This Thing Called Love: A Novella ✔️

Eighteen - Molly

"Here's to you, Sonny—the sweetest pooch in the Northern Hemisphere!" I lift my glass in Sonny's general direction, then down the rest of my Screwdriver.

The lady at the liquor store said this is the drink for people who don't drink. Turns out there's no such thing, because no matter how you dress it up, alcohol still tastes like ass. And now I'm running out of orange juice and the uneven ratio of vodka is reminding me of hair spray. If I ever see her again, I'm telling her what she can do with her cocktail recommendations.

And yet I pour another round and try not to cringe.

Sonny watches me from the couch. His eyebrows bounce as I add more ice, the cubes clicking against each other as they fall into the glass.

When I plop down beside him, he lays his head in my lap. "I don't understand what got into your dad," I tell him, my free hand sliding down the length of his back. "When he hit his head, he must have lost his mind."

Not that I'm not happy that Valentino's awake.
But just as I was about to bare my soul to his wonderful and trusting family, he opened his eyes and reaffirmed the fact that we're engaged. Technically, fake engaged—but who even knows anymore?

I mean—what the actual hell?

My head is spinning and all I want is for it to stop. No more thinking about Valentino, or engagements. No more thinking about lies. And most of all, no more thinking about Leo.

So when I came home, I did the next logical thing: I start through Mom's belongings. Because why the hell not? Maybe if I do all the things I've been putting off this black cloud will disappear from over my head.

It's not going well.

With her clothes and shoes scattered across the living room, it looks like her closet threw up. And now I don't know what to do with anything. Giving her wardrobe away feels wrong—I can't imagine some stranger walking around in Mom's favorite outfits. But hanging on to them doesn't feel right either. And Willa Mae always says I need to let go. Not of Mom's memory, but of the way I let it hold me back.

"Oh, Sonny," I say as tears once again blur my vision. "Today sucks."

I grab a used ball of tissues from the table and blow my nose when the sound of something ringing breaks through my latest meltdown.

My hand searches the cushions for my phone. Once I find it I hold up the screen, but the notifications are too blurry to read. Even squinting doesn't help. Doesn't matter anyway. Whoever it was must have hung up. And then the sound happens again.

Someone's ringing the doorbell. 

Giving Sonny another pet, I push myself off the couch and teeter to my feet. "Thanks, boy. You could have told me someone was here. Isn't that what dogs are supposed to do?"

His head lifts from the cushion but he says nothing.

I make my way across the living room, stepping over Mom's belongings and trying to keep myself upright. With my drink in hand, I attempt to peer through the peephole but can't make out a thing. Whoever invented these things should have made them a hell of a lot bigger.

"Whoever you are, I can't see you, so you have to promise not to kill me if I open the door."

The words slur in my ears. Oh, boy. I think I'm wasted. What if there really is a serial killer on my porch? And here I am, showing my weakness. Probably not my smartest move, but I've been full of bad ideas lately.

"Molly?" a voice calls out. "Is everything okay? I haven't been able to get a hold of you."

It's Leo. Sweet, fun, dependable Leo. Future cousin-in-law Leo.