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"Gone fishing?" Molly stared at the sign in front of the locked diner, written so clearly in Wyatt's handwriting. The diner was never closed. Not in the eleven years she had been to it.
The Gilmore's had royally pissed off the Danes this time. Between Lorelai's outburst on Luke and Mollys confession to Wyatt—who knew how long this fishing trip would last. If they had ever wondered where Wyatt got his grudge holding skills and pettiness, all they had to do was take a peak at his father.
"I can't believe this! Molly, where are they?" Kirk turned to the red head, frantic and craving breakfast at Luke's.
"Gone fishing." She poked a stubborn finger to the sign, "can't you read?" The mixture of guilt and no coffee made her snap at the innocent man, his face falling as he took a step back.
She adjusted the straps on her backpack and let out a huff, turning away from the front of the diner. Molly walked around back, knuckles whitening around her straps. She blamed herself, despite resenting Jess for setting off this bomb, this was on her.
Climbing up the fire escape, she got to the roof, resting her back against the wall that covered in sharpie. Over the years, Molly and Wyatt had left traces of themselves, doodles and song lyrics aligning the brick. It felt like years since the last time they shared a memory atop the diner. In actuality, it had only been a few months.
"Why don't you have any weed stashed?" Molly muttered to herself, wishing to find a baggy of some sort. "Oh, please don't turn me into spider woman." She giggled, tears burning her eyes as she reached a hand beneath the old hardware sign. With her little luck, she found it, a hidden baggy packed full of nugs and a bowl.
She smoked it, a bowl for herself, by herself on the rooftop that no longer felt like theirs. After last year, nothing really felt like theirs anymore. Sure, he had forgiven her for breaking his heart, but she knew deep down, he hadn't. If she could take that night back, make a do over of it, she would.
Molly sat there, for hours, maybe, listening to the old mixtape she dug from her backpack. It no longer hurt, more so, felt like a stung like a slap. She was sure that her friends questioned her skipping class, but she hadn't cared all that much.
They probably hadn't either.
Or, so she had thought.
A kick hit the side of her thigh, her sketchbook falling from her lap as her head lifted. She was surprised, greeted by a soft smile and a cup of coffee.
"What, um.." Molly stared at the offering, tugging her headphones down. "How'd you know I was here?"
"Molls, we have been best friends since we were three. There's very few places you go to skip class." Izzy retorted, shoving the cup further in her face. Molly hadn't realized the pounding headache she had before getting a whif of the coffee, taking it graciously.
