Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  Within minutes, I’m yanking open the door to the old diner. I hesitate as soon as I’m inside, the Seat Yourself sign on display since it’s not too crowded at this time. In the end, nostalgia wins out, and I slide into what I’ll always think of as our booth.

  I order a coffee from a young waitress I don’t recognize. Luckily, she leaves me alone, and I discreetly pour some whiskey into my cup. The hefty swallow of spiked coffee doesn’t do much to soothe me.

  Staring into the dark brew, I’m bombarded with the memory of Magnolia and I coming here so often that Ms. Margie would place a Reserved sign on this booth for us after home football games on Friday nights.

  More memories flit through my brain. The first time Magnolia introduced herself. When we built the treehouse. Battling bullies and her insecurities. Navigating high school relationships. College. We’d been inseparable for years. Sure, there’ve been some rough patches, but we’ve always been friends.

  Now, I can’t deny it any longer. I need to move on. Sell the damn house and cut ties with this place altogether. There’s nothing left for me here.

  The hot coffee sears my throat, but I pay it no mind. I’m lost in the past.

  In how it all began.

  Hollis

  EIGHT YEARS OLD

  Fairhope, Alabama

  This is the summer I always dreamed of.

  I get extra time with my dad before he starts his new job and we’re building a treehouse.

  Plus, we’re out of Mom’s hair so she can’t complain about whatever bee gets stuck in her bonnet.

  “What we’re doin’ here, son, is buildin’ a cabin-style treehouse.”

  I peer up at my dad. “What’s the difference between that and a regular one?”

  “This one’s more elaborate…which means it’ll be a little bit more work.” At my groan, he raises his eyebrows with a knowing look. “But it’ll be worth it because it’ll have a shingled roof, a small window, and a door.”

  “Really?”

  He smiles. “Yes, sir.” Then he gets back to work measuring the boards, and I hold them steady while he uses his electric saw to cut them along the pencil markings.

  The best part about Dad’s new job at the paper mill is that we moved from our apartment in Birmingham and got this great house—especially with the huge tree in the backyard—here in Fairhope. Now, Mom can stay home and be a seamstress.

  After lunchtime, Dad and I start running out of steam. The heat and humidity during the summer here on the Gulf Coast are awful.

  “I reckon it’s almost time to call it a day.” Dad raises his eyes to look at me. “What do you think?”

  I heave out a tired breath. “Yes, sir.”

  I turn at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway of the house behind us. This neighbor’s home is large—way bigger than ours—and it has a garage on the side. It’s like someone drew an imaginary line between our backyards. On our side of the neighborhood, houses are smaller but still nice. The house behind us is on the other side with much bigger houses with stucco that doesn’t look faded.

  The other clue is the cars—all fancy, shinier ones.

  A girl around my age gets out of a car with a suitcase on wheels and one arm wrapped around a sleeping bag. She hurries up to the door of the fancy house and disappears inside.

  Dang. I’d been hoping there’d be a boy I could play with. Maybe there are others around here. Once Dad and I finish up for the day, I’ll ride my bike around the neighborhood and check it out.

  A few minutes pass while Dad and I cut the last few boards before a little voice calls out, “Hi there!”

  We turn to find the same girl I just saw. She’s wearing some fancy dress that has flowers on it and lace at the collar. Her shoes are shiny and pink. Her blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail.

  “Hi.” I force the word out and I know it’s not the most mannerly, but I kinda want my dad to myself.

  “I’m Magnolia Barton. I live right over there.” She waves a hand to her house.

  My dad smiles at her. “Nice to meet you, Magnolia. I’m Jay, and this is my son, Hollister.”

  I’m quick to correct him. “Hollis.”

  “Nice to meet you, gentlemen.” She smiles, her head tipping to the side and the ends of her blond ponytail slide over the shoulder of her dress.

  “Y’all are workin’ mighty hard out here.” Her Southern accent is thicker than molasses. “Would y’all like me to get you some sweet tea?”

  I stare at her for a minute before I turn to my dad with a look like, Is she for real?

