The Magnolia Chronicles

by Kate Canterbary

  I was still nursing an Earl Grey latte. I preferred my tea iced and accompanied by an abundance of summertime, and this was neither. I wasn't sure why I ordered it though it was possible I wanted to come off as a touch high-maintenance today. A bit refined, like a woman who knew her teas as well as she knew her wines, her designer shoes, and herself.

  I didn't have a sound explanation for it but I knew I wanted someone to look at me and my Earl Grey latte, and say, "Don't you see? She's different. You don't fuck with a woman who orders an Earl Grey latte. She knows something about the world. She's sophisticated. Snap this one up because she's in short supply."

  Today, I wanted to be that sophisticated woman. The one in short supply. I wanted the hamster wheel of online dating to slow down long enough for someone to see me as more than my age, location, and interests. I wanted to be someone worth getting to know. And then, I wanted to be someone worth treasuring.

  I didn't allow myself this feeling often. But I still wanted someone to look at me like I was a brand-new kind of amazing. I'd thought this guy could do that for me. That I could be his brand-new amazing.

  There seemed to be chemistry when we'd messaged, but none of that was present this morning. He didn't seem like the same guy who'd sent fun, flirty messages.

  "I'm gonna grab another," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Can I get you anything?"

  I glanced down at my latte and shook my head, desperately trying to suppress the laugh threatening to burst free from my lips. Five cups. Five full cups of coffee. It was ridiculous. "No," I replied. "I'm fine. Thank you."

  He shot me a quick smile and then strutted toward the counter. Objectively, the guy was attractive. Well-cut business suit, pleasant smile, decent hair. His fingernails were clean. All good things. But he was pounding coffee and yammering about road construction and he'd only managed a few cursory questions about me while we'd waited to order.

  If my mother was here, she would've told me to play nice. Give the guy a chance. Try. "Throw him a bone," she'd crow. "Don't let him die on the vine."

  And that was because she believed I was too tough on men. Yep, that was her new argument. After all my years of settling and not trying and accepting the plastic straw treatment, I now expected a little too much, a little too often. She had it in her head that I was working out my petulance by shopping for the perfect man, the one who checked all the boxes, and I wouldn't tolerate anyone found wanting. As of our last convening on my love life, she was pushing hard on fixer-uppers and letting someone grow on me.

  I was tougher and my expectations were higher than they used to be. But as my mother had pointed out, I'd accepted less in the past and that was exactly what I'd received. I wasn't going down that path again and I didn't care if that meant I had to sit through one hundred shitty coffee dates in the process. I was going to find a good, honest, real man who required neither remodeling nor moss.

  And people didn't change. I'd learned that lesson after dedicating far too many years of hard labor to the cause.

  "The traffic on 95 in Needham is unreal," he continued when he returned. "They've been working on that project for damn near seven years. My sister got married, had a kid, and got divorced, all while those exits have been torn up. Unreal."

  "Yeah," I replied, nodding. I wasn't positive, but I thought that construction wrapped up last year. I wasn't going to argue with him. Not when I could obsess over his coffee consumption. "It's quite a mess."

  "The worst," he said, lifting the cup to his lips. "I plan my day around avoiding that area. It's a bitch." Before I could reply, he tapped the cup on the table and leaned toward me. "I don't know what your schedule looks like but I don't have to be anywhere until ten."

  I shifted back on my seat to avoid the plume of his coffee breath. "Oh, well, I—"

  He tapped the cup again. "My apartment's around the corner."

  "That's—that's great for you," I said, confused. "I like this neighborhood. I worked on a project near—"

  Another sharp tap of the cup. "You wanna come up?"

  I blinked. "Excuse you?"

  He tipped his head toward the window. "Do. You. Want. To. Come. Up."

  I narrowed my eyes at his tone. What a snippy, snappy sonofabitch. "I have a busy morning," I replied with a bitter smile, the kind I reserved for my friends who claimed they often forgot to eat. Pssh. Lies and urban legends. "I should be going."

  "All right, whatever," he mumbled as he stood. He pulled his coat on and shoved his hands into leather gloves. "Clearly, your loss."

