Sophie (The Boss 8)

With her audition under her belt, Molly had no real reason to linger at our house. At least, no practical reason she could offer her mother, who desperately wanted her back. While I loved having her with us, it would be better for all parties involved if she didn’t have to witness whatever was coming up with Valerie and Laurence.

"This is total horse shit," Amal groused as Molly's bags were loaded into the helicopter.

I ignored her. As mature as Amal was, she was still a lovestruck teenager. I could undoubtedly empathize without launching into a lecture about how ill Molly had been, how protective her mother still felt. She knew the backstory. She was entitled to think it sucked.

"Are you sure I can't ride with you to the airport?" I asked nervously. It seemed so irresponsible to send her off alone, but Molly had insisted that this was a trip she would make on her own even when Amal had offered to accompany her.

"Sophie, I'll be fine," Molly reiterated. "I want to know how to do this by myself, for next time I visit."

Amal crossed her arms. "How difficult is it to ride in a helicopter?"

Molly laughed and took both of Amal's hands in hers. "Some of us haven't grown up with a Swarovski crystal spoon in our mouths."

"Swarovski?" Amal gagged dramatically. "Darling, we must get you acclimated to luxury."

And then, she smiled. And the look on her face as she looked at my sister was the same look I saw when El-Mudad looked at Neil. Amal truly loved Molly. Young love, yes, but I'd been in love as a young woman. It was intense and fiery and—

Prone to make one forget one's surroundings, as the girls seemed to be as they indulged in another goodbye kiss. El-Mudad cleared his throat loudly, and they stepped apart.

"Before you go, Molly," Neil began, stepping forward. "I have a proposition I'd like you to consider."

I looked to El-Mudad with a puzzled expression that matched his own.

"When my daughter passed away, I was left with a rather expensive home in Manhattan that I can't bring myself to sell. Leasing it to a stranger is out of the question." He paused, waiting for her to catch on to what El-Mudad and I both realized instantly.

But Molly didn't know Neil the way we did, and life had never taught her to expect something on the scale of what was on offer.

She winced and dropped her gaze to the ground, scuffing her toes on the asphalt. "I probably can't afford to rent it if that's what you're suggesting."

"Not at all." Neil put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm suggesting that when you turn eighteen, you are welcome to live in Emma's house, rent-free, while you pursue your theatrical aspirations."

Amal whipped around to face him. "Not like, in the dorms? An actual house?"

"If she wants to," I reminded everyone. Moving to New York as an eighteen-year-old was a hell of an experience. I couldn't let Molly feel railroaded into the decision. "No pressure, okay? The offer is on the table. And you should talk it over with your mom."

"Yeah, I don't need to talk it over. I'll be an adult." Molly hopped on her toes. "I'm moving to New York!"

"You were going to anyway, but yeah!" I bounced right along with her.

"Talk to your mother," Neil reiterated. "I wouldn't want to create any friction between us."

"I will. And I'll let you know." Molly hugged Neil, then me, then offered El-Mudad a stiff, formal handshake like a nerdy teen in a prom night farce movie. When she retook Amal’s hand, Neil guided both El-Mudad and me back to the car to give them privacy.

"They'll only be apart for three months," El-Mudad muttered as he closed the car door.

"That's a long time when you're in the throes of first love," I reminded him. "Or even second or third or whatever love. Remember all the times we had to be apart?"

I glanced out the windshield at Neil, who'd paused to speak to the groundskeeper who'd driven Molly's luggage out on the electric golf cart. Neil and I had done the helipad goodbye with El-Mudad before, the hotel room goodbye, the private tarmac goodbye...it had never gotten any easier. But I'd never had to do it alone. He'd been on his own each time.

He rubbed his index finger along his bottom lip, staring out the window thoughtfully, then made a noise of grudging defeat. "It will be three weeks before Amal is living with her. Three weeks."

I scoffed. "Okay, clearly you need more lesbian friends because it is for sure not going to be three weeks."

The back door opening clipped the end of my sentence. "What's not going to be three weeks?" Neil asked, briefly detouring to complain about the seating arrangements. “The back?"