Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  Regardless of his date’s questionable choices in allowing just anyone to frequent her lady parts, she chose a shirt that molds the muscles he’s gained through football conditioning and weight lifting.

  “You ready for tonight?” Dallas holds open the passenger door, and his boyish smile makes my stomach flip—in a good way. He’s cute and muscular without being too intimidating.

  It also helps that my mother approves of him. When I told her Hollis and his date were tagging along, her expression looked like she just bit into the sourest of lemons—like she normally looks whenever I mention him. Emphasizing Dallas would be my date and Hollis and Kelsey were just tagging along helped to smooth things over with my mother considerably.

  “I’m ready. Buuut”—I drag out the word playfully—“are you sure you’re ready for my amazin’ dance moves?” I move my hands in a terrible rendition of the robot.

  Good Lord Almighty, I’m a dork. But Dallas laughs, and when he smiles down at me, it’s not in a patronizing way. He looks at me the way I’ve been hoping a guy would look at me someday. Like I’m pretty even though I have these awful braces, and despite the fact that I don’t have many girlfriends because, well…most of them I really can’t stand.

  He grins wider, and I find myself envious of his perfect teeth. “I didn’t realize I’d have to break out the classic moves tonight.”

  I try my hand at flirting and lean in closer. “I can’t wait to—”

  “What’s this about classic moves?”

  Dallas and I whip our heads around in surprise at Hollis’ voice. The expression on his face is one I don’t recognize. His eyes seem to silently challenge Dallas in an odd sort of stare-down.

  Attempting to lighten the mood, I force a smile. “We’re talkin’ about awesome dance moves. Like this one.” I attempt the robot again, and this time, Hollis’ lips curve upward in a hint of a smile.

  “Better watch it, or you’ll be challenged to a dance-off tonight.” His eyes crinkle at the corners.

  “Bring it on.” I laugh and slip inside the vehicle. Dallas closes the door and strides around to get in. Hollis sees Kelsey in on her side before getting in and buckling up.

  Dallas backs out of the drive and heads toward our school gymnasium. My stomach flips with nervous anticipation of tonight. I’ve never actually been on a date before, so this is all new to me. I know, Hollis tried to simplify things for me earlier, but now, it doesn’t seem so cut and dry to me.

  When Dallas glances over with a shy smile and slides his right hand over the console, tipping his palm up, it takes me a second to realize he’s waiting for me to put my hand in his.

  Our palms touch and he closes his fingers around mine. His hand isn’t clammy or cold. His thumb lightly grazes my hand, and it’s actually…nice.

  I relax in my seat, and when Coldplay’s song “Yellow” plays on the radio, I face the window. I know I’m a terrible singer and can’t carry a tune in a bucket, so I don’t want to subject anyone to my off-tune singing.

  When the radio’s volume increases slightly, I turn to find Dallas’ thumb poised over the button on his steering wheel. He starts singing along, and I’m surprised he knows the words. Not only that, but he’s not the greatest singer either. Actually, he’s probably worse than me.

  He glances over at me while singing softly, and his shy smile has me matching it with my own.

  “Good thing they’ve got money because, good Lord in heaven, those voices…” Kelsey mutters snidely from the back seat, but I don’t pay her any attention. Hollis’ voice rumbles, but his voice is too low to decipher his words.

  It doesn’t matter, though. Because Dallas has me thinking that I might just have this whole dating thing under control.

  Hollis

  AFTER THE DANCE

  “You’re home early.” My mom sneers when I walk into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. “Did she finally realize you’re trash?”

  I should be used to her nasty jabs by now, but they continue to find their target. I refuse to acknowledge her, hoping she’ll lose interest and go back to whatever she was doing while I was gone.

  With a glass in my hand, I press it against the dispenser on the refrigerator door and fill it with water, trying to buy myself time. To try to calm the intense anxiety rushing through me.

  I should know better. Because nothing stops her from spewing her hate.