  He smiles and his eyes crinkle the way they do when he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “Why, that’s a lovely offer, but I think we’re good. Thank you, though.”

  “You’re welcome.” She grins, showing a small gap between her front teeth.

  “Why do you talk so prim and proper?” I blurt out without thinking.

  “Son.” Dad’s tone is sharp.

  “Sor-ry,” I mutter.

  She steps closer, and I notice her eyes are a bright blue. “Mother tells me a young lady’s always polite. Plus, my stepdaddy, Roy always says we need to be a good example for others.”

  Sounds pretty boring to me, but whatever. I turn back to the boards but stop when my dad looks like he’s just realized something.

  “Your stepfather’s Senator Barton?”

  “Yes, sir,” she says proudly. Then she moves in closer to me. “What’re you workin’ on?”

  “We’re buildin’ a treehouse.”

  “A treehouse?” The excitement in her voice has me turning her way and I notice she smells nice. Like that coconut sunscreen my mom sometimes uses. “I’ve always wanted a treehouse.” The way she says it in a sad kind of way bothers me for some reason.

  I shrug. “When we finish, maybe you can hang out sometime.”

  Her eyes go wide, and her mouth forms an O. “Really?”

  “Sure.” Geez, you’d think I said I’d take her to Disney World or something. Her face brightens, and when she smiles this time, I smile back.

  “I can bring over some of the sweet tea and banana bread our housekeeper makes.”

  “Uh…” I glance over at my dad, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Sounds great.”

  “Mr. Jay, do y’all need any help?” She links her hands behind her back, looking eager. “I’d like to pitch in somehow if I’m invited inside after it’s finished.”

  Dad glances at her dress and shoes. “It’s probably not a good idea to do much in those nice clothes, Magnolia.” He gestures to his own old holey jeans and T-shirt. “Just in case.”

  “Oh.” Her face falls.

  “Plus, we’re fixin’ to call it quits for the day.”

  “What about tomorrow?” She looks up at him hopefully.

  Dad turns to me, and I know he’s silently asking me if it’s okay to invite her to help. I’ll feel like a jerk if I say no even though I really want this time with my dad to be just us guys.

  I blow out a long breath. “Tomorrow, we’ll be workin’ on the roof, if you wanna help.” Maybe she’ll say no.

  She blinds me with her gap-toothed smile. “I’ll be here. And I’ll bring refreshments.”

  “Great.” I try to act excited, but I’m not too sure about this. Plus, I’m not really a fan of banana bread. Chocolate chip cookies are more my thing.

  All I know is, she’d better bring over some killer sweet tea.

  Four days later…

  Magnolia comes over every morning to help with the treehouse, and each time, she wears fancy clothes.

  Example: The other day, her jeans and shirt looked like they’d been ironed.

  Not only that, but her sneakers have no scuffs or dirt stains. Basically, she doesn’t wear the kind of clothes folks put on to mess around building.

  She does bring over some of the best sweet tea I’ve ever had. Her banana bread isn’t that bad either.

  I’d still pick chocolate chip cookies over it, though.<
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  I glance at her while I hold the electrical outlet box for Dad. We’ve finished the roof, and he’s run electricity from his work shed that stands a few feet away from the treehouse. He said he doesn’t “believe in doin’ anythin’ halfway.” I reckon he’s trying to make up for us not having a real house or backyard before.

  “Where’re your mom and stepdad?” I ask.

  “My stepdad’s at work. He had to go to Montgomery for meetin’s.” Her voice changes, and I’m not sure why, but she sounds beat down when she adds, “My mother’s at her women’s tea, plannin’ some social events.”

  After a few hours, Dad says we need to stop for a lunch break. We’re all sweaty—even perfect Magnolia. I eye her shirt.

  “I can give you a shirt to wear so you don’t have to worry about messin’ yours up from now on.” I lift my chin toward what she’s wearing. “It should fit.”

  Her eyebrows rise, blue eyes flicking back and forth between me and my dad. “If you’re sure that’s okay.”

