9She was ready but not enthusiastic. It was nearly nine o’clock, and the gala was in full swing already, but Molly dawdled, wiping off her eyeliner and putting it on again, tying a scarf and retying it three more times, spraying her hair with something meant to dampen the frizz. Uninspired, she was wearing the same black dress she had worn to last year’s gala, only this year it was tighter, and not in a good way.
It wasn’t that she was embarrassed to be without a date, or felt incomplete without a partner, or anything like that. Just that a big party like this was so much more festive when the zing of romance was in the air.
Though really—wasn’t she getting too old for such thoughts? She was going to be forty next year, after all. Time to let go of the picket fence and babies dreams, Mol
