Page 8 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

Max’s window behind Finn’s driver’s seat was open. His head was sticking out, his mouth flapping open, as he stared at the Jeep.

Gavin chuckled. “Somebody’s going to be excited.”

“I’d better grab the keys. He’s going to want to go for a ride.”

I sprinted for the house with a huge smile, bursting through the honey-oak front door and swiping my purse from the bench. When I hurried outside, Finn was pulling into the driveway beside the Jeep, leaving space for me to back out.

“Mom!” Max screamed from the truck as he scrambled to get his seat belt undone. “What? Is that— What?”

I laughed, rejoining Gavin in the driveway.

Kali popped open her door and hopped out, her brown curls bouncing as she landed. “Mom, is this ours?”

“It is.”

“No. Way.” Her eyes were huge as she took a step for the Jeep. “I just—this—no way.”

“Yes way. Surprise.”

“Wow.” She ran her fingers through her hair. It hung nearly to her waist these days, about six inches shorter than mine. I’d been trying to get her to trim it but she refused. She said her curls set her apart in a school where most girls were doing undercuts or dying their hair shades of blue or pink.

“Ahhh!” Max ran around Finn’s truck, jumping up and down as he pointed at the Jeep. “This is so cool. Can we take it for a drive? Right now? Please? Let’s go.”

“In a sec.” I waved at Finn, the last to emerge from his truck. “Hi.”

“Nice wheels, Molly.” He pushed his aviators into his thick, rust-colored hair as he rounded the hood of his truck. “No more Beluga, huh?”

“No more Beluga.”

His blue eyes found mine, and they flashed with sadness for a moment.

I wasn’t sure what to say. Somewhere on the road from our first cheeseburger to signing the divorce papers, we’d forgotten how to confide in one another.

It was all ancient history now. I was happily single. Finn had been dating other women for years. Like Beluga, some things weren’t meant to last forever.

“Hey, Gavin.” Finn walked up to us, his hand extended.

“Finn.” Gavin returned the handshake, then looked over at me. “I’ll get out of your hair. I’m around this weekend if you change your mind about the lawn.”

“Thanks.” I waved at him as he walked across my yard to his

own.

“What about the lawn?” Finn asked when he was out of earshot.

“Oh, nothing. He just offered to mow it for me.”

Finn frowned. “Not an option. Look at his yard. He can’t figure out how to adjust his blades or walk in a straight line. You mow ten times better than that guy.”

“At least he offered to save me the headache.”

“Headache? I thought you liked mowing.”

“Once upon a time.” When my life had been a fairy tale. Before the glass slippers had splintered.

“Mom, let’s go.” Max was racing circles around the Jeep. His wide smile showed the two teeth he was missing at the moment. He needed a haircut because it was constantly falling in his eyes, but I hated cutting his hair. I had ever since he was a baby.

It was a mixture of Finn’s and mine. Not quite red, but not my brown either. It wasn’t as curly as Kali’s—there was only a slight wave—and it had the same texture as Finn’s thick, silky strands. Whenever I cut it, he looked so much older.