Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  She turns her head to stare up at the ceiling as though asking for divine intervention and mutters, “You’re about to make me lose my religion, young lady.” When her eyes land on me, anger radiates from her perfect-from-a-spa-day pores. “He doesn’t belong here with us.”

  Us. Meaning people with money. It’s ridiculous that he lives directly behind us, yet an invisible line separates the wealthier homes from ones like his. An invisible line that seems to dictate who’s allowed to be friends, too, according to my mother.

  I’d stupidly thought she’d get over this. That she’d finally realize Hollis isn’t just a boy who lives in a house on the other side of that “line,” but that he’s a good person and that’s what should matter. She’s claimed, time and again, that she’s “allowed” me to keep up the “mismatched friendship” because Roy had suggested it could be seen as an act of charity by others.

  Since Dallas is in the picture, it seems she’s had her fill of this sort of “charity.”

  “You shouldn’t even bother with him anyhow.” She turns away and busies herself with organizing her purse contents. She’s about to leave to go to a Women’s League tea.

  “You have Dallas now.” She slides her purse straps over her arm and straightens. “He’s a nice young man. Comes from a good family.”

  Translation: His family has money.

  Don’t get me wrong, I like Dallas. A lot. We’re good together. He supported me when I ran for Class President and celebrated my victory, and I did the same for him when he was elected Vice President. We’ve manned a bunch of successful fundraisers for our school. And yes, she’s right about him being a nice young man, but sometimes…I’m not sure he’s what I want.

  Heck, there are times I’m not the least bit sure what I want.

  But on the nights when a text message comes through and Hollis shows up to help me out of my window, and we sneak away to the treehouse to talk about anything and everything, I know I want that.

  I’ve come to terms that Hollis doesn’t see me as a potential girlfriend, especially since I’ve kept him in the “friend zone” for so long. I’m not sure I could ever be brave enough to try for more. Not only that, but I never want to risk ruining our friendship on a whim that we could have more.

  But when we’re together, just the two of us, I know that’s what I want with a guy. The easiness. The way we can talk about anything that comes up. The lack of judgment. The understanding. The camaraderie.

  I want all of it. I just wish Dallas could be the one to give it to me.

  “I need to go. Tell Roy I’ll be home later.” Before I can form a response, she’s already out the door, pulling it shut behind her.

  My shoulders slump, and a tiny voice in the recesses of my mind lectures, No slouchin’, young lady. Shoulders back, spine straight, chin up. Balance that invisible book atop your head.

  Someday, I hope to permanently get rid of that voice. I amble down the hallway to my room and drape myself across the bed with an inward groan. I stare up at the smooth white ceiling and exhale slowly.

  Blindly, I reach for my cell phone that’s lying near the edge of the mattress. I scroll through my text messages, pausing over Dallas’.

  Dallas: I can’t wait to give you your present this weekend.

  Dallas: Looks like we may finish up earlier than I thought. Good thing since word is they’re backed up just before the back nine. Care to go on a date with your boyfriend tonight?

  Dallas is participating in the local golf tournament with his dad. It’s a big deal around here since it’s played on the LPGA course at the country club, and they raise money for a designated charity. Although, to be honest, the bulk of the people I know who take part do it to see and be seen rather than for the good cause.

  My thumb hovers over the keys, and I hesitate to type a response. Instead, I back out of those texts and look at Hollis’.

  Hollis: A little birdie reminded me someone’s birthday’s coming up soon.

  I can’t help the slow-forming smile that spreads.

  Me: Talking to birds these days, Barnes? Weird.

  Hollis: LOL.

  Me: Still working?

  Hollis is a caddy for one of the bigshots who frequents the country club where he works. After he finishes caddying, he’ll pull a long shift and assist with the clean-up once the tournament ends. I can’t imagine how exhausted he’ll be after being out on the golf course, hauling heavy clubs around in the heat and humidity with the sun beating down on him. Speaking of sunshine…

  Hollis: Yes, ma’am. They’re backed up on the first hole on the back nine.

