The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating

by Canterbary, Kate

  Andy: Okay…

  Magnolia: But I woke up 4 hours later to a fuckton of texts from Ben and he was losing his shit.

  Magnolia: I made an offhand comment to him earlier in the day about how we don't really talk about things. I said something about not knowing anything about his work. Like, I know he's a firefighter and I understand the basics of that but…there's gotta be more, right? Or anything? Or doesn't he want to tell me about his daily life?

  Magnolia: He stewed on that for approximately 12 hours and then opened up about losing his grandmother and his regrets and how he's just super fucked up right now.

  Andy: Which we knew…

  Magnolia: We did.

  Andy: Regardless, you had a tough night.

  Magnolia: Yeah. A lot of feels.

  Andy: So many feels.

  Magnolia: Espresso martini lunch?

  Andy: Sorry I thought the answer was obvious.

  Andy: Yes. We need to sort you out before dinner.

  Chapter Thirty

  My dates were too much of a good thing.

  It seemed unlikely. It seemed impossible. How could one person find herself with both cups running over after years with no running, no cups? But here I was, crouched behind a boxwood bush, creeping on Ben and Rob while they argued about sports.

  "This is what I've become," I murmured to myself, gripping my trowel tighter. "I'm the crazy lady hiding in bushes."

  This hadn't been my intention. I didn't imagine I'd spend Matt and Lauren's move-in day ducked down in the shrubbery but when I pulled up this morning, the boxwoods and the periwinkle beneath them caught my attention. It was nothing major but I couldn't think about unpacking the house until the landscape looked right.

  And then Rob and Ben walked up the quiet suburban street together, bullshitting and ball-busting the way men do. I scrambled behind the bush, no longer concerned with the half-exposed root ball, and eavesdropped on their conversation.

  Because that was normal. Totally normal.

  "None of this is normal," I whispered. "And now I'm talking to myself. Awesome."

  "I don't know, man. I don't know about the depth charts. If QB takes a bad hit, we're in survival mode. I hate to say it but this dynasty is winding down," Ben said, shaking his head as he folded his arms over his chest.

  He shouldn't be allowed to do that. It should be illegal and there should be a police force tasked with eliminating gratuitous arm crossing. There should be a fine too. A huge fine. Equivalent to the size of those damn forearms.

  "I couldn't disagree more," Rob replied, mirroring Ben's stance.

  Hipshot, arms crossed. Shorts, t-shirt like a second skin. Fuck me.

  "A dynasty isn't built on the back of one coach or one quarterback," Rob continued. "It's a broad, deep foundation with layers of institutional knowledge and leadership. Coaches and defensive coordinators will come and go. QBs and wide receivers too. The dynasty has never been stronger."

  "Listen, I want to believe as much as you do," Ben said. "The last thing I want is five months of shitty football but I want to be realistic here. It's better to exceed low expectations than deal with another fucking disappointment in my life."

  Rob peered at him. Eventually, he said, "Dude, it's just football. It's gonna be okay."

  From all the way across the front yard, I saw Ben's full-body eyeroll. "And here I thought you believed in the dynasty."

  Rob shrugged. "I mean, yeah. I do. But I can deal with a rebuilding season or two. I'm not about to cry over it. We've had a good long run, you know?"

  "That's convenient," Ben muttered. "Didn't peg you for a fair-weather fan."

  "Oh, come the fuck on," Rob replied. "I'm here for winning seasons and I'm here for losing seasons. You're the one with all the end of days talk."

  "You're a fuckin' drama queen," Ben shot back.

  "I'm the drama queen? You were the one pissing and moaning about all the off-season trades. I mean, that shit happens. Good players get traded but the game goes on."

  Ben glared at him. "Is that supposed to be some kind of spiritual lesson? If it is, I'm not here for it. I'm in no mood for any millennial meditation horseshit."

  Rob's shoulders bounced as he chuckled in response. "Listen, man. My firm has some preseason game tickets. You wanna go?"

  Ben bent down, picked up a twig fallen from the maple tree overhead. He swiped it through the air like a tiny sword. "Fuck yeah, I wanna go. When?"

