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December 14
The dinner party, Molly decided, was a complete success.
She looked around her small living room in satisfaction. They’d moved her long coffee table to the center of the room, and Lai had brought over nearly a dozen large pillows to use as seats. Only the lights on the Christmas tree and the votives guttering on the tables lit the room, but that didn’t dim the conversation glittering in the air.
Lai, Sue, Noemi, Drew, Tom, Luke and his younger brother Zach all lounged in various positions around the table, holding drinks. Schrodinger was cuddled up in Sue’s lap, already almost asleep but refusing to give in to his tiredness. Sue stroked his head with one hand as she chatted with Zach about the University of Maine at Orono, where he was a junior, majoring in museum sciences. Tom, Noemi and Luke were discussing the Red Sox’s newest acquisition, and Lai and Drew were debating the pros and cons of something esoteric that she only caught a few hints about. From the look in Lai’s eyes, it was probably art-related, but Molly wasn’t sure and really didn’t care.
This is just perfect, she thought, swirling the champagne in her glass. The guys had been in charge of bringing drinks and appetizers, and they had showed up with three bottles of champagne, bruschetta and a shrimp ring with a very spicy cocktail sauce. The Terrible Trio had provided dessert, which was still sitting in the refrigerator, and Molly had contributed dinner: a roast leg of lamb, redolent with rosemary, mint and raspberries, and a bowl of fluffy mashed potatoes, with honeyed carrots rounding out the meal. The best way to spend a winter’s evening. Good friends, good food and good conversation.
“So, Molly, did you get a carol from SA today?” Lai asked, cutting into her thoughts.
“I did!” she said, putting her glass down. “Hang on and I’ll get it.” She went into the kitchen, collected the small CD that had shown up on her wreath earlier that day, and brought it back, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “So, today, SA hit a homerun out of the park. He actually gave me my favorite carol of all time.”
“Oh?” Tom asked. “What did he send you?”
Molly didn’t answer. She put the mini CD in the player and then turned and picked up her champagne flute. As the music filled the room, she brought the flute to her mouth, not to drink from, but to use as an impromptu microphone. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said this was her absolute favorite and she was determined to enjoy the song.
A wicked idea came into her head then, borne on the bubbles of the champagne running through her system. Molly’s grin grew and she winked at the Terrible Trio, then began to sing.
“Santa baby,” she cooed into the top of the glass, slinking over towards the table. She leaned up against Drew, batting her eyelashes as she continued to sing along with Eartha Kitt. Everyone was watching, but Molly found she didn’t mind. In fact, as she got into the song, Molly forgot her audience. She got back up and began to dance, and laughed throatily as Lai and Noemi joined her. The three of them pirouetted and posed as Eartha sang, and when the song ended, the boys erupted into applause.
“Damn, I’m bringing champagne over more often,” Tom said, as Molly collapsed beside him, laughing a bit.
“Oh, and what makes you think you’re going to get the chance?” she teased him. “I might not invite you back over.”
He fell backwards, clutching his chest. “The pain of rejection!”
They all laughed again, and Luke said, “You know, though, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that, Molly. And I’ve certainly never seen you wear anything like this. It suits you.”
She blushed. The red sequined tank top was very much not her style, but she’d fallen in love with it on an infrequent shopping trip to Freeport, and this was the first chance she’d had to wear it. Paired with skinny blue jeans, Molly felt incredibly sexy. Even in bare feet. “Thanks,” she said. “I figured, since we were having a dinner party, I should dress up.”
“Speaking of dinner, this was amazing,” Drew said, and everyone nodded. “But I have to ask…what’s for dessert?”
Molly laughed. “Tiramisu,” she said. “Help me clear the table, Tom, and we can bring it out.”
Everyone ended up helping bring dishes and the leftovers out to the kitchen, and Molly pulled the tiramisu from the refrigerator and ladled it into dessert cups, which Tom handed around. The simple action reminded her of other dinner parties, back when they’d been a couple, but this time, it didn’t send a shot of pain through her. Maybe it was the champagne.
Or maybe I’m growing up, she thought, watching him tease Sue, who had finally levered Schrodinger off her lap and joined them. Maybe it’s time to forgive him, after all. It’s time to move on.
And if he’s SA? Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, as my grandmother used to say.
For now, she was going to do what SA’s note had said today: “Be happy, Molly. Enjoy your day, and let your sexiness flow. You don’t let it out enough.”
There’s really only one version of this song, to my mind. And Molly’s. Although some of the newer versions aren’t bad. However, the Madonna version is, in both our opinions, an abomination. YMMV.
I apologize that I haven’t posted many recipes. Molly doesn’t give a lot of them out. Maybe next week.
