Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Standing, I head for the front door, turn left once I’m down all the steps, stride across the yard, squeeze through the hedge row, and over to the Wallace’s, the same way I’d done as a teenager.
The hedges are higher now—and the path I used to take not as worn, but it’s still there and puts a smile on my face to see it.
I knock instead of ringing the doorbell.
Thirty seconds later? Chandler, Mr. Wallace’s wife, opens the door.
The pair of them had just started dating while I was in high school, and I wasn’t around much once I left for college and didn’t see their relationship flourish the way my parents had from next door. But I am really happy for Mr. Wallace— Tripp as he tells me to call him now that I’m a grown-up, too—because it seemed as if he was going to be a bachelor forever.
Grumpy.
Cynical.
Bitter.
Like someone else I just met…
Elias’s face flashes through my mind.
“Hey, Molly,” she says, moving in for a hug and wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “It’s been forever since you’ve been around!”
It hasn’t actually been forever. It’s just been a long time since I’ve knocked on their door when I’ve been at my parents’ house.
“I know!” I quickly agree with her because suddenly, it does feel like an eternity has passed since I’ve graced their doorstep or made the walk over uninvited. “I think the last time I was here was Ruby’s baptism? And that was a year ago?”
She ushers me inside. “Where does the time go?”
I don’t follow her into the house, but rather, stand in the foyer because I’m wearing shoes and don’t want to get her tile dirty. “I was eating dinner with my parents and saw the dog in the backyard and thought it might be fun to take him for a walk—for old times’ sake since it used to be my job?”
“Oh, she would love that!” Chandler heads for the kitchen, then the back patio door to let the dog inside. “Wanna go for a walk?” I hear her coo. “Molly is here to take you for a spin.”
The dog stampedes into the foyer as if it were auditioning for a rodeo, skidding past me in her haste and backtracking.
She immediately begins jumping on me—or trying to, anyway.
“I’m so sorry, she has no manners yet. We’ve taken her to dog class three times.” Chandler makes the dog sit. She does so reluctantly, itching to lick me to death. “Molly, this is Molly.”
“You did not name your dog after me!” I laugh. “Stop it.”
Chandler shakes her head. “Nope—no joke. Tripp insisted we name it after the coolest kid we know.” She’s petting the dog behind the ears. “Obviously, he still thinks you’re fifteen. He’s going to die when he sees you.”
“He’s really something.”
Chandler rolls her eyes. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
A leash is produced—one attached to a harness—and I get the dog—my namesake—situated so we can go on our adventure.
Who names the dog after the neighbor?
Tripp Wallace, that’s who. The man gives zero fucks; never has, probably never will—and that’s what I love about him.
He was my idol growing up. I would watch him struggle with the dog from my side of the hedgerow, staying put on my side of the soil because my parents always told me not to be a pest. I was incredibly precocious as a kid, even more so as a teenager, offering my opinion where it wasn’t wanted.
Not much has changed, I don’t think.
Both Molly the human and Molly the dog begin walking down the street through the same park I used to take Chewy when he was young and spry and full of little bulldog life. I don’t let Molly play in the park. Instead, we do the bike trail around its perimeter so she can at least see the people and the children and the families playing.
A few other dogs are running around—some of them on leashes, some of them not—and I can see Molly shaking with excitement, wanting to play.
“Sorry, little girl, I don’t trust you—we just met. You have to earn it.” Who’s to say she’s not going to take off and disappear and not come when I call her back, considering Chandler couldn’t even get the dog to calm down and sit back at the house.
“I wasn’t born yesterday. You have a wandering eye.”
While we walk, I regale Molly with a few facts about myself: how I went away to school as far as my parents would let me travel (five hours, tops) for business but decided halfway through my second year that I’d rather focus my time and attention on sports marketing, one hundred because I idolize the neighbor.
Teenage me thought Tripp Wallace was an awesome dude with an awesome job and had cool friends.
That was what I wanted.