  “Did that little whore buy that shirt for you?” She practically spits out the words, and when I turn around, my grasp on the glass is so tight, I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. She moves closer, and that’s when I catch a whiff of it.

  Alcohol.

  My eyes widen in surprise even though I reckon I shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to her.

  “You probably let her pay for everythin’, huh?”

  My lips flatten. “That’s kinda the point behind the Sadie Hawkins dance. The girls ask the guys and pay for everythin’.” My tone is dull, and I’m not sure why I even offer up the information.

  She steps even closer, and the stench of her breath—staleness intermixed with whatever liquor she’s gotten into—makes my stomach roil. “Bet you gave her somethin’ in return, huh?”

  I clench my teeth so hard it’s a wonder my molars don’t crack. Instead of responding, I chug the water and set the glass on a coaster on the table for later.

  As soon as I set it down, she grabs it with more quickness than I’d expect from someone who’s been drinking. With the glass in her hand, she holds it chest level before letting go, and it shatters to the floor at our feet.

  I stay stock-still, frozen to the spot. I swear she’s getting worse and more unstable with her moods. I’m never sure what’ll set her off.

  I mean, obviously, I’m always a factor, but she’s never gone this far before.

  I watch cautiously as she bends down, swaying slightly, and grabs one of the larger pieces of broken glass. Part of me screams internally to move away, but my feet won’t budge.

  She holds up the shard of glass between us, unaware she’s cut herself, and blood trickles down her index finger. Her face is a mottled red, angry, and sneering. “You think you’re good enough for her?” She raises the glass higher, closer to my neck. “You’re wrong. You’ll never be good enough for ’em. You’ll always be the poor Barnes boy.”

  Hatred fills each word that falls from her lips, and I despise how they hit that insecure part of me that’s buried deep.

  I force the words out as calmly as I can while her glassy eyes hold mine. “I get it. I’m not good enough. I’m trash. But”—I lean in closer, daring her to make a move—“what does that make you?”

  Our eyes clash in their own silent war. I’ll never understand why she hates me. How a mother could hate her own son without any justified reason. Why I don’t measure up in her eyes. The hatred she has for me causes me to steer clear of her, but at times like this, when she seeks me out, I’m helpless to do much. Especially without Dad here as a buffer.

  I get decent grades. I don’t get into trouble. I have a job. I’m not a slob, and I help out around the house. I’ve done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment, let alone her venom-filled words.

  After what’s probably less than a minute but feels like eons, I break eye contact and turn to leave the kitchen. To get as far away from her as possible.

  It happens so fast, the pain doesn’t immediately register when she does it. The wetness, however, does.

  I stare down in shock at where she’s sliced my forearm, exposed by my rolled-up sleeves.

  What the fuck?!

  My eyes cut to hers. Without even a trace of emotion on her face, her fingers release the glass, and she turns and staggers out of sight. Dazed, I grab some paper towels to blot my arm, then pick up and toss the larger pieces of glass in the trash. I’ll need to sweep the floor to get up the small pieces. Dad doesn’t need to deal with this when he gets home.

  He’s been pulling extra hours lately. A part of me wonders if
he’s avoiding Mom. He keeps shoving a little bit of money at me when she’s not around, quietly saying, “Put it aside for the work you’re plannin’ on doin’ for your truck.”

  I manage to toss most of the glass in the trash quickly enough before it’s time to blot at my arm again. Dammit. I take a closer look after applying pressure to it. The cut doesn’t look deep enough to need stitches, but I definitely need to clean and bandage it.

  My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I pray it’s not Kelsey. I dropped her off at her house, barely escaping with my pants still fastened. Talk about being a little too free with her body. That girl’s like a freaking succubus.

  Carefully letting go of the wad of paper towels I’m holding against my arm, I slide my phone from my pocket and look at the screen.

  Shit.

  Magnolia: Can I meet you in the treehouse?

  I hesitate, wincing, and press the button. Lowering my voice to a hushed whisper, I leave a voice text.

  “I can’t. Had a little accident in the kitchen and have to do some first aid on my arm.” I lift my thumb from the record button and press Send.

