Chapter 23
Present Day
It’s almost lunchtime when I arrive at the studio the next Monday. I drop into my chair, my entire body burning and my feet
screaming. I kick off my shoes under the desk and feel them slide against the beginnings of blisters on my heels.
“Fitz, please, for the love of all things good in this world, do not let me wear these shoes again.” I groan as I massage
the soles of my feet.
He chuckles. “It’s the price you pay for looking as fabulous as you do.”
“Is that Fitz or Magnolia sitting over there?” I open my water bottle and drink generously.
“Fighting words, my friend.” Fitz looks over at me. “I am many things, but a dragon I am not.”
“Comment retracted.”
Before I tore up my feet, I spent most of the morning over on Bull Street, facilitating the fix on Ms. Dorothy Culver’s pocket
doors. She’s an A-list client whose property has already starred in home-and-garden programming half a dozen times. Enviable is the only word for it.
Dorothy, as she insists I call her, dresses in elaborate caftans, never answers the door without a swipe of lipstick, and refuses to let a soul leave before they’ve accepted something to eat or drink (not entirely unlike my Hallie). Dorothy lost her husband several years back, and despite her children’s efforts to have her move out of the high-maintenance bungalow, she is adamant that she will be taken out of the home on a stretcher if it’s the last thing she does.
I glance over at Hallie’s empty perch. “I guess Grady didn’t bring Hal by yet?”
Fitz shakes his head. “No magpie landings.”
I shoot off a quick text, and Grady’s reply comes back immediately. Got caught up. Can have the sitter drop her at your house after dinner?
I frown at the screen, then slap my phone down a little too hard on my desktop. It’d be one thing if Grady himself planned
to spend the extra time with Hallie, but by the sounds of it, a sitter is getting paid to do that.
Fitz eyes my mini tantrum and, perhaps in an effort to nudge me past it, asks, “What’s the latest from Collin and the tape?
Did we hear anything?”
I pull in a deep breath and refocus. “His phone is basically a shipwreck, but like the amazing technology wiz he is, he had
everything backed up on the cloud. He’s going to send the file today.”
Maya walks in and drops her bag on her desk. “Is that Collin you’re talking about?” she asks. “I just came from the Daniel
House, and the floors are looking amazing. We’ll have to stay off them for a while to let them dry, but I’ve got outside work
queued up in the meantime.”
Maya’s phone rattles, and she lifts it to read a text. “That’s Collin. He says to check our inboxes.”
Fitz grabs his laptop and carries it to the meeting table. “Let’s try this again.”
“I hope your computer has better luck,” Maya says.
I slide onto the bench seat beside Fitz, while Maya stands behind us. He opens the video file, and this time when he hits
Play, the clip rolls.
Collin has added a cute introduction song with Bishop Builds superimposed on an aerial image of Charleston. It fades into
a cut of me describing my design career. “This has always been the thing I wanted most out of my life, to breathe love into these old homes and keep them kicking.” I’d forgotten he asked us these questions right off the bat. The tape cuts to a shot of Fitz and me arranging material selections
and then to Sam’s crew sanding floors. I’m stunned by how professional he’s made us look when it felt like playing pretend.
Fitz’s voice comes over a montage of completed projects. “I’m here to push Mack’s designs a pinch bolder—and she reels me in. Oh, and I’m the studio comedian—or jester, according
to some.”
I’m close to tears when the camera zooms out on me walking arm in arm with Fitz up the brick path to the Daniel House, then
cuts to a whole city view again before fading out.
“It’s better than I ever imagined,” I say.
“How did he get those aerial shots?” Fitz lets out a whistle. “Better yet, how much did that boy charge?”
“A drone. And not enough for that ,” Maya says. “We’re sending a gift—a nice one. But first, I’m getting that to Coco.”
I stand up, and I feel like I’m floating. I never imagined feeling so proud of a tape we did with such a quick turnaround.
Granted, much of the success was Collin’s, clipping the most charming sound bites and selecting the best images, but at the
core, it was us and our work.
