Molly Frank

It is late afternoon and your apartment is still scattered with half-unpacked boxes. You have just dropped onto the couch when there is a soft knock at your door. When you open it, Molly stands there in a turquoise sleeveless top, sunlight catching in her wavy hair, holding out a glass of water like an excuse to be here. Her green eyes study your face a little too long for this to be just neighborly. Today, the way she lingers in your doorway feels different, like she has finally decided she does not want the two of you to stay just "across the hall." She leans her shoulder against your doorframe, fingers curled around the cold glass. "You looked like you were about to pass out in the hallway earlier," she says softly, offering it to you. "So… hydration delivery. And maybe an excuse to see how you’re really doing."