Chapter 26
Fifteen Years Earlier
I pulled Lincoln’s tie taut and straight, then patted him on the chest. “Mama won’t know what hit her,” I said.
After Lincoln agreed to the dinner Magnolia requested, she made a reservation for this evening.
Lincoln turned back to the mirror. “I hope she likes me. I’m still surprised she wanted to meet me to begin with, but I feel
good about impressing her.”
I combed through my purse, checking for the essential items. “Anyone with more than a fleeting involvement in my life is a
cause for Magnolia’s interest. How else is she supposed to keep tabs on me?”
“I’m surprised she hasn’t hired an on-the-ground spy,” Lincoln said.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she had by now.” I crossed the room to him. “But look at you. Who could resist?” I pecked him
on the lips.
“We should get going,” Lincoln said, grabbing his wallet and keys. “Showing up late doesn’t sound like your mother’s style.”
Lincoln and I began the walk to the restaurant, arm in arm, as the sun descended on the city. We rounded the corner by the waterfront as the sky turned pink and purple, and soon we were at the entrance of Mama’s favorite steak house. The host asked for the reservation name, directed us to a table for three, and there we waited for my mother.
We sipped from sweaty glasses of ice water, and the nerves kicked in a little as I watched Lincoln. I noticed his rigid shoulders,
the way he sat ramrod straight, like a country boy on his first visit to a city, and the way his eyes skated over the silverware
as if it were a puzzle. He wasn’t his usual self.
“You good?” I asked.
Lincoln nodded. “Just some jitters.”
It struck me then how different this restaurant was from the casual places we usually spent our time in. That probably should’ve
been obvious, if not for the fact that I grew up in fancy restaurants, and fine dining was so much a part of my life that
I hadn’t considered that it wasn’t muscle memory for everyone. I’d assumed this would be routine for him, too, when I should’ve
stopped for more than a fleeting moment to consider it.
The sight of Magnolia approaching pulled me back to reality. I was on my feet at once. “Oh hi, Mama, you’re here.”
“Well, I was the one to make the reservation, wasn’t I?” She took me loosely in her arms and air-kissed me. She then leveled
an iron look at Lincoln. “Good evening, young man.”
Lincoln stood, caught himself on the bulky chair, and narrowly avoided falling into Magnolia. “Oops. Sorry. That chair came
out of nowhere.”
Magnolia’s face pulled into a shape that fell somewhere between a smile and a grimace. She pulled her chair out, removed her
pearl-colored jacket, and sat. “Have you seen the waiter? I’m suddenly dying for a vodka soda.”
I tried to catch Lincoln’s eye so I could shoot him a smile, but he was looking at my mother.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Bishop. I’m Lincoln Kelly.” Lincoln held out his hand across the table.
Magnolia made a show of removing the tabletop items in the way before reaching an unsure hand out. “Yes, I’ve heard you’re
Mack’s summer boyfriend. How nice.”
Lincoln’s neck turned pink, and the color slowly rose to his cheeks. “She’s a special young lady.”
“Mm-hmm,” Magnolia said. “I’m not sure I believe you if you’re only interested for a summer.”
The waiter arrived, and we each ordered an alcoholic beverage. I would’ve gone ahead and put in an order for a pitcher if
it wouldn’t have given my mother palpitations to have her daughter behave in such a way in one of her favorite establishments.
My foot tapped restlessly under the table. I should’ve been kicking myself for not realizing how awkward this would be. Magnolia
wasn’t interested in a casual meeting; she was there to scare this guy off.
I wished she hadn’t called him my summer boyfriend. Even though I still said that, he and I both knew things had changed.
We didn’t have to say it out loud to know we’d moved beyond that.
“I hear you’re quite the philanthropist, Ms. Bishop,” Lincoln said.
He had guts to keep trying.
“Yes,” Magnolia said, eyeing the menu like she didn’t order the same thing every time. “Each week there’s a new need, so my
ladies and I see to it.”
“I used to volunteer at the local shelter with my mom—back when I lived at home.”
Magnolia raised a brow over the menu.
