Chapter 4 : Three full stops (dot dot dot)
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 10|
Background: Font color:
Your dinner is in the fridge. I am elsewhere (obviously).
I thought you weren’t talking to me because I said the Roxanne was right about the reasoning behind your aversion to PDA? – Dexter
I forgot and cooked too much chilli. Just shut up and go be annoying somewhere else.
Did you go out and buy post it notes for the purpose of sending me angry notes and keeping up the silent treatment? – Dexter
Not talking is impractical for domestic matters. I am, however, still not talking to you.
You know, Molly, when most people argue someone is relegated to the sofa. Writing post it notes and not talking doesn’t count as an argument when all other aspects of life remain the same (if a little more silent). If you want advice on arguing you could always ask me? Think you’re missing the point. – Dexter
Eff off Dexter.
Molly Weasley had a rather questionable habit of treating every relationship like it was impermanent. For one, she had absolutely no desire to get her heart trampled on by making illogical decisions in the name of love – she’d moped up Roxy and Erin enough time to know the perils of expecting relationships to be everlasting – and instead had a lovely method of riding out the best parts of the relationship and disposing of them when they were beginning to get difficult.
Admittedly, her policy wasn’t always practical – things had been beginning to get a bit stick with Phil before she pulled the plug and she’d marked that up to sentimentality (although now she suspected it had more to do with the fact that she’d wanted to put off the moment when she had to deal with the whole oncoming onslaught of the Dexter issue which had near caused a complete identity crisis), but she’d always been happy in the knowledge that it would end.
Then, suddenly, there was another Dexter-debacle due to the fact that Dexter was not some ephemeral piece of furniture that could be disposed of at will; he was Dexter. And without that comfort blanket Molly was beginning to realise that none of her usual relationship calculations could possibly be relevant.
It wasn’t like some complicated good times take away bad times divided by arguments in the first month affair, but more like a bell curve in which she ranked the things about the other person she liked and disliked, drawing out her limits in accordance with where she was in life. And yes, she knew that Roxanne had regularly given her the lecture about love not being a maths equation but for the large part she had managed to retain her head and keep Dexter within the required lines.
She’d pushed it a bit. She hadn’t slept in her flat for three months before she ceased renting it, but technicalities stated that she didn’t actually live with him until after that point.
And now she’d reached the end of her relationship experience and not only was her relationship with Dexter still going as bizarrely and wonderful as ever, she wanted it to continue in such a way for as long as she could possible conceive. And that scared the hell out of her.
She was genuinely planning to start a life with Dexter. A proper, grown up adult sort of life where they owned where they lived rather than rented it. Unless something inconceivable happened, she was going to stay with Dexter for ever.
A massive full stop after her life as an intended spinster.
“Molly,” Dexter said, propping himself up on his elbows and looking over towards her side of the bed, “Molly.”
“Dex,” Molly muttered, face down in a pillow, “shut up, I’m sleeping.”
“Are you dying?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Damn,” Molly muttered, peeling herself off the bed, “what so important?”
“I’ve been watching you sleep for thirty minutes.”
“So I need to file for a restraining order?” Molly asked, stretching up her arms and staring at him. “So what, Dexter?”
“I just thought you should know,” Dexter said, “because that pushes our relationship to a new and frightening level. We don’t even need to act, Mols, cause no one can out cute this.”
“Cool,” Molly said, “frankly, that wasn’t exciting enough to justify interrupting my sleep.”
“You haven’t even asked what I was thinking.”
“We are not the sort of couple who ask each other what we’re thinking.” Moly said flatly, pulling herself into a more upright position.
“But that’s the thing, Mols, we are,” Dexter said, pulling her towards his chest, “don’t ask me when it happened –”
“- I’ll tell you when it bloody happened,” Molly said, sitting up and glaring at him, “when you started to think it was acceptable to wake me up in the bloody morning to tell me that you’d been looking at me.”
Dexter raised his eyebrows.
“Fine,” Molly said feeling irritated, “what were you thinking, Dexter, before you interrupted my sleep?”
“That I missed you.”
Molly let out a stream of swearwords, collapsed back onto the bed and pulled the covers over her head. Sometimes, and only sometimes, Molly wished that the relationship politics between her and Dexter were a little less complicated. Mostly, it was down to her sea of contradictions about what was fair game and what wasn’t fair game and currently, in an ideal world, Dexter would be fulfilling the role of a cuddly, completely silent sleeping boyfriend.
