Round Thirty-One
MAGGIE
My phone beeps with texts from Billy as I drive to Barlespy, the chime of each incoming message interrupting my music, then the robotic voice following next, emotionlessly reading his words out to me.
Drive safely.
Jeremy asked if we could watch a movie together tonight after you’re done working.
He offered to make mini pizzas for dinner. You interested?
Did you swing by the drugstore? It’s important you get it done as soon as possible.
I know those pills really screw with a woman’s body. I promise not to be so careless in the future. I have no excuse, I just really, really wanted you. I’m sorry.
My breath comes out on a shuddering exhale, the warmth hitting my windshield and creating a fog that takes a second to clear. Then my phone dings again, but from ‘Happily Ever After. AKA: BJs and Chill’.
Alana:
So, I’m not saying I heard certain things at school drop-off today, but I’m saying Jeremy Caster bragged to my son that Maggie Sava slept in his dad’s bed last night.
Fox:
What??? The one time I don’t come along for a ride, and I miss out on all the juicy gossip?
Alana:
I’m totally on board, and I’m thrilled Billy FINALLY got the girl. He’s worked so hard for this. But perhaps you two could sit Jeremy down and talk to him about discretion.
Because now my autistic son knows about Miss Maggie’s purple underwear, and ya know what?
I’m sure they’re lovely underwear, and honestly, he’s seen me in mine, so it’s not a big deal.
But if Jeremy’s announcing this stuff on the playground, then the whole town will know before close of business today.
Oh my God.
Kill me now.
Fox:
Break it to me, ladies. Once my baby arrives, how often am I not gonna get laid because of those little eyes?
Alana:
Often enough to make you desperate. But then you’ll find sneaky new ways to get some, and being sneaky is fun, too. You’ll figure it out. You’ve had loads of practice with Franky around.
Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars’ voices grow louder between texts, then soften again so Siri can announce each new incoming message.
They sing of the forever kind of love. The purest, sweetest, enduring kind of love.
But although such a song used to make my heart swell with contentment, now all it does is replicate that bully who used to sit on my chest forever ago.
It’s suffocating and mean. Heavy and all-encompassing.
Then their song cuts off completely, replaced instead by an incoming call and my mother’s name on the screen.
Sighing, I tap the button on my steering wheel and accept the call. “Hi, Mom. How are you?”
“Maggie.” The Erina Sava I know today sounds nothing like the Erina Sava who existed twenty-five years ago.
She was vibrant and loud once upon a time.
Loving and sweet. Back when she enjoyed the extravagance of being loved by my father, she was radiant and lively.
Now… she exists above ground, instead of six feet under, but I’m not sure she truly lives at all.
Not since the day we buried her beloved husband.
She exhales a long plume of cigarette smoke, painting a picture in my mind of the newly wafting cloud above her head. “What are you doing?”
“Driving to work.” I settle back for the remaining few minutes of my trip. “What about you? Are you well?”
“Eh.” She makes a sound in the back of her throat. It’s a grunt. A dismissal. “Which work are you heading towards?”
“Brienne’s… why?”
“So you’ve finally set that other thing aside?” She sucks on her cigarette again. “Good.”
“No, Mom. I haven’t set it aside.” I decrease my speed and transition from the open road to the beginning of a new town. “I still work on my thing every single day.”
“Why? If you have to pick up shifts with Brienne, that means your other thing isn’t paying.”
“Mom—”
“I’m just saying!” she huffs. “You’ve gotta know when to cut your losses, Magnolia. Love doesn’t sell, babe, not unless you’re lucky like that girl… the…” She searches for the words. “What was her name?”
“Who?”
“The Page girl.” She draws a long breath, shifting on her seat so the frame creaks under her weight. “She’s famous now. You know who I mean.”
“Alana?” Tears prickle the backs of my eyes as I bring my car around the corner and pass the small-town airport.
“I wouldn’t call her lucky, Mom. She worked really hard to write her book and get it into the right hands.
And we both saw that television interview.
The inspiration behind her book is anything but lucky. ”
She dismisses me with a scoff. “That wasn’t my point. She writes romance books, so for her, romance sells. Her agent was a genius with all that press, though.”
“Mom!”
“Get her story onto the morning shows, marry a Watkins boy, get rich.”