“We’d play with the kids, do laundry, serve meals, clean,” Lincoln said.
The waiter arrived and distributed our drinks, and I gulped greedily.
“I’m not the hands-on type so much. That’s all a little much for me, but I’ll direct funds,” Magnolia said. “So, tell me about
your family, your pedigree—so to speak.”
Lincoln swallowed. “Well, I come from a local family—different from yours. My mom was a teacher. She retired early to care
for her aging mom, and my father is a musician. I have a sister who is killing it in nursing school right now.”
“His dad was really popular in the area,” I said, nodding eagerly at Magnolia. “Probably could’ve gotten a record deal if
someone had given him a real shot.”
Lincoln looked over at me, his brow creased in confusion.
“He really wasn’t,” Lincoln said. “He loved it, but he usually drank too much and had to end early.”
I was trying to throw Lincoln a life preserver, a little morsel to assuage the Dragon. But alas, he was determined to flounder.
Magnolia eyed me. “So which was it? Successful and knocking down Hollywood’s door or a barfly?”
I shrugged, dropping my gaze. “For whatever reason I got the impression he did pretty well with it.”
Lincoln gritted his jaw so tight, I could see it across the table. He looked right past me to my mother. “I’m not sure how
she got confused, Ms. Bishop, because he’s certainly square in the barfly category.”
Magnolia bit her lip as she pretended to stare into the depths of the menu; she was fighting a smile, seeing she’d just placed
a barb between us.
She was far more palatable for the rest of the dinner, asking about my studies that I knew for a fact she was barely interested
in. She even asked about Lincoln’s work.
“I’m working at an accounting firm right now, a full-time junior role, but eventually I’d like to be a photographer for a living,” Lincoln said. “If I can figure it out.”
Magnolia let out a grunt. “Weddings and such?”
“Actually, I’d like to do fine art photography, like the one of mine you saw at the Halstead Gallery. I’ve been applying to
photography studios with apprenticeship programs. It’s highly competitive and unlikely I’ll get a spot, but I’m determined
to throw my hat in the ring.”
“Lincoln is definitely a top candidate. He just submitted his portfolio to Marcus Wilson in New York.” I look over, but he
still won’t make eye contact. “We’re both keeping our fingers crossed, even if the odds are a stretch.”
“My artwork is what I care about most in the world,” Lincoln said.
I turned back to my mother. “Shall we skip dessert? I don’t know about you, but I’m stuffed.”
Lincoln waited to take off until we’d said goodbye to my mother, but once she was gone, he shrugged me off.
I raced to catch up as he strode down the street.
“Lincoln, stop,” I said. “Look, I’m sorry it tanked.”
“ Tanked ?” He stopped dead in his tracks. “You tried to pretend I was something I wasn’t. Did I miss a memo somewhere or something?”
I sighed. “It wasn’t what I meant. I was trying to give you a leg up on her.”
“By lying about my family and trying to make it out like my dad was some famous musician he definitely was not? And then alluding
to the fact that I’m a front runner for the studio positions we both know are as rare as a winning lottery ticket?”
“I didn’t want her to make you feel like crap,” I said.
“I knew she wasn’t going to be impressed by my pedigree, but I thought at least you didn’t care either.” He turned and kept walking.
“I didn’t . I don’t ,” I said. “I wanted her to be impressed.”
Lincoln stops again. “Which would require making things up, right? Because she’d never be impressed by who I actually am.”
“I was trying to protect you,” I said.
“You were trying to protect yourself , Mack. You know who I am, and I thought you liked me for me. But I guess when it comes down to it, your mother’s opinions
and standards trump all.”
I stood there, still; I couldn’t argue. He was right that my mother, Magnolia the Dragon, had a hold over me, and even if
I disagreed with her, it was a compulsion to conform and please.
She was still my mother.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Me too,” Lincoln said, turning one last time. “I’m sorry for ever agreeing to this in the first place. You should sleep at
your own apartment tonight. I need some space.”
After that I didn’t chase him. I’d never seen him so angry before, and I knew it wasn’t because of my cruel mother. It was
because of me.