Dexter laughed. “Sorry,” he grinned, wrapping his arms around Molly’s waist, “couldn’t resist,” Dexter grinned, “given you didn’t get to sleep until stupid O’clock.”
“You better not be serious, you shit,” Molly muttered into her pillow, folding her arms over her chest and pulling away from Dexter’s hold on her, “just because I told you that was my pet couple peeve doesn’t mean it’s fair game.”
“It does a little,” Dexter said, “you started this tradition of pissing each other off; you got to reap the awards.”
“I’m too tired for you right now,” Molly said, pulling the duvet over to her side of the bed, “I’m exhausted and jet lagged and you just woke me up for some stupid reason to lie about -”
“-I wasn’t lying.” Dexter interrupted.
“I hate you.” Molly declared, taking the entirety of the duvet to my side of the bed.
“Molllyyy,” Dexter said, “come on.”
“No,” Molly said, sitting up straight again and glaring at him, “no, Dexter. There are distinct lines. One of those lines is dictated by my sleep. You knew this was going to piss me off and yes that’s what we do but not when I’m jet lagged and pissed off and we’re supposed to be on some nice holiday which we’ve been saving up for, which I organised if you remember… so just… go away and think about what you’ve done.”
“Think about what I’ve done?”
“Yes! Quietly! Somewhere else. Get lost, Dexter.”
“You want me to leave?”
“What part of sod off don’t you get?”
“We’re at a hotel, where do you expect to go?”
“The international floo station,” Molly said, “you floo home and I’ll see you in two weeks when I’ve finished enjoying my holiday.”
“Now that’s just disproportionate.”
“You’re disproportionate!” Molly snapped. “Your nose is wonky and your feet are stupidly big.”
“Molly, what’s wrong?”
“My git of a boyfriend woke me when I only got two hours sleep and started talking romantic crap to irritate me.”
“We’re on holiday,” Dexter said, “come back over here and we can sleep till midday, if you want. Don’t mess me around, Molly, I know when something’s up,” Molly remained silent.
“Molly, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m not talking to you.”
“You’re incapable of delivering silent treatment,” Dexter continued, pulling himself closer. “But that’s okay, I’ll just keep talking. So, I was also thinking that I love you a lot, earlier. When I was watching you sleep, I mean. And I was thinking,” he pressed a kiss against the spot just below her hair, resulting in Molly’s face scrunching up and her using her hair to cover up the exposed skin, “that I’ve never been on holiday with a girlfriend before. You went on holiday with Greg,” he continued, “he took you to Rome. And then I was wishing that I’d taken you to Rome, not him, which is ridiculous because Greg was before I even knew I liked you. Still, I like doing stuff with you Mols. So, after this holiday which should book another to somewhere better than Rome and then –“
“Shut up, please.” Molly requested.
“Are you still mad?”
“Livid.” Molly said with a sigh. “I was late.”
“I know you like punctuality, Molly, but you tried to kick me out the country.”
“Don’t be thick.”
“Late for what?”
“Repeating the earlier comment. I was late late.”
“Yes,” Molly said, “was, past tense, good observation.”
“So you thought…”
“Not exactly,” Molly said, “I just happened to be watching you sleep – or more, drool – on the plane and started thinking that it wouldn’t be so bad. Then it was no longer late and I couldn’t sleep because I felt like an idiot. Am I an idiot?”
“Yes,” Dexter said, “but not because of that.”
“Are you gonna be an arse about it?”
“No,” Dexter said, “I don’t want to go all the way back home and explain to my boss that I was exiled from Canada by my beautiful girlfriend and had to drag my arse back solo.”
“You wouldn’t tell your boss. You’d sit at home feeling sorry for yourself. Actually, you’d refuse to go home. You’re a persistent tosser.”
“Are we going to have kids?” Dexter asked. “I know we talked about it before, sort of, but that wasn’t really serious.”
“I never really wanted any,” Molly said, “but, I don’t know. Not now, obviously, it’s not a good time. Financially, we can afford holidays but not children. We’d need to buy a house first because I don’t want to bring kids up in a flat. So, if you got that promotion and I got a payrise…”
“No wonder you couldn’t sleep,” Dexter said, “crap.”
