Pulling her hair into a loose ponytail, Molly flung herself onto the old couch in between her parents. She had on her most comfy pyjamas, and the comforting smell of buttery microwave popcorn filled the room as she reached across the coffee table to grab hold of the remote.
'Right then, what have we decided?'
'Your father suggested 50/50,' her mother said with a playful glare.
'It's funny!'
'Dad, no cancer movies!' Molly looked to him in horror, lightly whacking his arm with the remote.
Martin laughed to himself, it was just his sense of humour to make light of the situation in what he knew to be his final weeks, if not days. He was awfully thin and sallow in the face, but the morphine at least allowed him the energy to joke with his two favourite women and fake normalcy for a few hours in the evening together.
He had spent a few nights last week in palliative care, and Molly had been privy to some very difficult adult conversations between her mother and his palliative care nurse. She was aware that he was moving into the "end of life care" phase, all that mattered now was ensuring his quality of life was as comfortable as possible.
He'd been allowed to return home on the provision that he receive visits as needed from his healthcare team and the family has been warned of what to expect in the coming weeks - that he may seem as though he was improving briefly as the morphine kicked in, then weakness, then delirium, then that was it. The Great Nothingness. Martin Hooper would cease to exist on the earthly plane, existing only in the hearts of those who knew him.
Molly quickly wiped her eyes as she flicked through the available movies on telly, not quite in the mood for a cancer comedy and settling on Notting Hill. Her father pretended to hate it at first, as he always did, before joining in the girls' laughter and chiming in with his occasional praises of Hugh Grant and begrudgingly admitting it was a better movie than he remembered.
They were interrupted by the ding of Mrs Hooper's phone, pausing the movie as she fumbled through her handbag to find her glasses and view the message. A photo popped up from one of her friends, the mother of one of Molly's classmates whom she never spoke to and her group of friends, dressed up in floor-length gowns and corsages and arranged with their dates along the staircase of their grand home.
'Oh look what Julie's just sent, how sweet!' she cooed, turning the phone around to show the other two.
'What's the occasion?' Martin half-heartedly enquired, more interested in the popcorn kernel that was stuck in his molar.
Molly folded her arms across herself and sunk as deep as she possibly could into the couch cushion, waiting for the penny to drop.
Her mother stared down at her phone for a moment, zooming in on the other kids, then back to Molly, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose to her usual "authoritarian" position.
'Molly,' she said calmly, 'Please tell me you are not skipping out on your school formal.'
'I'd rather be here with you two!' she protested. It was true, she knew she had limited time to do mundane things like watch a movie with both her parents and she treasured any precious minutes she had as a whole family unit. There was also the matter of her date, or lack thereof. The thought of showing up alone and watching the boy she was falling in love with dance with Irene Adler of all people made her want to gag.
The pair bickered for the next several minutes, arguments of "but I have nothing to wear!" and "you'll regret it when you're older" and hushed whispers of "but what about Dad?" being spoken over each other to create a total domestic cacophony.
Their squabbling was ended by the feeling of Martin's hand, frail and papery, reaching out to take Molly's. She stopped to stare at his kind, sorrowful eyes, and understood it was no longer a discussion. He would want her to go, and she knew it.
'I still have nothing to wear,' she grumbled as she dragged herself off the couch, her mother in hot pursuit as she fussed over her hair and nails, leaving Martin to watch on and smile as his two favourite people on earth flitted around each other like two little birds teaming up to build a hasty nest.
He had fallen asleep on the couch by the time Molly emerged almost an hour later, sporting an old dress of her mother's that thankfully fit her perfectly. It was somewhat old fashioned, but Molly quite liked the vintage style on her, and her mother had managed to apply her makeup and some loose curls to her hair so that she looked lively and youthful, and for once Molly might even go so far as to call herself pretty.
She gently nudged her father awake, giving him a little twirl before jokingly assuring him she would be home at a reasonable hour, would not partake in hard drugs and would not end up pregnant. Martin stood to give her a hug before she left, it took effort and caused him some slight pain in his lungs, but she was worth it.
'You look beautiful Molls, just like your mother,' he said softly, trying not to cry in front of his daughter. 'You have fun'.
'I will,' she said softly, squeezing his hand and aiding him back down to the couch. Her mother impatiently jiggled the car keys and called for her to hurry up, but a thought had just crossed Molly's mind. 'I'll be just a minute!'
Her mother groaned and left to start the car, leaving Molly behind with her father to be alone for a minute.
She knelt down on the ground so that she could better face him, tucking the skirt of her dress out from under her knees as to not snag the fabric. She took his hand again, choosing her words carefully.
'So there's this boy.'
'I'll kill him,' he joked.
Molly shook her head, laughing to herself and working up the courage to come clean.
'I haven't told Mum about him either, but…I...I think I really like him,' she managed to squeeze out, cringing at herself and burying her head in his knee.
'Right,' he nodded, coming to terms with his little girl being not so little anymore. 'And why is this a problem? Apart from me killing him, of course.'
'I think he likes me back, but...Well, he's just been a bit stupid about the whole thing.'
'Unfortunately, speaking from experience my dear, teenage boys tend to be that way,' he said softly, putting the pieces together. 'I don't suppose you'd be talking about that Sherlock fellow, would you?'
Molly's silence was an admission of guilt, her father knowingly nodding.
'Well he didn't seem stupid to me. Quiet, yes. But some people are brainy, you can just tell. Sort of like you. And anyone with a brain would know how lucky they are to be loved by you.'
'Thanks Dad,' she smiled.
'You should tell him. Your mother had to make the first move with me, you know, us boys are a bit thick that way, we need the woman to be brave because we're secretly too scared of making an idiot of ourselves. I'd love to have him around here for tea soon, if you'd like…and I'll try my best not to kill him.' Martin managed a smile, knowing there wasn't much time left for him to get to know his daughter's future boyfriend. He tried his best not to think about the other milestones he was sure to miss.
Molly opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by her mother annoyingly pressing down repeatedly on the car horn outside.
'I will,' she assured him, blowing her father one last kiss before scurrying out the door. 'Love you, Dad!'
'Love you too, kid.'