  Me: You’d better be reapplying sunscreen.

  Hollis: Worried about me, Shortcake?

  Me: Always.

  Hollis: Promise I’m reapplying.

  Hollis: Gotta run. We’re finally moving.

  Me: Hydrate and make sure you don’t get sunburnt. Love you.

  Hollis: But not like that. ;)

  I stare down at his final text and wish he were here so I could talk to him. I know he’d never be upset with me because of my mother’s idiotic beliefs about him, but it would still hurt him. I wish there was a way to get around it somehow.

  I jerk upright as soon as I hear Roy come through the front door and call my name. “Magnolia? Come here, please.”

  My feet carry me to the bedroom door in a flash, and I tug it open, rushing down the hall to meet him. “Yes, sir?”

  He shuffles through the Saturday mail, not paying me attention, and merely tips his head to the side. “That came for you.”

  It takes me a moment to realize what he’s gesturing to. A plain brown cardboard box sits on the entryway table. It’s probably about two feet wide and rectangular. I step over to it and peer at it curiously. It’s addressed to me, but it doesn’t have a return address.

  “Thanks, Roy.” I heft it in my arms, surprised by how lightweight it is. I start in the direction of my room again but stop and turn back slowly. “Um, I have a question for you.”

  He raises his head, his dark eyes meeting mine, concern suddenly washing over his features. “Is somethin’ wrong?”

  “Well,” I hedge, “I wanted to see if it would be okay if Hollis came to my birthday party this weekend.”

  His brows slant together. “Your mother told you no already, didn’t she?”

  I wince. “I’m sorry. I just thought—”

  “Magnolia Mae,” he reprimands, “you should know better than to try to play your mother and me against one another.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry,” I rush on, my words hurried. “But it’s important to me. He’s my best friend, and he’s not a bad person like Mother wants to believe.”

  His expression tenses in thought. “You’re still with the Hampstead boy, right?”

  I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. He always calls him the Hampstead boy instead of Dallas. While it is annoying, it’s never condescending. Mainly because Dallas’ dad has been a campaign contributor, and Roy doesn’t want to rock the boat and risk not having that cushion of support.

  Instead of giving in to the urge to roll my eyes, I straighten. “Yes, sir. Dallas is my boyfriend.” Silently tacked on is something like, So there’s no reason for anyone to worry about Hollis.

  Roy runs a hand over his thinning hair—it has to be stressful being in the public eye and responsible for decisions that affect voters—and regards me much like a detective might study a suspect taken into custody for a bank robbery. I school my expression and hope it appears calm and innocent.

  He appears to mull over the idea. “I suppose it would look good to have him here,” he muses, more to himself than me. “Another act of goodwill to those less fortunate.”

  Finally, he nods with an, “Okay, fine.” As soon as my lips part to thank him, he cuts me off with a stern, “But you’d better not make me regret this.”

  I nod, hugging the box to my chest. “Yes, sir.” Then I add a quick, “Thank you.”

  He copies
my nod, and then he’s off, down the hall toward his office to…do more work. That always puzzles me. Why come home from work only to do more work? Why not stay and get as much of it done before calling it a night?

  That’s your future, an inner voice taunts. One that sounds suspiciously similar to my mother’s. I shove it aside.

  Then I go back to my room, set the box on my bed, and quickly send two texts.

  Me: Don’t forget about my party on Sunday, mister. Best friends are required to attend.

  Then for the second, I type:

  Me: I’d love to.

  My boyfriend’s response is quick.

  Dallas: I’ll pick you up at seven. Can’t wait to see you.

  I text an emoticon of a kissing face and set my phone down. Grabbing a pair of scissors sitting in the never-used mug on my dresser that holds a few pens and a Sharpie, I slice open the box.