“It’s a big thing. I know Roxanne is trying to get pregnant, which is ridiculous by the way, but I don’t think she’s really thought about it.”
“Molly,” Dexter said, “you and Roxy are different: Roxy will plan if it actually happens, where as you… well, apparently you’re planning our next promotions.”
“I want to buy a house.”
“So we can have children?”
“No,” Molly said, “we’re not there yet, anyway. We’re in the stage where he’d deal with it if it happened but we’re not planning it. Our life, currently, is not in a children place. But, I’m fed up of paying rent. We have enough money for a deposit.”
“Right,” Dexter said, “we’ll get on some estate agents when we get back.”
“But that’s the thing,” Molly said, “we shouldn’t be on holiday. We should be saving and planning.”
“This is too much this early on a morning.”
“You woke me up, you prat,” Molly said, “is there something wrong with us?”
“Definitely not following.”
“Should we have more of a plan?”
“God, who knows? Aren’t we making a plan now?”
“Are we? I thought I was saying stuff and you were agreeing.”
“You did just threaten to kick me out, Molly.”
“So you don’t think we should get a house? You’re just agreeing with me to prevent an argument?”
“Is that what I said?”
“You might as well have done.”
“Molly, I’ve accepted you entirely as a part of my life. A very significant part. The important bit. I’m wholly excited by the fact that we’re on a nice not-so-romantic-holiday because it’s progress and forwards and yes, buying a house seems very practical and doable and sensible and it sounds great but you’ve just thrown a million things at me and you’re in a very bad mood and can we possibly go back to sleep and think about it later?”
“Don’t watch me sleep,” Molly said viciously, “especially whilst thinking about missing me.”
“No promises,” Dexter said, kissing the back of her head and closing his eyes. He had this feeling it was going to be a very long holiday.
Sorry about bailing out on your work do. You have free reign to say horribly romantic things that I’ll have to pretend to be pleased about for a month. I’m rubbish.
Is this the great Molly Weasley apologising? – Dexter
I just made you a cup of tea. What do you think?
I think these post its are ridiculous. Come say sorry properly, Molly Wobbles. – Dexter
That was certainly an original apology yesterday. Haven’t laughed so much for about a month. Please feel free to skip more work dos in the name of repeat performances. Roxy’s face was priceless. Love you, nutcase. – Dexter
Dexter did not give a crap about grammar. In fact, there were few things he cared less about than grammar. He was, most definitely, a descriptivist when it came to linguistics and in the days pre-Molly he’d been more than happy with the fact that he didn’t know he was a descriptivist, because he hadn’t a bloody clue what one was. He didn’t really see why comma splicing or subordination mattered providing everyone understood what he was saying and, as a Curse Breaker, there wasn’t much need for strictly grammatical writing, anyway.
Yet Dexter had, by way of humouring Molly and finding new ways to mock her, delved into her grammar books on so many occasions that it was beginning to get embarrassing. He’d found it all too amusing to slip grammatical references into conversations – particularly in front of others because Molly’s sudden shock, confusion and conflicted feelings had always been amusing to watch. He’d once told Lucy that their entire relationship was the personification of a superlative (Of, relating to, or being the extreme degree of comparison of an adjective or adverb, as in best or brightest). He’d told Percy Weasley that moving in together had essentially been a stative verb (process where the situation remains constant) when it came to their relationship. At dinner with Molly’s awful work colleagues he had, rather romantically he always thought, declared them an adjacency pair (two utterances related to each other). Obviously, no one had known what the hell he was going on about bar Molly, who’d had a coughing fit trying to recover from the mixture of amusement and repulsion the overdose of cheese had produced.
It wasn’t just grammar, obviously. Molly had once re-learnt Ancient Runes in secret then sent him an encoded message in said Runes (which, essentially, had been a rather extravagant insult) much to the amusement of his work mates who declared this sickeningly cute – until they read the insult, naturally. They still maintained their put-on-an-act defence against any situation they were required to attend as a couple, mostly to make others uncomfortable – and would go as far as storming out of restaurants or making out in front of whoever was around at the time, if that’s what it took. Every time he thought that aspects of their relationship couldn’t get more absurd, Molly would challenge him to a seduce off or a eat off or any sort of bizarre competition that usually lead to them calling each other names and bickering like they had done since they were twelve years old.
