Samantha woke. She thought she heard a cabinet door shut. Ben was off for the weekend with his guy friends, so Samantha slid on her slippers and went to look.
There was a girl opening the fridge when Samantha entered the kitchen. She stopped guiltily. ‘Hi, Mom.”
“What are you doing?”
“Getting something to drink.”
She pulled out a two-liter bottle of Strawberry Fanta and shut the door.
“What time is it?” Samantha said, looking at the display on the microwave. “What are you even doing? Get back in bed.”
“Remember that story we heard,” Molly said, “about how they use red Fanta as an offering to ghosts somewhere because they can’t use blood anymore? I wanted to try it.”
“There are no such things as ghosts, Molly. Let’s go to bed.”
Molly poured some Fanta into a saucer, and then drank some from the bottle, grinning impishly. “Come on, Mom. Didn’t you ever want to believe?”
“A friend in middle school claimed a cabinet in her living room was haunted. She said it scooted around at night. I never saw it. People think all sorts of things. It’s just in their heads.”
“Please, Mom. Give it half an hour.”
Samantha didn’t know why she agreed. She was tired. She had worked an extra shift yesterday and had a whole list of errands in the morning, and there just wasn’t any time for this nonsense. But she looked at her daughter’s expectant face and thought that, maybe once, she could spare the time.
Molly put the saucer just outside the sliding glass door, and they waited, Molly cross-legged on the ground, Samantha in a chair.
“You know, it’s likely you’re just giving some stray diabetes.”
“Why don’t you believe in ghosts, Mom?”
“I’m just…practical, that’s all.”
“Is that why you and Ben haven’t married yet?”
“We want everything squared away. We both have student loans still. I’m not really happy with my job, and— Just grown-up stuff. That’s all.”
“Ghosts are a lot cooler.”
After about five minutes of waiting, Molly flopped onto her back. “You know why I like ghosts, Mom?”
“Probably because you think it’ll be fun to be scared.”
“It’s like Scrooge. He didn’t understand a lot of stuff until the ghosts came. They know things. Special stuff.”
“I suppose.”
Another minute or two passed. “This is boring,” Molly said.
“Let’s go to bed.”
“Tell me something, Mom. Anything. Like why you named me or something.”
“I don’t know. I always thought Molly was a sweet name.”
Molly sat up. “Am I sweet, Mom? Do you like me?”
“Let’s not talk like this, okay?”
“Do you like me, Mom? Tell me.”
Samantha took a deep, bracing breath. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“I’m tired of waiting.” Molly opened the door, brought in the saucer, and tipped it into her mouth. “Good night, Mom.”
“Good night.”
In the morning, Samantha woke and remembered that she had no daughter.