  I blinked hard and fast as they pulled out their phones and murmured over schedules.

  This wasn't cups running over. This was unfuckingbelievable. They—they were turning into friends. If I hadn't witnessed this, I would've doubted the shit out of it.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  I lost my balance when I heard those words over my shoulder. I ended up on my back in the dirt, glaring up at Sam Walsh.

  He held out his hand to me, and since I was awkwardly wedged between the house, the bush, and the dirt, I needed his help.

  I didn't want to accept it. Not because of him but because of me. Even now, years after I imagined a flirtatious relationship between us, I didn't want to need anything from him. I wanted to be competent without him, even when I was sprawled on the ground.

  "Come on, Gigi," he said, thrusting his hand toward me again.

  I dug my elbows into the dirt, pushing up on my own. "I'm fine," I replied, still crouched behind the boxwood. "Thanks though."

  "At least tell me what you're doing," he said, dipping his hands into his pockets.

  Before looking at Sam, I shot a glance over the bush at Rob and Ben. They were huddled together, pointing at their phone screens. "The root ball wasn't level," I replied. "That led to the groundcover settling in uneven patterns."

  We'd talked out our issues years ago. Apologies accepted, hatchets buried. But even when you glued the shards back together and made the plate whole again, the cracks remained.

  "Did we run a rainwater irrigation system?" he asked, turning his attention to the roofline. "This seems like the perfect property for that kind of setup."

  "Yes," I replied softly, glancing back to Rob and Ben. Rob was gesturing down the street now and Ben was leaning in the same direction. I couldn't hear their conversation anymore.

  "Why do I get the impression I have no idea what's going on here?" Sam asked.

  I wasn't certain I was meant to answer him. He always loved a good rhetorical question but I wasn't the person who could do that with him anymore. We were relative strangers, even with our apologies accepted and hatchets buried. With all that acceptance and burial came distance, a yawning gap between who we used to be and who we were now.

  "You don't," I murmured, mostly to myself.

  Sam swung a glance between me and the men on the sidewalk. "Those guys aren't with the transport company."

  "They're not," I whispered, still watching them.

  "Friends of yours?" Sam asked. I murmured in agreement and he continued, "And why are we watching them?"

  "Because I'm not ready to—to—I don't know," I stammered. "Because I am. Because this is where I'm sitting and it's fine. I'm fine. You don't have to be part of this. You can go because it's fine. I am fine."

  Sam considered this for a moment before saying, "All right." He sanded his palms together and dropped down beside me. "It's nice back here."

  "Oh my god, just shut up," I whisper-hissed. "What are you doing? Why are you here? Can you please go back inside or wherever it was you came from?"

  He let out a gentle chuckle as he folded his arms on his bent knees. "Lauren and Matt are arguing about something irrelevant. Andy is in the attic but don't ask me why. Shannon is yelling at walls and Tiel is trying to rein her in. Will and Patrick are building something. God only knows what. Riley and Alex aren't here yet. Not surprising. I think Nick and Erin are headed here but I haven't seen them yet. Or they're hiding somewhere."

  "Which leaves you…" My voice trailed off as I rolled my hand in his direction
, expecting further explanation. "Stalking me in the bushes?"

  "Tiel told me about your—uh—"

  "Don't try," I interrupted, holding up a hand. "She told you I'm seeing two guys. Right? And I was bringing them today? That's what she said?"

  Sam nodded. "Yeah. Basically."

  I couldn't stop myself from saying, "You two tell each other everything."

  He nodded again, an affectionate smile pulling at his lips. "Pretty much."

  He really loved that woman. Really fucking loved her. You could see it radiating off him like steam rising from the road after a summer rainstorm.

  "And that's why you came looking for me?" I asked.

  He glanced up at me with a quick shake of his head. "No. No, I was trying to avoid Matt and Lauren's argument about sponges and silverware and other tragedies." Another headshake. "I just wanted to avoid all of that."

  "You decided talking to me was the way to avoid another tragedy? I suppose there's a first time for everything."