These games between them had become so integrated into his life that it had gotten beyond his control – it had been difficult to explain to Ian, why exactly, he’d referred to their relationship as a neologism (a newly coined term, word, or phrase, that may be in the process of entering common use, but has not yet been accepted into mainstream)... and after Dexter had eventually explained about the grammar books, the ongoing jokes, the way Molly always turned a strange pinkish colour which showed she was both pleased that Dexter was continuing to do his research and bemused by the subtle Mockery, Ian had brought him another pint and told him to hurry up and marry her.
And Dexter had returned that he fully intended to do so, because there were a million words in the lexicon, and he knew at least a hundred of them (although, if you listen to Molly she’d probably deliver a guesstimate of about six – tea, sex, dinner, Molly-wobbles, blah, blah because, of course, she never listened to him quite enough to catch everything he was saying), and not one of them was a suitable adjective for Molly Weasley. He didn’t give a damn about pre-modified noun phrases or coordinating conjunctions, yet he seemed to spend a slightly alarming amount of time blurring the lines ( a very thick line, mind, the sort drawn twice with a permanent marker) between grammar and romance in the name of amusing one Molly Weasley.
Sod abstract nouns, their relationship was entirely concrete. And, damn it all, they were going to become entirely conventional, or maybe not knowing Molly, and get married and have children – even if they did wind up with ridiculous names like parenthesis and semi-colon. Because of Molly Weasley he could never look at a sentence in the same way again. Admittedly, he still didn’t really give a crap either way about complex sentences and discourse structure, but she had most definitely changed his life. So, they would get married and life happily ever after.
And, really, it was all a matter of a single interrogative. Or, as Dexter had said before Molly’s insanity had diffused into his brain and polluted it with all the accompanying garbage, a question.
A life with Molly Weasley, full stop.
:) – Dexter
Please don’t use smiley faces. Especially when I can see the fact that you’re smiling because you’re sat opposite me hijacking my post it notes to misuse and abuse them.
I thought post its were our thing now? –Dexter
WE DON’T HAVE A THING. WE’RE NOT A CUTSEY COUPLE, DEXTER. WE HAVE NO THINGS. BURN THE POST ITS. THEY HAVE OUTSTAYED THEIR WELCOME.
“Now remember,” Molly said, pausing in the doorway to give a Dexter a serious look, “you categorically cannot call me Molly-Wobbles in front of my family, okay? Because Uncle Harry told George who told everyone that that’s what my grandpa calls my grandma when they’re alone and if you think about it it’s really weird that you call me that after Roxy mentioned it in second year, but it -”
“Mols,” Dexter said, trying not to grin, “I know – this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been to dinner with your family. I know the drill.”
“Yes,” Molly agreed distractedly, pausing to reach up and press a kiss on his lips, “but, still you can be incredibly slow, Dex, and I’d rather avoid that moment.”
“We agreed this ages ago, Mols. Me calling you Molly-Wobbles in front of any member of your family, excluding some cousins but not all of them, is the equivalent of you flashing Spencer.”
“The number of seconds of flashing as dictated by how many family members,” Molly agreed, vaguely imagining how Spencer would react if the whole thing was to occur – which she very much doubted, because Dexter took anything involving his big brother to heart to the most absurd degree. Even Molly had to admit that Spencer was pretty great but, frankly, Dexter wasn’t that awful in comparison, “right. You can do this, Dex.”
“I know, Molly,” Dexter grinned, “it’s you we should probably fill in the concern slip about.”
“You’re always concerning.”
“You’re just out and out alarming.”
“Why are we doing this?”
“For the wedding presents,” Dexter said, placing a hand on the small of her back and as good as steering her into the thrice-expanded dining room in the burrow, “and when they ask you about the proposal, do try to make it sound romantic.”
“Quick,” Molly hissed, “go ask my Dad’s permission.”
“Only if you ask my Mum’s.”
“She’d never say yes.”
“Exactly,” Dexter said, “what a relief.”
“Okay, good plan – let’s not get married.”
“Molly,” Dexter muttered into her ear, “what about the pretty dress?”
“I’ll marry the dress instead. Give me away?”
“How are we doing this?” Dexter asked, navigating the pair of them towards two empty seats vaguely near Roxanne – out of politeness, really – before quirking his eyebrows up at Molly. “Should we have organised a game plan?”
“Yes,” Molly breathed, “I vote the arguing routine.”