  Pressing the flaps aside, I find a large plain white paper folded in half with my name on it. I immediately recognize the handwriting and unfold it.

  Happy Birthday, Shortcake!

  I wasn’t sure if I’d get to see you on your birthday since I know your mom has strict rules about the guest list and because I’m sure Dallas has planned something cool for y’all to do to celebrate. So, I wanted to make sure you’d get my present safe, sound, and covertly (and I planned it around your mom’s schedule).

  I laugh softly, recalling Hollis asking me all sorts of questions. I’d remarked how weird it was that he was suddenly so interested in my mother’s whereabouts.

  I continue reading.

  I know we’re probably getting too old for model car kits and all, but it made me think of you and Dallas.

  Hope you enjoy.

  Love,

  Hollis

  P.S. I know, I know. But not like that.

  I sit for a moment, rereading the note and cherishing every word while simultaneously feeling shame wash over me. He knew my mother wouldn’t let him come to my party on Sunday. He knew, yet he still planned ahead to make sure he wouldn’t miss out on giving me this present.

  I trace the pad of my index finger over the firm, masculine slashes of ink on the paper. My heart actually hurts to think about him sitting down to write this. I know he’s a guy and all, but I know without a doubt that I’d be hurting if I were in his position and his parents refused to let me attend his birthday party.

  I draw in a deep breath before setting the note aside carefully and reaching in the box to withdraw an odd-shaped object wrapped in paper printed with repeated, “Happy Birthday!” and balloons.

  When I set the gift on my lap, I don’t tear into it. Instead, I peer at it, wanting to savor this moment.

  As seniors in high school, there’s no telling what will happen once we graduate and head off to college. Things will inevitably change even though that’s the last thing I want in some ways, but in others, what I want most.

  I wrinkle my brow, trying to guess what he’s given me, and come up with absolutely no guesses. Finally, I pluck at an edge of the paper and rip it slowly with equal parts trepidation and excitement. When I reveal about a two-inch portion of the gift, my breath lodges in my throat.

  He remembered.

  PAST

  EIGHT YEARS OLD

  “Now, y’all kiss and live happy ever after,” Hollis mutters, sounding grossed out.

  “It’s happily ever after, Hollis,” I correct.

  He gives me a good dose of side-eye—I’d be grounded for at least a week if I did even a smidge of that with my mother—and waves a hand. “And y’all drive off into the sunset with tin cans hangin’ from the back of your pink convertible with a Just Married sign.”

  There’s no excitement in his voice, which is just disappointing. What good is a best friend if they can’t play pretend wedding with you, and do it well?

  Hollis must notice my disappointment because he nudges my shoulder with his. “I’m kiddin’. You’ll make the prettiest bride anyone’s ever seen.”

  I press my lips together, doubtful. “Not with this I won’t.” I point at the gap between my front teeth. My shoulders slump and the only reason I let them is because we’re inside the treehouse. If my mother caught me, I’d get another lecture on “bein’ a lady with perfect posture.”

  “Magnolia.” Hollis’ serious voice has me lifting my eyes to his. “It’s the truth.”

  I cock my head to the side. A half-smile threatens to break free. “You reckon so?”

  He nods, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sure do.”

  I sit and stare at the pink convertible—the same one he’d given me as a present all those years ago and helped me build. The very one Mother had thought nothing of tossing away.

  When Miranda had said she’d salvaged many of my belongings, this had still been missing. I hadn’t asked our housekeeper about it because Lord knew she’d done me a huge favor as it was in rescuing what she had. But my heart had cracked, knowing it was gone.

  Now, though, I see that he repaired it. Tears prick at my eyes as I peer closer and notice the fine cracks and where it must have been glued back together and repainted. The tedious work it must have been so hard to do…

  Seated in the convertible are small plastic dolls—upper halves only—that appear secured in place by glue. The female has blond hair, long like mine, and there’s a bit of a garish smile painted on her mouth. A dark line bisects her front teeth, much like my own former gap. The male doll in the driver’s seat has blond hair, like Dallas, and a wide toothy grin.