  He shifted then, meeting my gaze and holding it. "I saw the work you did on that Louisburg Square project with Matt. It was incredible."

  With an eyebrow arched and more skepticism than I knew I possessed, I replied, "Thanks?"

  "And your design for the North End project Riley and Andy are handling, it's flawless."

  "Mmhmm." All skepticism.

  Sam and I hadn't talked business in years. Actual years. We stopped collaborating after I climbed into the handbasket and drove our professional relationship straight to hell. I did a ton of work with his family's firm and I had brunch with his wife most weekends and we saw plenty of each other, but we saw each other in the way Saturn sees the sun: distant, aware of one another but only in presence, never getting closer than that comfortable orbit and barely above freezing.

  "And then the Bay Village job you're doing with Patrick is—well, it's fascinating," he continued. "I wasn't sure how it would work out but you had five brilliant solutions ready to go."

  "I'm going to stop you right there because why the fuck are you telling me this, Sam? Seriously, what's the point? I don't have a punch card and I'm not working toward a free frozen yogurt here so why are you rubber-stamping my recent work?"

  He held up his hands. Let them fall. Blew out a sigh. Dug his sneakered heels into the dirt. Then, "Because I hate that you won't work with me anymore. Patrick, Matt, Riley, Andy—they all work with you and can't stop talking about your amazing designs and I'm stuck trolling every greenhouse and garden center for a landscape architect who has ideas on xeriscaping in zone six." He pointed at me, all jabby and rude. "I found you at that spec home showing and I was the one who convinced them you and your roof gardens were awesome and then I fucked everything up and I don't even get to talk to you about those roof gardens anymore."

  "That's right," I said, touching my fingertips to my lips. "You did this."

  He gave me a sharp, wide-eyed glare. "Yeah. I know." He snickered. "I partnered with a fucking fool a few months ago. An idiot who didn't know how to design for city rooftops but said he did. I'm honestly surprised I didn't give myself an aneurysm dealing with that shit."

  "Because you don't get to talk to me anymore," I said, staring ahead. Ben and Rob stood in my line of sight but I couldn't see them. Just their shapes, their gestures. Always with the gestures. And those damn forearms. All right, I could see those. But not much else beyond the tidal wave of shock from this conversation.

  "Can I fix that?" Sam asked. "Can I change it? Because it's been years and I'm happily married." He wiggled his wedding band at me. "And you're here with two men and that's gotta be serious because they're helping people move. People they don't even know. Moving is the highest level favor in the echelon of favors. I have to believe we're both in places where the mistakes of the past are ancient history, and we can work on some gardens again. Listen to me, Gigi, I cannot have Patrick walking around with better landscape designs than me. I can't do it. And dammit, I miss working with you. You're talented and you don't get enough attention for it and my work has suffered from not having you as a collaborator."

  "Mmhmm," I managed. I continued watching Ben and Rob as tears clouded my eyes.

  Why was I watching them? Why was I here, lingering in the shadow cast by the home and the earthy comfort of the dirt and green? Why didn't I approach Rob and Ben when I first saw them?

  Because I know.

  I knew, and I was afraid that knowledge would paint itself up and down my face if I had to share space with them both. I was afraid I'd overcorrect for that knowledge and make everything more confusing in the process. Right now, the only option for me was watching from a distance.

  I didn't want it this way. I didn't want it to be like this anymore. I wanted to walk up to the man I was falling for and let him fold me into his arms without also worrying about the one I wasn't falling for. Worry—that was such a huge part of this. I worried all the fucking time.

  I wanted to stop worrying, stop hiding, stop agonizing over a choice I'd made—when was it?—forever ago. But the tricky thing about me and decisions was that I didn't trust myself. Not all the way, not yet. I couldn't. Not after thirty-odd years of fucking everything up.