The dinner party, Molly decided, was a complete success.
She looked around her small living room in satisfaction. They’d moved her long coffee table to the center of the room, and Lai had brought over nearly a dozen large pillows to use as seats. Only the lights on the Christmas tree and the votives guttering on the tables lit the room, but that didn’t dim the conversation glittering in the air.
Lai, Sue, Noemi, Drew, Tom, Luke and his younger brother Zach all lounged in various positions around the table, holding drinks. Schrodinger was cuddled up in Sue’s lap, already almost asleep but refusing to give in to his tiredness. Sue stroked his head with one hand as she chatted with Zach about the University of Maine at Orono, where he was a junior, majoring in museum sciences. Tom, Noemi and Luke were discussing the Red Sox’s newest acquisition, and Lai and Drew were debating the pros and cons of something esoteric that she only caught a few hints about. From the look in Lai’s eyes, it was probably art-related, but Molly wasn’t sure and really didn’t care.
This is just perfect, she thought, swirling the champagne in her glass. The guys had been in charge of bringing drinks and appetizers, and they had showed up with three bottles of champagne, bruschetta and a shrimp ring with a very spicy cocktail sauce. The Terrible Trio had provided dessert, which was still sitting in the refrigerator, and Molly had contributed dinner: a roast leg of lamb, redolent with rosemary, mint and raspberries, and a bowl of fluffy mashed potatoes, with honeyed carrots rounding out the meal. The best way to spend a winter’s evening. Good friends, good food and good conversation.
“So, Molly, did you get a carol from SA today?” Lai asked, cutting into her thoughts.
“I did!” she said, putting her glass down. “Hang on and I’ll get it.” She went into the kitchen, collected the small CD that had shown up on her wreath earlier that day, and brought it back, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “So, today, SA hit a homerun out of the park. He actually gave me my favorite carol of all time.”
“Oh?” Tom asked. “What did he send you?”
Molly didn’t answer. She put the mini CD in the player and then turned and picked up her champagne flute. As the music filled the room, she brought the flute to her mouth, not to drink from, but to use as an impromptu microphone. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said this was her absolute favorite and she was determined to enjoy the song.
A wicked idea came into her head then, borne on the bubbles of the champagne running through her system. Molly’s grin grew and she winked at the Terrible Trio, then began to sing.
“Santa baby,” she cooed into the top of the glass, slinking over towards the table. She leaned up against Drew, batting her eyelashes as she continued to sing along with Eartha Kitt. Everyone was watching, but Molly found she didn’t mind. In fact, as she got into the song, Molly forgot her audience. She got back up and began to dance, and laughed throatily as Lai and Noemi joined her. The three of them pirouetted and posed as Eartha sang, and when the song ended, the boys erupted into applause.
“Damn, I’m bringing champagne over more often,” Tom said, as Molly collapsed beside him, laughing a bit.
“Oh, and what makes you think you’re going to get the chance?” she teased him. “I might not invite you back over.”
He fell backwards, clutching his chest. “The pain of rejection!”
They all laughed again, and Luke said, “You know, though, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that, Molly. And I’ve certainly never seen you wear anything like this. It suits you.”
She blushed. The red sequined tank top was very much not her style, but she’d fallen in love with it on an infrequent shopping trip to Freeport, and this was the first chance she’d had to wear it. Paired with skinny blue jeans, Molly felt incredibly sexy. Even in bare feet. “Thanks,” she said. “I figured, since we were having a dinner party, I should dress up.”
“Speaking of dinner, this was amazing,” Drew said, and everyone nodded. “But I have to ask…what’s for dessert?”
Molly laughed. “Tiramisu,” she said. “Help me clear the table, Tom, and we can bring it out.”
Everyone ended up helping bring dishes and the leftovers out to the kitchen, and Molly pulled the tiramisu from the refrigerator and ladled it into dessert cups, which Tom handed around. The simple action reminded her of other dinner parties, back when they’d been a couple, but this time, it didn’t send a shot of pain through her. Maybe it was the champagne.
Or maybe I’m growing up, she thought, watching him tease Sue, who had finally levered Schrodinger off her lap and joined them. Maybe it’s time to forgive him, after all. It’s time to move on.
And if he’s SA? Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, as my grandmother used to say.
For now, she was going to do what SA’s note had said today: “Be happy, Molly. Enjoy your day, and let your sexiness flow. You don’t let it out enough.”
There’s really only one version of this song, to my mind. And Molly’s. Although some of the newer versions aren’t bad. However, the Madonna version is, in both our opinions, an abomination. YMMV.
I apologize that I haven’t posted many recipes. Molly doesn’t give a lot of them out. Maybe next week.
