled Up in Daydreams (15 page)

Jay came to keep her company that first weekend Liam was away, and when she walked into a whirling tornado of paint, canvas, fabric, and glitter, Jay couldn't help but laugh.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed. “It looks like Pearl Arts & Crafts blew up in here.”

“Really?” Molly absentmindedly looked around.

“And, you, my dear, look like a raving lunatic.” Grabbing Molly's shoulders and dragging her into the bathroom.

“Whoa.” Molly stared in the mirror above the sink. “How do you think my hair got like that?” Trying to pat down the paint-flecked fro.

“When was the last time you showered?” Taking a step away from Molly.

“What's today?”

“Saturday.”

“Uh oh.” Hanging her head. “Monday.”

“All righty then. You are going to stay in here and I'm going to try to go unearth the couch.” Jay turned around.

“I guess I was feeling inspired.” Molly laughed.

“Which is fantastic,” Jay agreed. “But not at the expense of basic hygiene.”

Molly peeled off her clothes and let the water rinse away the paint and sparkles. It had been so long since she had gotten lost in her work and it felt fabulous. She felt clean, alive, and full of promise again. With her finding herself and getting extremely motivated, she felt like she finally had something to truly offer Liam. Something to prove she was worth his careful attention. But, unfortunately, he wasn't around to see it, and these bouts of creativity were still peppered with off-weeks of self-doubt and artistic paralysis. Molly would work like a dervish, spinning around her apartment, high on paint fumes and glue, patching together canvas after canvas, yet on a dime she could paint over all the work she had done and stare at the blank slates. Molly, while she was finally on the right path and digging back into her art, still couldn't keep focused and figure out how exactly she wanted to express herself, and with her sounding board so far away, the cycle remained.

Molly looked at the photo of Liam and her family again. She remembered feeling like she was split into two people on their post-tour road trip. One was completely and utterly head over heels in love with Liam, unquestioning and eager to jump back and believe in him, in them. She was nauseated all the time with a zillion butterflies doing the hokeypokey in her stomach. The other Molly was scared, more scared than she had ever been in her whole life. She watched his every move, every nuance, to see if she could discern if he had betrayed her in any way. She bobbed between wanting to heed his words and wondering if she could really trust him, trust a musician coming off a road strewn with more babes than a chain of Hooters. She was becoming schizo, but she was trying to maintain her façade.

The first three days of the trip had been amazing, full of sleepless, sexy nights and perfect car chattiness during the day. They were both nervous but transferring that energy into a balls-out good time. The wave of giddiness culminated in an evening of eye-to-eye “I love you” lovemaking. The hotel room was sparse, basic beige walls with a teal carpet and brown fake wood furniture. The bedspread was mauve with a spray of flowers and the neon
NO VACANCY
light flashed through the partially blinded window. Molly remembered every detail, how many chips were on the ceiling, how the headboard was slightly higher on the left side. Everything was in high-relief, exaggerated. Molly felt like she was on acid—the room was breathing, and every touch felt like Jacuzzi bubbles times ten. When they woke up, they both were quiet, too quiet. Their eyes barely connected, and as they showered and dressed, they moved in two solo dances around the room. Every time Molly tried to say something her mouth wouldn't work, her tongue, tied, her mind, blank. She was beginning to worry.

As Liam loaded up her Rover, Molly went in the room to grab the last of their things. She accidentally knocked over his guitar case in trying to close it and all these Polaroids spilled onto the floor. She kneeled down and collected them into a pile, smiling to herself at the silly pictures of her boyfriend and his band. Then one caught her eye—she sat down on the bed and looked closer at the image. It was a side view of Liam down a hallway with a girl whose face was obscured by long hair but whose hands were both looped through the belt buckles on his jeans. He was gazing down at her, and they were almost touching, embracing. He was smiling at her. Molly's mouth went dry, and all of a sudden she felt hot. She looked again at the picture and it became animated. She could see them down the hall, walking, coming together, laughing, kissing. This strange girl was getting her grin. Molly barely felt herself get up and place all the photos but this one back in the case. She tucked the incriminating shot into her pocket and it made her ass burn. She walked to the car, silently handed him his guitar, and got into the front seat. She tasted blood from biting her lip so hard to prevent the tears from streaming.

Molly bought a paper from a machine in front of Denny's before they sat down. She wanted something to occupy her at the table. Something other than fiddling with her hair or tugging at the waistband of her cargo pants. Something to keep her mind and eyes busy. Liam grabbed a couple of menus, and they sat down. Both of them quickly buried their heads in the plastic shields.

“What can I get you two?” a large blond woman with an orange apron asked.

“I'll have a spinach egg-white omelet, sourdough toast, and a coffee,” Molly quietly answered while handing her the menu.

“I'll have the same, plus a side of bacon, crispy, and an orange juice.”

“It'll be right up.”

“Thanks,” Liam responded.

Molly flipped open the paper, and began to read. Her lips hurt.

“Umm.” Liam cleared his throat. “Anything interesting going on?”

“Not sure yet.” Not looking up. “Do you want a section?”

“Sure. Business.”

“Here.” Handing him the paper. His fingers grazed hers and she felt a shock.

They both buried their heads for a spell and read. Coffees arrived and without thinking, Liam fixed hers for her.

“Thanks.” Taking a sip.

“No problem.”

Again, they both returned to their distractions. A few more minutes passed.

“Did I do something wrong?” Liam asked her.

“What do you mean?” Not catching his eye.

