Me And Molly For The Second Time -2017 G...: Caylin

It wasn’t perfect. But it was ours.

“You came,” she said.

Molly had fallen asleep on the rug by then. Or maybe she was just pretending. Either way, she gave us the privacy we needed without ever leaving the room.

Caylin was already awake, making coffee in the kitchen. No weirdness. No heavy silence. Just: “Hey. You want cream or sugar?” Caylin Me And Molly For The Second Time -2017 g...

Caylin. Me. Molly. For the second time.

First times are accidents. First times are adrenaline. But second times? Second times are choices. You know exactly what you’re walking into — or at least you think you do. Caylin’s apartment hadn’t changed much. Same mismatched thrift-store couch. Same string lights that never got taken down from last winter. Same half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey on the kitchen counter.

“Hey. It’s been a minute. Molly’s coming over Saturday. You should too.” It wasn’t perfect

We passed Molly around like a secret. Talked about everything except the things that actually mattered — which, of course, meant we were talking about exactly the things that mattered.

Molly was already there — sitting on the floor, rolling something that smelled like teenage rebellion and garden herbs. She waved without looking up.

“Same time next year?” she joked.

And just like that, the three of us were back in a rhythm we’d almost forgotten. I won’t romanticize it too much. Molly wasn’t magic. She was just… permission.

“Same.”