Chapter Text
It is 1952.
Molly is fifteen and Edie knows that her daughter probably won’t ever get married.
It’s not because Molly isn’t a catch, she is. She’s perfect. A pretty girl with a mind that could run circles around most people. Molly is great, a bit odd but perfect. A Finch, wholly and completely.
It has nothing to do with her looks or personality, no. That is not why.
Molly will never get married because Edie isn’t sure Molly will ever want to get married.
Edie can remember being fifteen.She was already making eyes at Sven but it was nothing more than puppy love at that point. She can remember daydreaming about moonlit dates and stolen kisses, doodling wedding dresses in the margins of her schoolwork. She would overhear the older girls talk about their own boys and she couldn’t help but listen with rapt attention, butterflies swooping through her lower stomach like a storm.
Molly isn’t like that. The girl is only fifteen but Edie can see it. Molly doesn’t care about dating and that’s that. That’s who Molly is.
Barbara is eight and already giving her dolls boyfriends but Molly never had that. She was never curious, she never asked questions. When Edie asked her about the boys in her class, Molly simply shrugged. She said she could name a few of them but she doesn’t really talk to them.
At first, Edie simply thought that Molly preferred girls. Not common but not unheard of. When Edie was younger, growing up in Norway, it was something that was done but not talked about. Usually just curious boys out all alone in the clearings, girls who just wanted to know what it was like to kiss and be kissed but some were more serious. Some of these secret kisses weren’t just to learn, they were out of love and want. Edie knew it was a thing, she knew it happened more than she probably knew and she didn’t see why it was a problem. Maybe she’s just odd.
Edie quickly realized that Molly does not like girls in that way either. Molly does not like anyone in that way. Molly has more female friends, yes, but she shows just as much interest in girls romantically as she does in boys. Which is none.
Edie doesn’t mind. Her husband minds even less. Molly doesn’t have to care about boys. She doesn’t have to care about girls. She doesn’t have to get married. Edie has four other children, she’s sure she’ll at least one of them wed.
All this means to her is that she doesn’t have to worry about Molly sneaking people in through her bedroom window.
Edie knows this for a while but she isn’t fully convinced until she overhears Barbara and Molly talking in the kitchen while she’s in the nursery changing baby Walter.
“You’re not helpin’ much, Molls.” Barbara says, her little voice traveling through the house's halls. Edie can tell by her tone that she’s pouting.
“Sorry,” Molly says, “I guess I don’t know much about crushes.
It is not much but it is enough.
The years pass and Molly continues to be. She continues not to date, focusing on school or work or family or friends. Molly does not date and she enjoys not dating. This is a fact that continues to go unacknowledged. Edie doesn’t care if Molly doesn’t date and Molly doesn’t care about seeking her parents approval on the matter. It’s as simple as that.
It is not until Sam’s first wedding does Molly say anything.
It is 1968 and Molly stands next to Edie as they watch Sam and Kay have their first dance as husband and wife, both eighteen and dumb with what they believe is love. Molly is 31 now but she still has the same babyface, the same blonde curls and round-cheeked smile. She is still 31 but she is still Edie’s baby, she always will be in a way.
“I’ve never really got all this, you know?” Molly says, taking a sip from her champagne glass. She speaks in Norwegian, hearing the language fills Edie’s chest with a pleasant warmth. “Weddings and romance and all that. Never saw the appeal.”
“I know,” Edie replies, “that’s fine. As long as you’re happy.”
Molly gives a nod, a quick jerk of the head to acknowledge that she heard her mother.
The conversation ends there. There is nothing more that needs to be said. Not that night, at least. They continue to watch Sam and Kay and their clumsy, tipsy twirling.
It takes a while for Molly to find a word to describe herself to people who are not her.
“I’m asexual, mamma.” She says. “Aromantic, too.”
She’s not nervous or unsure or afraid to be telling Edie this. She’s casually confident, almost like she’s discussing the weather. She says the words in English, pronouncing them slowly even though Edie is nearing her nineties at this point and has been living in America for decades. Edie appreciates the thought anyway, it reminds her of the days when Molly still had to help her translate sometimes.
This is a courtesy, Edie knows that.
Molly has never been one to care about boxes or labels. Molly just is. Nothing more, nothing less. She is only putting a label on this in case Edie needs a word to describe her daughter to others.
“Okay,” Edie replies, “that’s fine. As long as you’re happy.”
Molly gives her a smile, she seems amused by her mother’s words. She’s old enough now where she knows that this is what makes her happy, where she knows who he is. She wouldn’t be living this way if it didn’t feel right.
“I am, mamma. Don’t worry.”
Edie gives her a nod before she goes back to her sketching.
“Then I am happy for you, min skatt .”
They don’t talk about it again.
Not out of shame or guilt or fear. There is no need to talk about it.
Molly is happy and that’s all Edie wants.
Molly will never date or marry but she is happy being an aunt, being a daughter and an older sister. She is happy being a friend and she is happy with the animals that flock to her like moths to a flame. That is what matters.