12

Molly met him at the door in sweatpants. He hugged her with a force fit to shatter a porcupine. She laughed and hugged him back. But she couldn’t pull away. Prin held her so long that the children left their crafts and colouring books and crowded into the threshold. They tugged on their parents’ legs and pushed on their elbows, trying either to join the hug or figure out why Daddy was hugging Mommy for so long. Molly was wondering the same. Every follow-up appointment since his surgery had been fine.

Had someone called from the doctor’s office?

Was there news?

“Prin, is everything okay?” she asked.

“I’m happy to see you, to see all of you!” he said.

He proposed skipping the Instant Pot for a night and going out for brick-oven pizza, to cheers all around, and picked up around the house while Molly changed. When they got back from the restaurant, he insisted on putting the kids to bed on his own while Molly had a glass of wine in the living room.

“Prin, now I’m really wondering what’s going on,” she said.

He joined her on the couch, smiling and studying her big blue eyes, the forever rose in her cheeks. She wasn’t slim, she was gaunt. She wasn’t sleek, she was cold, whereas Molly was warm and full and waiting to find out what they were celebrating.

“Like I said, I’m happy to see you, to see all of you,” he said.

And he didn’t even mean it that way! Or rather he did, he was happy to see all of her. He remembered hugging Wende. Then, as now, it was crinkly and poky, like carrying a bundle of brush.

“Prin, there’s something you need to tell me. What is it? Are you feeling sick? Did the doctor call? Did something happen at work?” Molly asked.

“I’m not feeling sick and the doctor didn’t call but yes, something happened at work, and it’s not great news,” Prin said.

“Bad committee work again?” she asked.

“Actually, sort of, yes,” Prin said.

And so Prin told her everything. At least, he told her everything that made sense to tell, at that point, in the sacramentally valid context of having had his lack of charity towards her forgiven a few hours earlier. Molly was worried by the news of UFU’s potential closing and didn’t know what to think about the options for keeping it going. She knew exactly what to think, however, when she found out about Prin’s having to work with Wende. She put her glass down on the coffee table so hard it toppled a nearby Lego crucifix.

“So this is all guilt. The hug, the pizza, the picking up around the house, the wine, the commitment to helping Middle Eastern Christian orphans. All guilt. But what really upsets me is that you feel like there’s something to be guilty about. You mentioned this woman back when we first started dating, but you didn’t make it out to be a big thing,” she said.

“Because it wasn’t! Molly, it’s not that at all,” Prin said.

He waited, thinking she’d start crying, but she didn’t. Instead, she looked out their front window. He didn’t know what to say next either so he got down on his knees and began to piece back together the Lego crucifix. He gave Jesus a helmet of hard brown plastic hair and wondered if it would help to remind her why, post-operatively, he really had nothing to be guilty about, even if he wanted to be. But that could lead to a whole other set of speculations. And there was no need. He had felt felt nothing! The littlest red pieces, rose heads, plastic stigmata, fit into place in silence. No tapping. He was that close now. Was he that close now? Lord, am I that close?

The bearded, yellow-faced Lego Jesus smiled at him but gave up no ghost.

Molly stood up and said she understood he needed to be part of this committee to save the university, and that it wasn’t his fault his ex-girlfriend was involved. She only wanted to make sure it wasn’t Prin who had contacted her. He nearly pointed out that he hadn’t Googled her in ages, certainly not in months. Why had he been Googling in the first place? Never mind. We all do, right? His browser history had also long since been shriven.

“Molly, what can I do to assure you there’s nothing to worry about?” he asked.

“Whatever you think is best, dear,” Molly said.

With a bit of a bite.

One of the girls called Molly from upstairs. Prin offered to go. Molly ignored him and went, then called him to come quickly. He dashed up the stairs ready to do everything he could to show his love for her, for them, and reached the room just as Philomena began throwing up in her bed.

They continued arguing about Wende the next night while washing and folding laundry. Meanwhile, Fr. Pat had asked Prin to begin his committee work by scheduling a Skype meeting with representatives from the school in Dragomans, and also to give a talk on later-life learning to a seniors’ group who might be potential residents of a future condo on the university’s grounds. It would be five more nights of washing and folding laundry before Prin and Molly could finish their own conversation—after Philomena came Chiara, then Maisie, then Pippa, on Molly, and finally Prin. It was either stomach flu or food poisoning from bad pizza.

“I guess there’s one thing you can do, Prin, to make me feel better about this,” Molly said.

“Name it,” Prin said.

“Invite her over for dinner,” Molly said.