  "I'm sorry," I said, laughing. "What was that?"

  "You should be sorry." He didn't bother looking at me. "You wasted my fucking time."

  I pushed to my feet and crossed my arms over my chest. "Oh, really? That's how it is now? Because I'm not interested in having sex with you at eight in the morning after you've delivered the weather report and sports highlights? Or after you did lines of Splenda?"

  "Not sure what you expected from this," he replied, "but that app is only for hooking up and your tits are all over your profile. If you're not down to fuck, you're sending all the wrong signals. You don't have to be a bitch about it."

  For the record, my tits were properly contained. A girl couldn't wear turtlenecks every day but that didn't mean her tits had gone rogue. Nor was I being a bitch about anything.

  But more importantly—"Who has a hookup on a Wednesday morning? That's just bizarre."

  It was bizarre, and one of the many issues with the machinations of modern dating. Relationships weren't part of the program. It was fucking, not feelings, not forever.

  In a strange sense, that was liberating. If I wanted to get some dick, there was plenty of it coming my way. I didn't have to pretend I was looking for anything more than one night—or morning, as it was—and I didn't have to go through a handful of nice, polite outings before getting some.

  All of that was great. Truly. It was phenomenal that I could catch a different dick every day of the week and not think twice about it.

  But I wasn't in the market for dick. Or, I should say, not only dick. I wanted the man connected to that piece, and I wanted that man to be one of the good ones.

  Five-Cup Joe here—he wasn't one of the good ones. Not for me. Somewhere out there was a jittery gal who shotgunned espresso and liked to bone down right after, and I was certain he'd find her. Godspeed to them both.

  He snickered as he stepped away from the table. "I'll Venmo you for the coffee."

  Shaking my head, I shoved my hand into my bag. "It was tea and here's five bucks. That covers it. Delete my number."

  He pocketed the cash without meeting my gaze. "No problem."

  I was almost content to let him go. Almost.

  "Wait a minute." He glanced back at me, his scowl deep and impatient. "Why didn't you just order a larger coffee? Why five mediums?"

  Not asked but also implied: Why are you like this?

  His lips twisted into a reluctant smile. "I wanted the barista's number," he yelled across the shop. "I don't even like coffee."

  I turned around, physically separating myself from him with the wall of my back. Even if none of this mattered, it still chipped away at me.

  I glanced down at the table and the ruins of cups and Splenda packets. I debated leaving it all there because I wasn't about to Donna Reed this shit. But I couldn't do that. It defied coffee shop law and I wasn't about to disrupt the order of urban life by leaving a mess behind.

  With a long sigh, I disposed of his trash and my unfinished latte. Once I was bundled up in my coat and scarf, I swung by the shop counter and gestured to the lone female barista.

  "Don't worry," she called over the hiss of the milk steamer. "I gave him a fake number."

  "Oh," I murmured. Had we been that loud? Or that obvious? "Thanks. I guess."

  "No sweat," she yelled as she finished the order. "Can I make something new for you? Didn't seem like you were feeling that latte."

  I stared up a
t the menu board. "Yeah," I said, nodding as I found my indulgence of choice. Earl Grey didn't make me sophisticated. I could be mainstream caramel and offer no apologies on the matter. "A caramel macchiato. Iced."

  "You got it." I held out some bills, but she waved me off. "This one is on us," she said, nodding toward the other baristas. "Pablo live-tweeted the whole thing. It's the least we can do for you after providing us with enough entertainment to get through the morning rush."

  I laughed to myself as I stepped away from the counter but a not insignificant part of me wilted. I didn't want to be part of this joke anymore. I wanted to find that good, honest, real man and I wanted to find him soon. I couldn't endure this social experiment for eight more months.

  Chapter Five

  Dating App Guy 5: Do you ever wonder about the Munchkins from The Wizard of Oz and the Oompa Loompas from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?

  Dating App Guy 5: Did they all live together because they were short in stature or were they short in stature because they lived together? Was it a recessive gene that turned into a dominant gene because they were either a small, isolated population or inbreeding?

