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i. molly solverson.
molly knew that she had standing in her community, that people looked to her for guidance, for security, assurances. she was a beacon of safety, and she took others’ trust in her as a privilege.
but being a mom would always come first.
greta came home from school just barely holding herself together. as soon as she saw molly, the tears fell.
“i’m real sorry, arnold,” molly said on the phone, faking a light cough. “i don’t know what it is, you know, i think there’s been some kinda sick goin’ around the grade school…”
“rest up, chief.”
molly knocked on greta’s door. it took a moment, but greta opened the thing just a hair. her big sad eyes peered up at molly through the crack.
“how about i call grandpa, get him to drop off a few slices. then we can talk,” molly said.
greta sniffled, and she nodded.
ii. pearl nygaard.
“oh, pearl,” her mother said, eyes full of tears. “you’re gorgeous.”
pearl felt gorgeous. she grinned at her mother, too elated to cry. her mother tugged the veil down over her face, and then she patted her shoulders, and then she left the room, gone to grab her seat so she could watch the show.
pearl gave herself one last look in the mirror. this was it. the first day of the rest of her life. she took a deep breath.
when she met lester’s eyes down the aisle, her heart skipped a beat.
iii. ida thurman.
it was sweet, how the boys never forgot ida. she thought that might be vern’s legacy, those fellas coming around month after month, year after year, handing bernie birthday cards with cash tucked inside that ida squirreled away in her already well-developed college fund. he’d been a good man, one of the best, and those lives he’d touched were coming back around and touching hers in turn. the fruits of his selflessness, his kindness.
from the sink, she surveyed the pile of cards on the kitchen table. ten of them, for father’s day. she wagered that if she were to make it to the cemetery today, there’d be a couple flowers on vern’s grave, maybe a few american flags.
ida looked out over the backyard, bernie playing with her dolls amongst the flowers. she wiped her wet hands on a dishrag, and then she went to join her.
iv. linda park nygaard.
bemidji was what linda needed.
it was a change of scenery. brainerd had gotten stale, especially after she broke up with walt and could barely walk down the street without being reminded of their relationship. they’d been everywhere together. every restaurant was a date, every pharmacy was a 1 AM emergency run, every traffic light was an argument. brainerd was done, for her.
bemidji was cute. cuter than brainerd, for sure. the novelty would wear off eventually, this she knew, but for now, even the air tasted different.
she’d found a job listing for an assistant at an insurance office. she’d been a secretary for a law firm in brainerd. maybe a new career would add to this next adventure.
on her first day, they had a little party. there was a brownie platter and sugar cookies. one of the guys—lester, his name was—spilled some punch down his pant leg. linda couldn’t help but giggle, even as she grabbed the paper towel roll for him.
yes, bemidji was just what she needed.
v. gina hess.
gina shared a dressing room with five other women every night. it was better than it had been in las vegas—one dressing room for twenty girls—but it was still tumbleweed, arizona, the town she grew up in, the town her mother still lived in.
mickey and moe hated it. momma hated it. daddy hated it. and gina, perhaps, hated it the most.
she stubbed out her cigarette. she stared at herself in the mirror. at least the night shift was better than the day shift, dancing for three bored old men and a sandwich at two in the afternoon. she shuddered just imagining it.
vi. kitty nygaard.
on mondays, kitty went to therapy. on wednesdays, chazz went to therapy. on fridays, gordo went to therapy. and on the first tuesday of every month, they went to family therapy.
lester tried to ruin their lives, tried to destroy their family. but kitty wouldn’t let him. no, she thought as she laid awake beside chazz in bed, his arm twitching in place where he’d slung it over her, his breath getting quicker, fuck that.
“chazz,” she whispered, jiggling his arm. “chazz, it’s just a dream, hon.”
he didn’t wake, but her gentle whispers stopped his trembling.
“that’s it. back to sleep…”
vii. greta grimly.
greta’s worst fear was her parents’ disappointment.
when she came home for thanksgiving, her first visit after moving away to college nearly three months before, she sat parked on the street in her car for fifteen minutes, suddenly regretting her cut and dye job (her hair was a fucked-up purple pixie cut, now, done by her roommate) and her outfit (a heavy coat, of course, it was november in minnesota, for fuck’s sake, but underneath it a worn-out leather jacket and an indigo girls t-shirt). she breathed hard through her nose, closed her eyes, and turned the car off.
greta almost knocked on the front door. she called herself fucking ridiculous and walked right in, instead. molly was in the kitchen with henry. greta could hear little lou (not so little anymore, he’d be as tall as greta in no time) in the living room, making little grunts of effort as he played the latest zelda.
“greta!” henry squealed.
molly turned away from the fridge, her eyes falling on greta standing awkwardly in the kitchen doorway. she smiled.
“you look good,” she said.
greta smiled back.