  From the back bumper of the car, what are supposed to be tin cans dangle from thin fishing line. Just Married is written on the back bumper. My eyes pore over every inch of it, amazed that he’s gone to such trouble. When I notice the small note carefully taped to the glove box, I can’t possibly imagine what else he’s thought of.

  When I open the note, only two words are written there: Look underneath.

  As soon as I raise the car to look at what’s beneath it, my best friend’s name spills from my lips in a ragged whisper.

  Because taped to the bottom of the car is a package of Pop Rocks.

  Cherry, of course.

  Hollis

  SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL

  November

  “You sure Dallas is okay with this?”

  I’m not normally a jealous guy, but I’d sure as hell want to spend time with my girl after winning a rivalry game.

  Our schedule had to be modified, and we’re playing later in the season than usual since a nasty tropical storm hit weeks earlier and postponed a few games.

  Magnolia waves me off. “I told him this was our tradition.” She grins her perfect smile at me. No gap in sight these days. I still get a sharp twinge in my chest at the absence of it. “Plus, we’re runnin’ out of time to do this.”

  Her eyes betray that smile, though. She’s scared about heading off to college. I can’t lie; it’s intimidating as hell. The only thing slightly comforting is that we put in early decision applications to Auburn University, so we’re due to hear something soon. Our school counselor and the rep from Auburn made it sound like it’s a done deal, but I’m not banking on anything until I have confirmation.

  With the number of students on campus, there’s a good chance Magnolia and I may never cross paths, but just knowing she’ll be around is comforting somehow.

  “Only one more game before the end of the season.” Her sigh has a hint of sadness.

  I wink. “But we’re movin’ on to bigger and better things.”

  She smooths down her shirt—it’s a newer one she made to include my number and Dallas’.

  I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me a little to share shirt space with the guy. It’s dumb as hell, but I’ve gotten used to having her as my number-one fan and solo cheerleader. Then again, I really can’t complain. If I have to share any part of Magnolia with someone, I’m glad it’s with a guy like Dallas.

  Magnolia’s still avoiding my gaze. “So…�
�� She finally flicks her eyes up to mine. “What’s goin’ on with you and Sarah Jane?”

  Sarah Jane and I dated for a few months and only recently decided to cool things off. She’s sweet, and her family doesn’t care about what kind of house I live in or how much money we have. Her parents are both teachers at schools just across the bay in Mobile.

  I toy with the sugar packets in the small dish on our table. “We agreed it’s probably not smart to start college when we’re in a high school relationship, so we ended things.

  “She’s fixin’ to go to art school up in New York.” I lift a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I mean, we’ll be overwhelmed by a lot of things changin’, so it doesn’t make sense to let things get more serious.” Another shrug. “We were never head over heels or anythin’. She’s awesome, but it’s never been more than that.” I hesitate before asking, “What about y’all?”

  She wrinkles her nose and glances around before leaning in closer. With her voice lowered, she confesses, “Actually, he, uh, said he wants to stay together.”

  She seems shocked by my lack of surprise. I can’t help but chuckle. “Shortcake, you must’ve seen that comin’.”

  Her eyes widen. “Not at all.”

  I shake my head. “He’s been head over heels for you from the start.”

  She cocks her head to the side. “You really think so?”

  Something in her tone has me frowning and leaning forward to rest my forearms on the table. “You don’t?”

  She looks away, focusing on something through the window. “I don’t know.” When she turns back, her blue eyes lock with mine, and they’re troubled. “It’s probably dumb, but I want to be with a guy who looks at me like…”

  “Like…?” I prompt.

  Her gaze suddenly shifts to something over my shoulder, her lips parting slightly.

  “What’s wrong?” I shift, about to crane my neck to see what’s caught her eye, but she grabs my arm. Clenching it tight, she hisses, “Don’t turn around!”