  Dad nods with a small smile and I tip my head toward the house. “We can run inside and get it.”

  My dad dusts off his hands. “Why don’t we all take a break in the A/C? I’ll get the fixin’s for some sandwiches.”

  “Yes, sir.” I look at Magnolia. “Come on. I’ll get you a shirt or two for tomorrow.”

  We rush inside the house and both of us sigh when the cooler air hits our hot skin. Slipping off our shoes by the door, I tell Magnolia to follow me while Dad heads to the kitchen.

  “Come on.” I lead her down the hall to my room.

  The instant she steps through my doorway, she gasps and covers her mouth, eyes wide in shock.

  I whip my head around, looking for a Palmetto bug—which is really just a nice name for a cockroach—since they’re pretty common around here. Or a ginormous spider. Something. Anything. But I don’t see whatever’s got her acting weird.

  “What?”

  She blinks and drops her hand. “I’m sorry. Your room is just so…” She trails off, glancing around.

  “Messy?” I mean, it’s not a pigsty, but I just flung my covers up instead of actually making my bed. Dad makes me keep my room mostly clean.

  “It’s the coolest room I’ve ever seen.” She breathes this out like one of those princesses out of a Disney movie.

  I’m really not sure about this girl.

  “Uh, thanks?” I glance around at the bookshelf Dad put in my room. My favorite books are on two shelves, but on the other two are models of a 1950 GMC truck and a 1959 Chevy Impala I put together. Nothing worth gasping over.

  She moves over to the models and stares at them. “Wow.” Turning to me, she asks, “You made these?”

  I nod. “Sure did.” I step beside her. “Took me a while, but Dad told me to have patience. Said stuff that’s worthwhile needs extra care and time.” After I think about it, I add, “Just like the treehouse. He said it’d take a while since we were makin’ it better than any of the others we’ve seen, but it’d be worth it in the end.”

  She turns her head to look at me and I realize how close we’re standing. I can see her eyelashes. They’re a little darker than her hair and crazy long.

  “Hollis?” she whispers.

  “Ma’am?” As soon as it slips out, I wince at how formal it sounds, but Dad’s drummed it in my head to be polite.

  Lucky for me, it doesn’t faze her.

  Her eyes drop to the floor for a second before darting back to mine. “Will you be my friend?”

  I wrinkle my nose, confused. “I thought we were.”

  Magnolia’s entire face brightens, like I’ve told her tomorrow’s Christmas or something. Her smile is wide, that gap flashing at me. “Thanks, Hollis!”

  She catches me off guard when she throws her arms around me and hugs me tight. Geez, this girl’s stronger than I expected.

  “The other kids aren’t so nice,” she mumbles, still hugging me. I pat her back awkwardly because, well…I’m not used to getting hugs from girls. Plus, Mom’s never been much for them.

  Or anything even close to that kind of thing, really.

  Then, Magnolia whispers, “The other kids make fun of my teeth.”

  Anger. It’s the only thing I feel when she tells me that. I don’t know her well, but it’s plain as day that she’s nice. Without realizing it, I hug her back.

  “Just ignore ’em.” Then I add, “If anyone gives you trouble, let me know, and I’ll deal with ’em.”

  She slowly backs away and looks at me with wide blue eyes. “Really?”

  I nod. “You bet.”

  Nobody should be bullied for something they can’t control. That’s what Dad always says. A kid made fun of me back in Birmingham because of the scar that cuts through part of my right eyebrow. He moved away after that year, but most of first grade sucked because of him.

  I tell Magnolia this, and she reaches up to run her finger over the scar. “How’d you get it?”

  My cheeks get hot, and I look away. “I, uh, ran into the edge of a metal shelf in my friend’s garage. We were playin’ hide-and-seek, and I was chasin’ after him. Cut it too close when I whipped around the shelf. Just lucky I didn’t lose an eye.” When I look back over at her, she winces.

  “That must’ve hurt.”

  I shrug. “I had to have stitches, but that white ridge won’t go away.”