“Stop.” Alana’s texts continue to pop up on my screen, despite the jealousy my mother carries about her behind her back. “What happened to Alana was absolutely atrocious. If writing a book helped her process her trauma and heal, then good for her. That doesn’t make her lucky.”
“I guess if you want your business to succeed, all you’ve gotta do is come up with a sad story and splash it all over the news.
” She snickers, mean and dry enough to turn her laughter into a cough.
Too many cigarettes, and too many years of bitter benders.
“But you’re too honest for that. Your integrity is holding you back.
That’s why your love thing didn’t work here, and it’s why it won’t work there, either. ”
“It does work.” My voice audibly trembles, which somehow gives my mother strength.
I can’t relate. I don’t even have children of my own, but I have Jeremy, and I know for a damn fact there isn’t a pain he could experience that would bring me joy. No matter the life I’ve lived, no matter the pain I’ve endured.
Isn’t that the point of love?
Erina Sava missed the memo on motherhood, because from the moment my father died and she packed me into our car that summer, it’s like she chooses to bathe in anger.
She could’ve lived for me, the daughter she loved once upon a time.
She could’ve worked on healing, if only for the child she’d birthed.
She could’ve gotten help to deal with her grief.
Instead, she chose to hate. And there’s this saying about misery wanting company.
My happiness was never her priority, not from the moment my dad’s casket was lowered into the ground. She preferred my suffering, because at least then, we were both miserable.
“I have three massive events coming up.” I sniffle. “And a client I’ve been working closely with for the last several weeks.”
Billy. Billy is my client, and he doesn’t even pay for my services.
“Seventy-five percent of all small businesses close, Magnolia.”
“Eighty percent of them make it through their first year,” I counter. “I’m determined to make this a success.”
“Why even bother? Love doesn’t sell! Love doesn’t even last. Love is a figment of our imagination, and the failure rates are even worse than those of small businesses. I raised you better than this. I raised you to be sensible.”
“I’m being sensible! Jesus, Mom. Just give it a break already. I understand that you lost Daddy, okay? And I understand that it was horrible.”
“This has nothing to do with your fath—”
“It has everything to do with my father! You were happy. Once, a really long time ago, I know you were happy. But then he died, and it hurt. I get that it was painful. But there comes a point where you have to find happiness in who you are. Find happiness in the life you have. And if nothing else, fake a little happiness so your daughter doesn’t grow up feeling like a fucking failure, because she has his eyes, but she’s not him. ”
“Mag—”
“You had a responsibility, Mom. Even if it hurt, and even if it was hard, you were supposed to take care of me to the best of your ability. Instead, you isolated us. You took me away from the only home I knew, away from the only family I had, and then you made me raise myself, because you were too damn proud to tell anyone you were struggling. You forced me to grow up, to fend for myself, and then for my ninth birthday, you slept with your head in the toilet, puking your guts up and crying about how you wish you’d died instead.
You forced me to become the caretaker, and even when we had neighbors who wanted to help, you lied and said we were fine. ”
“We were f—”
“We were not fine, Mom! And you know what? I lost him, too. In the span of a single month, I lost my dad, my mom, my grandma, my home, and my best friend, but you didn’t care about any of that.
You didn’t give a shit, because your pain was more important than mine.
Now I’m grown, and all those things still happened to me, but instead of curling into a ball and wishing for death like you did, I’m choosing to err on the side of love and positivity and happiness.
I still believe in those things, even if you don’t.
That’s how I heal.” I bring my car around a corner and onto the street where Brienne’s diner bustles with customers waiting for their lunch.
Pulling into a parking spot out front, I cut the engine and snatch up my phone, but now that our call no longer plays through the car’s speakers, I bring the device to my ear.
“I feel sorry for you, Mom. I know you lost a lot, and I know losing that kind of love must’ve been crippling.
But eventually, you were supposed to get up again and keep going.
If not for you, then at the very least, you should have done it for me. ”
“Magn—”
“Do you wanna know what hurt more than losing my dad?” I grab my keys and shove my door open, shivering as the cool wind whips my hair around my shoulders.
Climbing out and locking up behind me, I stalk toward the diner door.
“Realizing that I wasn’t enough reason for you to live.
Which is a real shame, because we’re supposed to love our kids more than that.