  I feel like asking why she’s texting me when she should be with Dallas. Most everyone else is probably still making out tonight—if not more.

  I was doing exactly that earlier before I realized I was just going through the motions. Kelsey might be a sure thing, and all the guys will assume I scored with her, but they don’t know that I’m still a virgin.

  Maybe it’s stupid and cheesy as hell, but I don’t want my first time to be hurried on the girl’s couch with someone who treats sex like a fast-food drive-through operation. I want it to be at least a little special.

  Hell, maybe hanging around Magnolia’s made me some sort of pansy cheeseball.

  Magnolia: I’m coming over. Is your front door unlocked?

  I press the record button again as I quietly walk toward the door. “It is now. I’ll be in the bathroom.” Normally, when my mom gets like this, she hides away in her room afterward, but I’ll stay alert, just in case. The last thing I want is for Magnolia to get caught in the cross fire.

  Magnolia: On my way.

  I swear my best friend moves at the speed of light because I’m setting the peroxide, antibiotic ointment, and bandages on the small vanity when the faint sound of her footsteps trails down the hall. The blood has clotted, but I know the peroxide will upset things again. I’m not looking forward to that or the sting.

  Magnolia comes into view, concern written all over her face. She steps inside the postage stamp-sized bathroom and closes the door behind her, locking it. Her eyes shift to my forearm before flicking up to meet my gaze.

  “Let me help,” she says softly.

  I merely nod and take a seat on the closed toilet lid with my arm draped over the small lip of the sink so the peroxide will run off my arm and down the drain. I bite back a hiss when the liquid hits my open wound, maintaining my stare on the scuffed baseboard a few inches from my feet.

  “Are you gonna tell your dad?” Her eyes dart to mine, and I shake my head.

  “He’s got enough to worry about with the extra shifts.”

  Her lips press together in a firm line, and I know she’s disappointed with my answer, but this is something I won’t budge on. Mom’s always been like this. Sure, she crossed a line tonight, but I’m sixteen. I can handle it. No, I didn’t handle things well tonight, but she caught me off guard. At least now I know what she’s capable of.

  Quickly enough, Magnolia has me bandaged and replaces the supplies beneath the sink. She turns to face me, and the weight of her gaze is so heavy, it nearly suffocates me. I avoid her eyes. What guy wants to share a story like this with a girl, let alone a girl who happens to be his best friend? The girl he’s been reminded time and again he’s not good enough for?

  “Are you okay, aside from this?” Out of my periphery, I see her wave, gesturing to my bandaged arm.

  I nod slowly.

  “Do you need to…clean anythin’ else?”

  I blow out a long breath before I rise, still avoiding meeting her eyes like it’s my job. “I need to sweep the kitchen floor. I didn’t get a chance to before…”

  She presses a palm against my chest when I move forward, intent on escaping the bathroom. “I’ll do it, Hollis.”

  I give a terse shake of my head. “No. It’s my mess. I’ll clean it up.”

  Her sigh is loud. Then she catches me by surprise by reaching up to frame my face with her hands, forcing me to meet her eyes. The blue color seems darker, stormy almost, with both worry and a fierceness that’s all Magnolia.

  “Hollis, let me help you.” She softens her voice. “Please.”

  I press my lips thin before I finally answer with, “Okay.” My voice sounds small, like a child’s, and I hate it.

  Seeming relieved by my answer, she carefully raises my bandaged arm to press a featherlight kiss to it. A wistful smile tugs at the edges of her mouth. “Just kissin’ it to make it better.”

  I’m speechless. My throat has an enormous boulder wedged in it. How does this girl know just what I need even when I’m not sure?

  What’s worse is, I can’t recall a time when my own mother ever kissed my scrapes or cuts. When I needed stitches in my eyebrow, Dad was the one who stayed by my side, distracting me with laughter and the most random stories.

  It hits me that someday, Magnolia will be someone’s mom. And she’ll be a great one. She won’t hesitate to kiss hurts and make them better with love.