  Her lips press flat. “Well, if anyone makes fun of it, they’ll have to go through me first.” She nods. “That’s what friends do, right? Stick up for one another.”

  I grin. “I reckon so.”

  We stand here, and I don’t know why I can’t seem to look away. Her smile is happy, and I like it.

  “Hollister, what’re you doin’ in—” My mom’s voice has us whipping around to face the doorway. “Oh...hello.”

  “Hello, ma’am.” Magnolia offers her hand to my mom who looks surprised. “I’m Magnolia Barton. I live in the house right behind y’all. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  The look on my mom’s face makes me nervous, but she gives Magnolia’s hand a brief shake. Then her eyes flick to me suspiciously. “What are y’all doin’ in here?”

  “I was gettin’ a shirt for her to wear so she wouldn’t mess up hers.” Then, I rush on with, “She’s helpin’ us with the treehouse.”

  Mom eyes me sharply. “How much longer will it take till it’s finished?” Her tone is cold. She didn’t like the idea of Dad and me working on it in the first place. No idea why.

  Then again, she never seems to like anything I do.

  “We’re almost finished. Dad found a used air conditioner and got a cheap window for the side.”

  Her mouth turns down. Shoot. I thought it would make her happy to know we were close to being done.

  She backs away from the doorway, looking down the hall. “I’ve got some more sewin’ to finish.” Then she’s gone.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Barnes,” Magnolia calls out after her.

  Mom doesn’t respond. Her rudeness makes me uncomfortable, so I shrug like it’s nothing. “She’s busy with a lot on her mind.”

  “She sews?”

  “For other people. She hems pants and stuff.” I dig out some old T-shirts from a bottom drawer and hand her a few. “Here you go. You can keep ’em if you want.”

  She looks down at the folded shirts in her hands like I just gave her fifty bucks. “Thank you so much.”

  I laugh a little. “They’re just old shirts.”

  “Hollis! Magnolia! Lunch is ready,” Dad calls from the kitchen.

  Her blue eyes meet mine, cheeks turning a little red. She steps forward and presses a kiss to my cheek. “You’re a good friend, Hollis.”

  Then she turns and leaves me standing in my room.

  She’s nice enough, but man, that kiss was just gross.

  Magnolia

  TEN YEARS OLD

  “May I please go over to Hollis’?”

  I stand in the doorway of my mother’s bedroom.
She’s sitting in front of her dressing table, sliding on her big diamond earrings. Her hair is perfectly styled, and her dress is smooth, with no wrinkles in sight. Like always.

  Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and I brace myself for what’s coming.

  She wants me to look and act a certain way, but I have this stupid gap between my front teeth, and my hair is never perfectly neat and straight. Plus, it’s darker blond, and she says I resemble my daddy—my real daddy—and it’s no big secret it bothers her. I know what he did was downright dirty, leaving us like he did, but it’s not my fault he left.

  Sometimes, I think she’s trying to shove all the girly stuff down my throat because she hopes I’ll become what she wants me to be. More like her.

  Less like me.

  It never matters what I want. And it’s only gotten worse since Roy’s been elected state senator. They keep saying they want me to follow in his footsteps when I’m older.

  Except I’m not that great at being social. I say what I mean and mean what I say, and that’s not how things work around here. The people Roy and my mother always have around have those fake kind of smiles, and they’d tell me they love my dress even if it was a gosh darn black plastic trash bag. Just because I’m a Barton.

  The only time I ever see any sign of life in the eyes of those ladies my mother hangs around with is when one of them bites off a chunk of juicy gossip.

  The last bit of gossip I overheard was something about Hollis’ mom being unfriendly to my mother. The other ladies said she was probably just jealous since Roy is such a “fine-lookin’ man.”

  “Magnolia, dear,” my mother starts, and I already know I won’t like whatever comes next one bit. “I’m not sure this Hollis boy is the right sort of friend for you. You should hang around with the other girls.”

  “But he helps out Grandpa Joe at church. You always say that donatin’ time and helpin’ others are important.”