” I yank the diner door open, the bell ringing above my head and announcing my arrival, then I charge past Elson while he bows over his cup of coffee and flashes a teasing wink my way.
I continue past the counter and into the back, lowering my voice and trading my keys for an apron. Because maybe love doesn’t sell enough to pay a hugely inflated mortgage, but it’s enough for me. For my heart. “I’m at work now. We’ll pick this up some other time.”
“But I called to talk about—”
“My failures, mostly. My insecurities. My pain. You called to compare me to Alana, like her pain is a bright spot in your world, and then you wanted to talk about how much your life sucks and yada, yada, yada. I figure we’ve covered all this in the past, and I still have an eight-hour shift to get through, so I might skip today’s episode of ‘my poor mom’ if that’s alright with you. ”
I drag the phone away from my ear, kill our call, and scan the barrage of texts still waiting on my screen.
Fox wants to know what my purple panties looked like. Nothing too fancy. And Alana wants to know if Billy and I are going public yet. Not likely. Eliza wants to know if I have a desire to learn how to fight. No thanks. And Rose… is oddly quiet.
Good.
Tying a fresh apron around my hips, I drop my phone into the pocket just in case a Magnolia Sava client felt the need to call—all three or four of them—then I stalk back into the hall and around to my side of the counter.
“Hey.” Brienne stops in front of me with a coffee pot and a bright smile. But when our eyes meet, and I can’t manage a good enough expression, her happiness slips. “What? What happened?”
“Just my mom.” I snatch her coffee pot and stride toward my customers. “Are you sure Billy didn’t fall in love with you yet, Bri? I’m pretty dedicated to maintaining my flawless success rate.”
She scoffs. “He’s in love with someone, sweetpea. But it ain’t me. And it isn’t Devina or Cass, either.”
“You don’t know that for sure.” God. Have I ever been so selfless than in the moment I set my friends up to date the man who stole my heart eons ago?
“He’s the complete package. He’s sweet, and funny, and employed.
” I wink for my elderly diners and earn Elson’s flirty grin.
“He’s employed, Bri! Which is basically better than every other man who walked into your life in the past.”
“Yowch,” she snickers, scrunching her nose and swinging around to collect a plate when the kitchen bell dings. “Going straight for the throat today, I see.”
“He’s brave and consistent. He’s thoughtful, and even though he’s suffered tremendous loss, he’s still full of life and happiness and gentleness. Plus, he’s the best father I’ve ever met. And that’s a pretty tall order, considering I met my father.”
“I dunno, babe.” She sets a bowl of soup and fresh bread in front of a customer. “Seems to me like maybe he’s already taken.” She brushes the heat from her hands and meets my eyes. “Have you considered setting him up with… you?”
Can’t. He’s texted me three times already asking if I took the Plan B pill yet, which means his fear of fathering my child flies directly in the face of the dozen children I want someday.
“We’re not compatible.” I set my hand on Elson’s shoulder and gift him with a smile.
“But if I work really hard and avoid all the major arguments we’re apt to have, I could probably spend the next seventy years loving his son and being the exclusive giver of all the best hugs. It’s a deal I’m willing to take.”
“Speaking of deals, sweetheart.” Elson settles back in his chair and takes my hand from his shoulder, sandwiching it between his palms. “You know that party we were gonna plan?”
Oh God, Oh no. I swallow the sprouting dread nestled deep in my throat. “Y-your fiftieth anniversary?” I peek across at his sweet wife and force a smile. “You’re not breaking up with him, are you? Whatever he did, I bet we could figure it out.”
Chuckling, Elson shakes his head. “Our Isla’s been on her mom and me for months, demanding we have this damned event, which is how we started talking to you about it in the first place. But she’s begging us to let her plan it.”
“Y-you’re not mad, are you?” Elson’s wife worries. “Does this put you in a tough spot?”
“No! It’s fine.” My voice squeaks and crackles, horrifyingly telegraphing my lie.
Steeling myself, I trade Elson’s hand for hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“It’s completely fine. If Isla needs advice or tips or anything, for free,” I add quickly as warmth floods my cheeks.
“Please encourage her to text me. It wouldn’t be a bother at all. ”
“We will,” Elson grins. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
“You’re welcome,” I rasp.