“Molly, put down the paper and look at me.”

Molly folded in more ways than one, and she started crying.

“Molly, what's going on?” Looking at her.

“Nothing.” Wiping her eyes with a napkin.

“Right, and you're just spontaneously crying. Are you getting your period?”

“Yeah, sure, something like that.” Still not really looking at him.

“Please, just tell me what's up.”

“I can't believe you.”

“What? Did I do something?”

“Can't you just be honest with me?”

“Look, I really don't have a clue what this is about. I thought that after last night everything was fine, well, more than fine, actually. What could I have done in the short time since we woke up?”

“It wasn't what you did this morning, it's what you did before. I saw the picture.”

“The picture?”

“The picture of you two. I know what happened.” Taking a sip of water, hoping it would help her gain composure.

“Of me and who? Tom? Elliot?”

“Stop pretending. She was all over you and you could not stop grinning. You looked as if you were about to swallow her.” Pulling the photo from her pocket and tossing it at him. “I knew I couldn't trust you.”

“Whoa.” Grabbing the photo. “Where did you find this?”

“Some compartment inside your guitar case. It fell out when I went to shut it properly.” Tucking her hair out of her eye. “And the fact that now you are asking questions about it confirms you didn't want me to see it!”

“No, I'm asking because I was going to show you all these pictures when I first got home but I forgot where I stashed them.”

“Yeah, right. Show me your little indiscretions, so I can't get mad because you are being honest. Was that the tactic you were going to take?” Raising her voice.

“Calm down, you're being totally irrational.”

“Whatever, I should have trusted my gut. He's a musician, he's on the road, he's lonely, well, looks like not that night.” Getting riled up even more.

“If you would just chill out for one minute and stop referring to me in third-person, you are going to feel very stupid for being so mad at me.”

“So, now I'm stupid!? Screw you.” Starting to get up from the table.

“Molly.” Grabbing her arm and pulling her back down. “That picture is of Anita and me.”

“What?” Pulling her hand away and onto her lap. “Anita who?”

“My sister-in-law Anita. She and Teddy came to one of the shows.”

“Anita?”

“Yeah. I swear. You can call her to confirm if you don't believe me. Check out the ring and the star tattoo on her wrist.”

Molly looked again at the image, and sure enough, it did look kind of like her. There was also no mistaking the vintage wedding ring Molly loved or the ink art. Molly turned bright red and put her hands to her face.

“I'm such an asshole.” Crying again. “I'm sorry. I just, fuck.”

“Molly, how could you even think I was with someone else?”

“I don't know. I sort of snapped when I saw it.” Trying to find the right words. “Especially after how intimate last night was. All of a sudden here was this picture of a girl and you, and all these questions and doubts and …”

“Doubts? Questions? About what?”

“About this and you and everything.”

They were momentarily interrupted by their breakfast.

“Thanks,” Molly meekly said as the waitress set her plate down.

“No problem. Need anything else?”

“No, we are good. Thanks.” Liam answered, putting a napkin on his lap. “Molly, you need to figure out a way not to worry about all that shit. I'm going to be gone a lot, it's part of the gig, and if every time I leave, you freak out that I am with someone else, we are not going to make it. This is going to get tired fast.”

“I know that, I do. I want to trust you and believe in us, but sometimes I think that I am not enough for you. That you are going to leave and meet some sparkly girl with perfect tits and tattoos who steals your heart.”

Liam got quiet and stared at Molly. He cleared his throat.

“After nearly a year together, practically living together, how can you even think that?” Getting a little annoyed. “Sometimes I feel like no matter how often I tell you I love you, it's not enough. It's like you don't even listen. Do you think I just toss those words around to be polite?”

“No, I know you love me.” Quietly. “I really do. I just have this nagging feeling like this is all some big practical joke, and pretty soon someone is going to pinch me and I am going to wake up somewhere married to some boring accountant with garlic breath!”

“Why do you have such little confidence in this? In us?” Shaking his head. “It really bums me out that you don't see how special you are. Did I do that? Was it something I did that made you feel like this relationship is so unreal?”

“No. I don't really understand it either. I used to be this supremely confident girl and I know how annoying I must be.” Taking a sip of coffee. “I hate insecure people, I hate feeling meek and fragile. It's such an easy copout from living your life.”

“It's not annoying.” Looking at her. “Well, actually, it is just because it has no merit and it's really hard being around it. I feel like all of a sudden I am on eggshells.”

“I'm sorry. Lately I just have been feeling, I don't know, blah, I guess. I've been trying to motivate, to do good work, but nothing seems to jump out. After a week of mad creativity, I putter out and everything looks derivative.” Pushing her omelet around. “And you not being around has been harder than I thought it would be. Everything was different, dull.”

“It was for me too, but babe, that isn't going to go away. The separations are going to happen. But when we aren't together it doesn't mean that I am thinking about you less, or loving you less. Just like I know that your dad thought about you all the time when maybe he wasn't there. You are everywhere to me, in everything.”

“I know.”

“Maybe all this insecurity is because things are starting to come together for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I know that after I got my deal, for a while I was elated. Living large and feeling like I was fucking Leonardo cruising in the front of the
Titanic
. And then, when things were starting to really get going, I sort of lost it. It's like you spend so long wishing and hoping that it fills you with this incredible amount of emotions, and once you succeed, all that longing disappears and you feel kind of empty. And then, just when you feel the most unstable, your stuff hits the marketplace and you are totally naked and vulnerable.”