“Not applicable,” Dexter said, “I mean, are you going to stand up and make an announcement, or let someone get blinded by the ring?”
“Why is it so shiny?”
“Its diamond,” Dexter deadpanned, “so that if times are hard, we can sell your engagement ring to feed our many angry children – see, it’s so practical you’ve got to like it.”
“I have pre-empted eardrum pain, Dexter, my heart is beating at like a thousand times a minute and you should know I really hate this sort of thing.”
“Yes, Mols,” Dexter said, “I’ve known you for most of your life, but this is sort of a necessity. Sorry, but this is a must sort of modal.”
“Please,” Molly breathed, “remind me at regular intervals that you need three witnesses for the deed to be legal. And if it looks like anyone’s heading to supersonic range if you love me you’ll apparate me the hell away.”
“Remind me why I proposed?” Dexter asked, his lips hovering around her hairline. Molly frowned and lent back into his arm.
“Obligation. You felt bad about the prospect of me becoming an old maid and living in sin.”
“It’s now or never Molly; game plan.”
“Let the ring do the talking.” Molly said, stretching out her hand for a second and staring down the diamond. Then Roxanne looked over and Molly’s hand disappeared resolutely into her pocket.
Things had reached the realms of the squeaky after Molly’s continued attempts to eat dinner one handed had earned her more than her fair share of odd looks (and given this was the Weasley family a fair share of odd looks was probably twice the amount of the standard), which was probably fair enough considering she’d tried to hold her plate in place with her elbow whilst trying to cut up her steak.
Dexter had found the whole thing positively hilarious and had shrugged off all the curious looks by pretending that absolutely nothing was wrong – as if Molly regularly tried to eat with one hand.
“God’s sake, Molly,” Roxanne had sighed half way through the meal, “is this another of yours and Dexter’s messed up games?” which had resulted in Molly having a one-handed coughing fit into her dinner, Percy Weasley turning sufficiently pink and Dexter continuing to smile serenely at the back of Molly’s head.
Fred had said “messed up games, eh?” in a way that was entirely suggestive of things slightly more provocative than the regular we’ve-just-had-a-huge-argument routine that remained Molly’s absolute favourite.
One look at the colour of Molly’s Dad’s face and she decided to give it all up, had grudgingly removed her hand from her pocket and flexed out her fingers with a slightly nervous feeling fluttering around her stomach. And then, of course, the room went wild.
“How the hell,” Freddie Weasley was saying, “did you managed to con Mols into marrying you with a diamond? I’d always thought she was holding out for a ring of rock salt, or something.”
“See,” Dexter said, grinning, “Molly is actually really conventional.”
“Bullshit,” Molly returned, shooting her Dad a semi apologetic look before he had a chance to tell her off for using bad language – old habits really did die hard, it seemed (and there she was, a potty mouthed engaged adult still self-conscious about swearing in front of her father; at least several contradictions in that alone?) – “I’m not conventional.”
“She wants to get married in a big white dress and have lots of children.” Dexter said cheerfully. Molly rather thought she might add that to the list of things that they shouldn’t talk about in front of other people, but it seemed that no one believed it anyway.
“Maybe,” James said, grinning from the other end of the table, “there’s like a special passcode to break into robo-Molly.”
“A petname!” Freddie declared, winking obviously.
“That is a really shiny ring,” Dom said, leaning over the table to take a look at it.
“Saw it coming,” Uncle George said, nodding wisely.
“What do you call her, Dex?” Freddie grinned.
“Just Mols or something insulting,” Dexter grinned, quirking hey eyebrows at her as if to say I told you so, Molly which seemed just about right. Point to Dexter.
“No, that’s not true,” Lucy said, sitting up in her chair eagerly, “he calls her Molly Wobbles.”
Molly thought that even if ‘Molly Wobbles’ wasn’t disturbingly related to whatever her grandparents did when they were alone she’d have found that lovely declaration from her supposed sister a tad embarrassing. As it was, the whole table suddenly plunged into a very awkward silence.
Roxanne looked like she was about to start laughing, as did Freddie and Uncle George. Harry looked distinctly sheepish and was refusing to catch the eye of either his wife or his in laws. Grandma Molly had turned a spectacular shade of scarlet and was glancing up and down the table as if an explanation was about to appear and Arthur appeared to have lost the ability to speak.