  Magnolia: Not sure. I've never considered it before.

  Dating App Guy 5: That's cool. I like thinking about wild shit.

  Dating App Guy 5: And pegging. I like getting bent over and plowed with a blue dildo the size of my arm.

  Magnolia: Fascinating segue.

  Dating App Guy 5: Would you tie me to a table and fuck me?

  { blocked }

  Dating App Guy 6: Yo bitch.

  Dating App Guy 6: You're fine as fuck.

  Magnolia: Bitch? Really?

  Dating App Guy 6: Shut up whore you should be thanking me for even messaging your ugly ass.

  { blocked }

  Dating App Guy 7: Hi there. How's your day going?

  Magnolia: Not too bad. What about you?

  Dating App Guy 7: Happy the snow is melting haha.

  Magnolia: Yeah, I was starting to forget what this city looked like under all the white stuff.

  Dating App Guy 7: I thought we weren't supposed to see blizzards after St. Patrick's Day, you know? This freak storm stuff needs to stop #climatechangeisreal

  Magnolia: True story.

  Dating App Guy 7: Isn't it crazy how we're excited for snow every year but then after we have some we're like, not this again?

  Dating App Guy 7: And we're all climbing the walls for summer but we're going to be hollering about the heat and humidity as soon as it's here.

  Magnolia: Another true story.

  Dating App Guy 7: So other than engaging in witty observations of weather's cyclical nature, what do you do with yourself?

  Magnolia: I'm a landscape architect.

  Dating App Guy 7: Then you really hate the snow haha.

  Magnolia: After a while of it, yeah.

  Magnolia: What do you do?

  Dating App Guy 7: Dentist. Don't forget to floss haha.

  Magnolia: Every night!

  Dating App Guy 7: Can I ask you something? Or are you busy?

  Magnolia: Just watching the Bruins slaughter Phoenix.

  Magnolia: Go for it.

  Dating App Guy 7: What's your muff like? Is it full and bushy?

  Dating App Guy 7: If not…would you grow it out?

  Dating App Guy 7: I like a big full bush. The kind that spills out the side of your underwear.

  { blocked }

  Chapter Six

  My date was sitting at my mother's dining room table.

  "This is Troy," my mother said as I stood frozen in the doorway. She popped up from her seat and joined me, wrapping her arm around my waist and gesturing toward him. "I thought this would be a great way for all of us to get to know him. Make it a little easier on you, you know?"

  "Easier," I said, barking out a laugh. "This is easier?"

  In all of my wildest dreams, I'd never imagined my mother would leap this far into my romantic life. This was several steps beyond swiping and proof that no good deed went unpunished. Not a one.

  Agreeing to this experiment was a gesture toward assuaging my mother's concern for me. It wasn't something I would've adopted on my own and now I had to do it as performance art.

  And do it while my brothers watched.

  "Wait," my brother Ash said, holding up his hand, "I thought it was Trent. Since when are you Troy?"

  "I thought it was Trevor," my brother Linden said, shaking his head as he stared into his beer. "Fuck if I know what's going on here."

  "And I thought it was Sunday dinner," I said. "Not speed dating."

  "It's not speed dating," my mother argued. "There's only one of him."

  "Trey," Ash yelled, pointing at the deer in headlights. That deer had the privilege of being my date for this gathering. What a treat for him.

  "Travis," Linden replied, barely looking up from his beverage.

  "Tristan," Ash continued, still pointing at the dude.

  "Triton," Linden said.

  "Truman," Ash replied.

  "The two of you," my mother called, waving her hand at my brothers. "We have a guest. Stop being a-holes."

  There was one thing I knew to be absolutely true about these men I'd shared a womb with: when presented with an opportunity to be assholes, they took it.

  "Trace," Linden continued.

  "Targaryen," Ash roared, as if throwing down some Game of Thrones made this shitshow more amusing.

  "Trapper," Linden said.

  "Tracker," Ash replied.

  "Treat," Linden said.

  "Tremain," Ash added.

  "Tremont," Linden said.