  It’s crazy, but right now, the cut on my arm stings a little less because of her kiss.

  She releases me and turns to the door. When her palm rests on the doorknob, I stop her with a hand at the base of her spine. With a quick flick of the light switch, we’re cloaked in darkness.

  “Thanks, Shortcake.” I hope she knows just how much I appreciate her right now. How I’d be lost right now without her here to anchor me.

  She doesn’t turn around, but I hear the affection in her voice when she unlocks the door and tugs it open.

  “Anytime.”

  Once Magnolia helps me clean the kitchen free of any traces of what happened earlier, we grab the small space heater from Dad’s shed and bring it with us in the treehouse and plug it in. She pulls out the rolled-up thermal sleeping bags from the corner shelf and lays them out atop the cushions on the floor.

  Wordlessly, we remove our shoes and slide inside the sleeping bags. She turns on her side to face me. With my bandaged arm at my side opposite of her, I slide my other hand beneath my head to stare up at the wooden ceiling.

  She slides closer, settling her head on my chest, draping an arm over my middle. “You can always talk to me.” Her whispered words seem to echo around us.

  I want to tell her, but I’m ashamed. I’m also afraid if I tell her what Mom said, she’ll agree and confess she’s realized she deserves a better best friend than me.

  Instead, I turn the tables on her.

  “Why’d you come home so early?” I murmur, trying to keep any edge from my tone. “Thought you’d be makin’ out with Dallas for most of the night.”

  When she doesn’t answer me, my entire body tenses, muscles going stiffer than a board. Dammit, I hate the idea of him touching her. It sucked just watching him hold her hand on the way to the dance. The sight of that alone had me nearly puking in the back seat.

  “I did for a little bit,” she finally answers.

  Bile rises in my throat, and I work hard to calm the urge to be sick. I don’t say anything; just wait her out.

  Because I know Magnolia, and there’s more.

  “I just didn’t wanna do too much, you know? I wanted to end the night on a good note. So, we kissed for a while, and that was it.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek as I mull over her words. Finally, I ask, “Are you goin’ to see him again?”

  It wouldn’t be the end of the world. I mean, Dallas is a million times more decent than Ashton, after all.

>   No one will ever be good enough for my Magnolia, though. I’ve come to realize that. She’s too special. Too incredible and kind.

  “I think so.” She shifts to peer at me, and I look down. Our faces are so close and I wish I could see more, but without the small light on and only the moonlight gleaming through the tiny window, she’s more shadows than anything.

  “He was a gentleman tonight?” There’s a steely undertone in my voice, but I don’t care if she notices. There’ll be hell to pay if he was anything less than respectful.

  The smile is obvious in her voice. “Yes, Hollis.”

  “Good.”

  She shifts back, her cheek against my chest, and we lie in comfortable silence for a while. I let my eyes fall closed as her nearness comforts me and helps me shrug off the painful scene from earlier.

  “You should set your alarm, Shortcake.”

  “I did.” Her voice is sleepy, and her words have a faint slur to them. “Just wanna lie with you a little while longer.”

  I release a long, slow exhale. When I whisper, I think it’s more for myself than her. “When you start datin’ and get a boyfriend, you know we won’t be able to do this anymore.”

  She doesn’t respond, and I assume she’s fallen asleep.

  Until a few long moments pass, and I hear, “Love you, Hollis.”

  The combined warmth of the sleeping bag, space heater, and Magnolia curled up against me have lulled me into a relaxed, sleepy state. My lips curve up slightly, and I whisper back, “But not like that.”

  Magnolia

  JUST SHY OF EIGHTEEN

  SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL

  “But—”

  My mother cuts me off with a sharp, dismissive wave of her hand. “Magnolia Mae, we’ve been over this.” Her eyes narrow and her mouth purses. “No.”

  It’s unlike me to rock the boat, but this? This is unacceptable.

  Which is why I persist.

  “But Hollis is my best friend,” I plead. “There’ll be others from my class, so why is it such a big deal?”