Lucy, for her part, just seemed very confused about such a dramatic reaction.
“Molly,” Dexter said, very quietly, “does that mean Lucy has to flash Spencer?”
And then Molly buried her head against her new fiancé’s shoulder and silently shook with unadulterated laughter.
Now that would be one for the books.
Resurrecting the post it notes in the name of saving our marriage. Molly, I am deeply sorry for referring to you as ‘obsessive’ in relation to your crazy pre-wedding plans list. I think it probably just took me by surprise to have you turn into an utter bridzilla a year before said wedding is actually to take place. I did not think you cared about the difference –
– (sorry, ran out of space on my post it) between eggshell and white. Actually, I don’t think you do care. Also sorry about suggesting you wanted to out-wedding Roxanne. Also sorry about drawing a smiley face on your wedding planner thing just to annoy you. Also, sorry I didn’t do the dishes last Thursday (I know you’re still mad, Molly) – Dexter.
I am deeply apologetic about throwing your dinner away after you started referring to yourself as ‘Frankenstein’ and me as your ‘creation’ :)
Kind of thinking you’re being sarcastic. Don’t know why. Thinks it’s the death glare not happily coexisting with that excellent use of smiley. – Dexter
Hey! At least I didn’t get mixed up and refer to you as Frankenstein. Things could be worse. – Dexter
Thank you for not upping leaving me like Erin’s partner to living-in-sin. Also thank you for wanting to spend the rest of your life with me even though I yelled at you about being nice to me and may have overreacted about your terrible choice of fine china (when actually I think all china is terrible – plastic plates for the wedding?)and I like you Dex. You’re a good addition to my life.
The trouble with Erin was that she was entirely too lovable. She was the girl that men always dreamed of – the exact carbon copy of the image of their ideal girl, without some aspects of the traditional domestic goddess (Erin was really a terrible, terrible cook) – but it seemed that after spending two years or so with Ms Perfection they always seemed to find their imperfect ideal (using Dexter as an example, the Molly after the Lisa). Erin was the stopping point before the real deal and had attended more of her exes weddings than possibly anyone in the whole of history.
Mark, though, that was messy.
He hadn’t found his one true love and future wife (or if it had, it had yet to come out) but had instead decided received a job offer in America and hadn’t exactly invited Erin along.
And now, Erin was drunk. No one particularly blamed her. Actually, Molly had fully endorsed this course of action as semi-helpful (at least more helpful than the ‘let’s go clubbing I’m single’ and the ‘should I dye my hair green?’) and thus had been pulled out of her comfort zone and into a total girl fest. Apparently it didn’t matter how old you were, break ups still meant chocolate ice cream and signing off all men for life which was a shame given that Roxanne was married and Molly was in the middle of planning this stupid wedding.
“So,” Erin said, pulling her hair out of her face and pouting subconsciously, “you never did tell us how Dexter proposed, Molly.”
“Didn’t I?” Molly asked, frowning slightly. She didn’t really think that there was any way this could be remotely helpful whatsoever.
“No, you didn’t,” Dexter said, turning to raise an eyebrow. Apparently Dexter practically classified as a girl (‘or, alternatively Molly, he’s the best example of men – the promise of hope at the end of the tunnel of singledom’) and so Molly had been forced into the rather bizarre situation of declaring that all men were pieces of shit with her fiancé’s arm wrapped around her waist and Dexter up to his usual adding running commentary. “Shame that.”
“Is this really the time?”
“Yes,” Erin said, reaching for another can of cider – Mark’s favourite – and closing her eyes, “tell me the stories of Molly and Dexter. Proof of love in the world.”
“We could talk about Roxy’s new food processor or something.”
“We just brought a new food processor, Molly,” Dexter pointed out, which Molly thought was really and honestly quite frustrating and a tad unnecessary (but then, after Roxy had cooked that wonderful ‘congratulations’ cake which had been as bizarre as it was delicious Molly had really felt like they might need a food processor).
“Old news,” Erin said pointedly, “I want a proposal story. You have to, Molly, because Mark has left and I am going to be on old maid for the rest of my life and I want a proposal story.”
“Christ,” Molly muttered, “fine, yes. Proposal stories. Dexter, well, he was an idiot about it actually. Utter prat. He took me to the pub.”
“The pub?” Roxy questioned. “As in the pub?”