  My father walked into the room, took one look at the verbal food fight underway and turned right back around. Always predictable, my father. My parents were opposite sides of the same coin. She was outgoing and expressive. He could go days without speaking to anyone.

  "Tripp," Ash said.

  "Tron," Linden replied.

  "Trotsky," Ash said.

  "Now you're just being flaming a-holes," my mother said. She glanced to me with a sympathetic frown. "They were fine before you got here. They were talking about hockey."

  "Hockey. The great uniter," I mumbled.

  "Trader," Linden said.

  That stopped my oldest brother. "What? Like, as in Joe?"

  My date held up both hands as if attempting to keep the raptors at bay. "It is Troy," he said, sliding careful glances at my brothers before smiling at me. "Hi."

  That single word packed many others in with it. There was "Holy shit, are they done yet?" and "What the actual fuck is happening?" and "Can this get worse? Please tell me it can't get worse."

  "Hi," I replied, attempting to force a million apologies into that lame greeting.

  "I'm Troy," he continued. "I didn't realize this was a family dinner and I thought, well"—he ran a hand down his face—"I thought you'd know about this. I thought I'd been talking to you. I'm sorry. This wasn't, I mean, it's not—"

  "It's not your fault," I interrupted with more patience than I currently owned. "That's a fair assumption." I shot a mildly enraged glance at my mother before smiling at Troy. "Would you give us a minute?" I didn't wait for a response, instead yanking my mother into the hall bathroom and slamming the door behind us. "What the hell is going on?"

  My mother seized this opportunity to tuck my hair behind my ears and rub a saliva-wet thumb over my chin. "I saw Troy on one of the apps and I liked his profile. He seemed like a good catch."

  I rolled my hand in front of me, wanting more information. "Based on…what, exactly?"

  She lifted a shoulder and then turned her attention to picking invisible things off my shirt. "Nice photos, nice bio, nice job. He likes dogs too."

  "What does he do?" I asked.

  "Real estate developer. He does very well for himself," she said with the type of self-satisfied head bob that told me I'd have to thank her for this injustice later.

  "It's Sunday dinner," I star
ted, "and you didn't mention we'd be having any guests today. Don't you think I would've pulled myself together a bit more if I'd known there was a dude coming to dinner?"

  She glanced down at my tunic and leggings and then fingered the unwashed ends of my hair. "You're beautiful and perfect the way you are." She licked her thumb and ran it over my brows. "If he doesn't love you with a scraggly pedicure, then he's not the one."

  I swallowed a sigh. "But I don't reveal the scraggly pedicure until date four or five, Mom. It's kind of like seeing each other first thing in the morning or acknowledging that everyone poops. It's not getting-to-know-you material."

  She brought her hands to my shoulders with a tight smile. "Let's mix that schedule up a bit, shall we? Worst-case scenario, your brothers arm wrestle over the guy's name and he runs off like his hair's on fire."

  "It would be awesome if there was something between respecting my schedule and my surprise date running from our home with his hair on fire." I gave her a manic grin. That I wasn't screaming at her was a victory. "So awesome."

  "It's good to want," she replied with a shrug.

  "So help me," I said, wagging a finger at her, "if I come for dinner someday to discover I'm a contestant on The Bachelor, I will put you in an old folks' home when the time comes. Maybe sooner."

  "You'd miss me too much." My mother opened the bathroom door and gestured to the hallway. "Come on, now. Let's not leave Tiberius—"

  "Troy," I interrupted.

  "Whatever," she murmured. "Let's not leave him out to dry. Your brothers, they can be real a-holes when they want to be."

  "Speaking of which," I said, stopping outside the dining room. "You're welcome to direct any of this matchmaking energy toward them."

  She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "They're young for their age. They're not ready for anything serious. But you—you're ready."

  With that, she shoved me into the dining room.

  "Hi," I said to him, drawing the word out into eight syllables as I planned my next move. I'd greeted the guy at least forty times now but what else was I supposed to do here? I exchanged a glance with Ash and Linden as I sat down beside Troy. They offered little more than innocent shrugs and shit-eating smirks in response. "How's it going?"