  Perhaps the toughest peak to climb in finally being okay with myself was realizing I hadn't spent thirty-odd years fucking everything up. I'd spent those years learning to listen to my instincts and unlearning the societal garbage about how I was supposed to think, act, dress, eat, talk, be. Shedding the layers of skin I'd grown in frantic attempts to be a thousand different iterations of the person I thought I was supposed to be. Hating myself for everything. For no good reason. Even if it never looked like thorough and proper hate, it was. You couldn't love yourself when the list of things you wanted to change was longer than your arm. Never knowing how to love myself just as I was and working hard at repackaging myself until I was right and good and—and loveable.

  Years ago, I read an account of climbing Mount Everest, and one of the random bits of information that stuck with me was how climbers often abandoned their things along the route to the summit. They realized they had to drop the things they'd believed necessary or were told they required in order to keep going. In order to survive the climb.

  I'd made mistakes, sure. I was profoundly, irrevocably human and I didn't have to hold on to those mistakes anymore. I didn't have to apologize for them again.

  And I didn't need any of that shit to survive the climb.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Sam nudged my arm and asked, "Are we good?"

  I bobbed my head in agreement, still staring at Ben and Rob through the boxwood. I'd have to go out there eventually. I'd have to see them and talk to them and be…normal. Whichever version of normal I passed off as my own.

  It wasn't that I meant to avoid them. I enjoyed both of them in separate and distinct ways, and if I was required to choose between Sam Walsh and either of my boys, well…Sam wasn't winning. To be fair, I didn't dislike Sam. I wasn't angry at him. I wasn't holding on to a grudge. I lived with a bit of contempt and a slightly larger bit of resentment. Maybe those were the primary ingredients in a grudge and I couldn't be bothered to read the recipe. Regardless, I'd allowed myself to believe that was behind me.

  But I did resent him. That was the bare bones truth of it. I was a terrible train wreck of a flirt and there was no way in hell he'd mistaken my advances for anything but. He was a smart guy and he let me embarrass myself. So, yeah. I resented him for never, ever, not even once mentioning that he was in a relationship. For never making an offhand remark about his girlfriend to tip me off. To save us both from the events that followed.

  I didn't let that resentment rule me and I didn't lead with it either. How could I? My best friends were Sam's sister-in-law and his younger brother and I worked with his firm on a daily basis and I was here, helping his brother move into a new house. I adored his entire family—his wife included—but there was bad blood in the water. It was always there, lingering in
the background like the memory of Ruby Sharpe's announcement to our entire sixth grade class that I was going to be a gorilla for Halloween on account of my as-of-then unshaven legs.

  And the contempt, that came later. It stewed in the weeks and months that followed my spectacular crash-and-burn demonstration with Sam. It boiled over but then I pushed it to the back burner, left it there to simmer. It cooled every time Riley or Andy or Tiel—or anyone in Sam's orbit—worked at bringing me in and making things right. Every time someone else stepped in to patch the tear. I was certain Sam had a good reason for steering clear of that conversation until just now when we found ourselves wedged between a hedgerow and the house.

  Underneath all the rubble, Sam was a good guy. I knew it because I'd known him. Ages and ages ago, I'd known him. We'd been such good friends. We'd talked shop like there was nothing else in the world worth discussing and he'd connected me with clients who turned into my biggest, most important jobs.

  He'd thought he was doing the right thing then and now—finally—with both of us plunked down in the dirt, he was.

  "Yeah. I'm booked up for the remainder of the summer," I said. "But let's get something on the calendar. Shoot me a message later in the week. I'm sure we can sit down and look at your project horizon."

  Just like that, the resentment and contempt I'd been clutching for years started to loosen. Letting go was strange. Not especially pleasant. For the same reason I kept jeans that didn't fit comfortably, I wanted to take back the hard, worn leather of that emotional armor.

  Because I might need it again.

  "I'll call you. There's a project coming up that's perfect for you. Even better, it has a huge landscape budget."

  "Now you're speaking words I understand," I replied.

  "You're saying I should've led with budget and then begged for your time?" he asked, laughing. "That would've worked better?"

  "It's been a few years since we've collaborated, Sam," I said, my words cool and deliberate though I felt none of that chill vibe. "I don't accept small money projects anymore."