“The Deranged Quaffle,” Molly said, “yes, that pub. Gatstro pub proposal.”
“I think there’s a support group for that.”
“Exactly. Then he goes ‘Molly, I’ve been thinking’ and acts proper serious and then -”
“I said I thought we should redefine some boundaries and rethink our lives together.”
“Then Dexter said we were no longer epistemic modals, but detonic modals,” Molly said, scrunching her shoulders against the onslaught of the expression from her two oldest friends – there was quite a lot revealed in that statement. That Dexter had been delving through her grammar books again.
“To express permission, obligation or requirement,” Dexter grinned, pressing one of his hands against her back lightly, “Molly questioned this, I stated I was meaning the obligation part if I had her permission. Molly said ‘you think I should be obliged to you?’ and then -”
“Dexter said ‘substitute the word engaged’ and that was that, proposal over.”
“Molly,” Dexter said, in a vague attempt at pacifying the irritation that flared up whenever she had to talk about things like this.
“What about the pretty ring?” Erin asked, pressing her head against the bench behind her and slamming her eyes shut. “Molly’s diamond.”
“Ah, that was petty great,” Dexter said, grinning, “I’d given it to her earlier. I’d just told her to hold this for me and she put it in her handbag and didn’t even question it. Then she had to get her own engagement ring out her bag.”
“Wonderful,” Erin said, her eyes flickering open, “that is incredible.”
“Ridiculous,” Molly said, glancing at Erin feeling unsettled. If Erin was still left searching for a happily ever after then it didn’t seem like there should be much hope for anyone else. Erin, who’d been the blessed one since the beginning, shouldn’t be begging Molly Weasley for engagement stories to reignite her faith in love. That was some twisted sort of tragedy.
Molly decided that this whole love thing was both ridiculous and unpredictable and most definitely something that really hurt her head.
As I’m away for the next week days I thought I’d leave you some post its so I can still annoy you despite being in a different country. I hope you enjoy finding them in inconvenient places over the course of my absence – Dexter.
Hope you enjoy your cup of tea Molly! – Dexter
You know these shoes always make your feet bleed. It doesn’t matter that Roxy is taller than you. Get over it. – Dexter.
How long has it taken you to get to this washing, Molly? I’m betting at least three days. – Dexter
If you miss me you could always write to me. Stop looking at the phone.- Dexter
“So,” Dexter said, grinning slightly, “champagne for two?”
“Not for me, Dex.” Molly returned, sitting across from her fiancé in a restaurant that was fancy enough to sell champagne (and was therefore much too fancy for Molly to feel wholly comfortable, but as of later they’d spent more time frequenting this sort of joint – she chalked it up to growing up with slight trepidation. It was a bit like selling your soul, except the foie gras was sensational).
“I don’t really feel like celebrating,” Molly returned, weighing the menu up in her hands and scanning it looking for something that would cost less than ten galleons. Could she just order a side and a starter?
“Molly,” Dexter said imploring, “I got the promotion, step fifteen on your psycho prenuptial list and the pay rise is better than I thought when I applied.”
“Sod the list!” Molly said. “Tear it up; put it in the food processor and turn the setting up to liquidise.”
“We’re disregarding the list?”
“I broke the list! It’s invalid, Dex. Step fourteen has been shot down and buried.”
“Are you going to start speaking in plain English? Because if we’re going with code, I’d prefer ancient runes than grammar speak.”
“I’ve lost my job.”
“Today,” Molly muttered miserably, “I mean, well okay, I haven’t exactly lost it Dexter but they’re reshuffling the department and my boss said that my position wasn’t secure.”
“Molly, did you ever think that it might have been an idea to tell me that before I whisked you out for a nice meal?”
“That’s not even the end of the story, Dexter. That’s like the list being slightly crumpled compared to…well,” Molly frowned, “I panicked when they said ‘reshuffle’ and so I told my boss that she couldn’t possibly fire me because I was pregnant.”
“You didn’t,” Dexter said slowly.
“But I did! And, Dexter, I am pregnant. But then she didn’t believe me and – ”
“ – you’re pregnant?”
“So that’s the… tearing up of the list then?”
“Yes,” Molly said, balling her hands up, “but I didn’t think she believed me about being pregnant so then I… I got out the pregnancy test from my pocket.”
“Backtrack,” Dexter said slowly.
“Sorry, Dex, I only found out this morning.”
