Molly was relieved that the other woman hadn’t taken offense when she brought the topic to lighter matters. She had been worried. But Abby had taken it well. It was her favorite trait of Abby’s – the woman was fairly easy to talk to, when they happened to cross paths.
“I – I never knew my mother, but my dad’s a terrible cook.” Molly smiled to herself over the memory of one or two burnt breakfasts. “My family spent a lot of time at the pub. I used to insist on passing out all the drinks for my table myself, even before I was old enough to hold them without spilling. Friends of my fathers’ got really good at grabbing their drinks. Then someone taught me how to slide the mugs across the table. I didn’t spill a drop after that. The pub’s also where I learned most of the stories I know. I used to listen to the men talk for hours.” Molly paused. “What did your father do? Since you said you got to go with him.”