“I have to tell y’all, I was not convinced about this at the beginning,” Fitz says. “Not that I wasn’t eager to take a spin in front of the camera. But that really does look like something I would watch on TV.”
“Same,” I say. “Except I was less convinced of the camera part until I tried it.”
Maya’s phone emits the swooshing sound of an email sent. “I can’t wait to hear back. I’m also texting Coco to let her know
she’s got it.”
We sit there grinning at each other for a while before we get up and head back to our desks. We work quietly, exchanging task-related
comments back and forth, and after a while Maya gathers her things and leaves.
I grab a sparkling water and a granola bar from the kitchen, and on my way back, I drop down in an open chair beside Fitz.
“Any good stories lately?” I ask, munching and hoping for a good distraction.
He eyes me. “You’re bored.”
“I have to finish that quote for the house on Thomas Street before I leave, but I need a brain break,” I say. “Plus, I can’t
stop thinking about the tape.”
Fitz reaches over and pats my knee. “I love you, doll, but I’m trying to wrap up so I can dip out early and meet my man to
go look at some furniture for his mom’s place.”
“Eh, you’ll be fine,” I say. “It’s not even noon yet. Anyway, it’s been forever since I’ve seen Henry. How are y’all?”
“Very happy, no complaints.” Fitz refocuses on the papers in front of him.
“Mm-hmm,” I hum back at him. “And?”
He gives me a look that says zero fun . “I’m sorry, are you trying to dish on my love life when your college sweetheart just moved in next door to you? I think that’s where the actual gold mine is.”
I pout. “I don’t know, I was just wondering about a wedding or something of the like because I saw this Farm Rio dress that’s to die for, but I need somewhere to wear it.”
“You can take the girl away from Magnolia, but you can’t take the expensive taste out of the girl.” Fitz doesn’t make eye
contact.
He’s right. For better or worse, I haven’t entirely shaken the fashion love my mother trained up in me.
“Yes or no: Should I buy the dress for a next summer—or spring—wedding?” I know I’m being a pain in the rear, but Fitz does
the same to me. Not to mention, he can hold his own.
“It’s not that simple,” he says.
“Sure thing,” I say through a mouthful of granola bar, a thoroughly Magnolia- un approved move.
“It’s different.”
“Ok, tell me how,” I say.
Fitz turns, his face serious, a look he rarely wears. “For me and Henry, there’s a lot at stake.”
I watch him compose his thoughts, and I slow my chewing, realizing I’m probably putting my foot in it in a way this Magnolia is not ok with.
“I’ll tell you—though this isn’t knowledge for public consumption,” Fitz says. “My mother and father, as near to the grave
as they are, have told me loud and clear that if I were to publicly marry Henry—or any man, for that matter—they would cut
me off from the family. No holidays, no inheritance, not so much as a part-time gig cleaning the office at Fitzgerald’s.”
His usual sparkle is gone. His pizzazz too. They’re his armor, which my insistence has ripped aside. I’m tacky as all hell.
“Henry, of course, has said we’d wait until they’re gone, as morbid as it sounds. But I’ve been pushing. I don’t want him
to think he’s my second choice.”
“And without the family support?”
“You know the maintenance on historic homes like ours is pricey. We could probably tighten things to keep it, but the rest of our lifestyle would shrink if not completely disappear. And I’d need to figure out a way to curb my trips to Saks. Certainly, they’d need to disavail me of the personal shopper I text on the regular.” Fitz looks away. “But I love the man. More than either of my shriveled-up parents.”
“I’m so sorry, Fitz.” The words aren’t enough. I regret all the times I’ve poked at him about cold feet or reluctance to commit.
I really didn’t get it.
“How were you to know? I hide it fairly well.” He works up a smile. “Now, I don’t want your pity. But do remember the privileges
you have; the freedom is precious.”
I nod, then reach over and squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry, and I’m going to leave you alone now. So you can make it to Henry
on time.”
I cross the room and sit down at my desk, feeling like a puppy with her tail between her legs.
It’s as if Fitz can tell because he looks up and flashes me a smile. “I still love you, Magnolia Junior,” he says. “I just
might love you a little less if you make me late for my furniture appointment.”