“No, no,” Dexter frowned, “so after peeing on a stick… you decided the best thing to do with that stick was to put it in your pocket?”
“I was going to give it to you.”
“Give it to me?”
“Like, I don’t know, replace your fork with at pregnancy test at dinner or put it in your lucky socks or something.”
“I…” Dexter paused, “I bloody love you, Molly. Next time you’re pregnant, okay?”
“Sure,” Molly said, offering him an only mildly sarcastic smile, “but I was in her office and I just panicked. So I was there with the pregnancy test on the desk and started talking about the bloody conception. Dexter, I talked about sex to my boss – I haven’t even talked about our sex life to Roxanne! I said inappropriate things to my boss because she said I was being reshuffled.”
“Okay,” Dexter said slowly, “now the pregnancy things just hit me. So… you’re with child?”
“Looks like it,” Molly said, “I’ve been trying to work out whose fault it is, and I’m favouring yours.”
“Of course it is.” Dexter grinned.
“Anyway, everyone knows Dexter. Debbie heard the boss congratulating me. Asked whether I’d got a promotion and then, well, I said I hadn’t and given we’ve been engaged for a while there wasn’t a lot else she could congratulate me for. I said you didn’t even know yet and that it was too soon to tell people, so now the cow’s made sure everyone in the ministry knows. We had to go out for dinner or else you’d have seen the balloons in the kitchen. I mean, I know it’s your fault, but it seemed a bit cold letting you find out via balloons.”
“Now, why is it a blame thing? This is good Molly.”
“It goes against the plan!” Molly said, her forehead creasing into lines of woe. “It’s too early, Dexter. We’re supposed to start trying in eighteen months time when we have more savings and secure jobs, now I’m going to be stuck shuffling in this great big sodding conga line till I’m reshuffled into a council estate, selling my hair to pay for our babies nappies!”
“I think you need to calm down,” Dexter said lightly, “you’ll upset the baby.”
“He’s already upset! He’s mourning the life he could have had if you’d just controlled yourself, Dexter.”
“Molly, calm down.”
“If you tell me to calm down again I swear to God I won’t marry you Dexter!”
The restaurant went oddly quiet. Molly rode out the lull in conversation (and the startled glanced in their direction) by focusing a lot of her energy on her menu.
“Good,” Dexter said, “then you’ll be a fully-fledged single mum.”
“I was going for living in sin,” Molly muttered, “I’m going to be pregnant for our wedding. Shit, Dex, people are going to think it’s a shot gun wedding.”
“Think logically,” Dexter said with an eye roll, “you’re going to be, what, a month? Two months pregnant? And we’ve had a date set for six months. You need to stop pigeon holing your life into neat little slots, Molly. You budgeted for everything – you even factored in some money for fertility treatment into your grand plan – and, well, Molly I’m really pleased. Can I be pleased?”
“Please,” Molly said, frowning, “Dexter, I’m really bloody scared.”
“Good,” Dexter said, “this is real, Molly-wobbles. We’re getting married in a month and in eight months we’ll have a baby.”
“Seven,” Molly corrected primly, smiling slightly as she ran a finger over the pretty cutlery.
“Seven?” Dexter questioned his eyebrows quirking up slightly, “then that was definitely your fault.”
Molly grinned at that.
I appear to have started to have contractions.
Going to St Mungo’s. Roxanne says writing post its is in invaluable use of my time at current
You are currently asleep and look all kinds of exhausted so I’m watching you sleep (sorry, Molly – bust me for it tomorrow) and I must say that our son is quite quite beautiful (and, although you’re not looking at your best, you’re not so terrible either). Anyway, Erin said that before I got to St Mungo’s (sorry) you were going on about full stops and things ending and being scared. The cheese in this might kill you, but I figure I need to give you an excuse to throw something at me (your exclamatives earlier leave me to believe that certain things were all my fault and that you hate me for doing this to you, or something of the like) but… you know Mols, three full stops makes an ellipsis.
I can practically hear you groaning. Sorry Mols. Also, congratulations on giving birth. I’ve heard it’s quite the accomplishment. Looking forwards to the rest of our lives. – Dexter.
A/N - Right! Another story done. Yes, this chapter was quite cute. Serious fluff actually and I had a blast writing this story. Thanks for reading this guys! Its been a pleasure :)
Other Similar Stories
15 ways to (...