Chapter 30
Present Day
It’s just over a week after our last shoot, and as Erica had hoped, she was able to schedule the senior producers for a visit
to the Daniel House. I arrive on-site in the morning, and it’s the first day that feels like the house is actually coming
along. The termite tent is nothing more than a bad memory, and cabinetry is being delivered for the kitchen and bathrooms.
Maya’s already here meeting with the stained glass expert for the window upstairs.
I open the door and Mateo’s crew is already at work placing the kitchen cabinets as they are carried in from the truck.
I let out a squeak of joy. “Mateo, these look amazing.”
“You designed it. We’re just following marching orders. We’ll start installing once we have it all set out and are certain
on fit. You’ll be around to sign off?”
“As if I’d dip out on kitchen cabinetry,” I say. “That’s one of my favorite days.”
“Just wanted to confirm,” he says. “And the floors—they turned out great.”
I stop at his side and drop my gaze. “I never doubt Sam—or you, for that matter.”
“Y’all are filming today?” Mateo eyes my crisp linen pants and round-neck tee.
I laugh. “How could you tell? My lack of actual work boots?”
“That’s right,” he says.
I give him a wink and turn to go back through the house. The light floods in in golden beams now that the ground floor windows
have been repaired—and given a preliminary wipe-down. I don’t even mind the dust it highlights; it’s proof that work is happening
and proof that the house has history.
Outside on the porch I drop into a rocking chair. It’s the first time we’ve installed patio furniture before the construction
is complete, but today the Exquisite Interiors producers will be touring the home, evaluating our work, and eyeing our aptitude
for on-screen charisma.
Maya pops her head out the door. “There you are.” She perches on the edge of the chair next to me. “I’ve got good news. Theo
Hartman said he’d love to sign on for the landscaping.”
“Amazing,” I say.
Together we eye the dusty mud wasteland stretching between us and the street.
“I’ll set the meeting as soon as possible.” Maya chuckles.
“You’re a mind reader,” I reply.
Work continues throughout the morning, the house buzzing like a hive, until things slow around lunchtime. Maya and I grab
a bite from a deli around the corner and order two strong coffees to sip on the way back to the house.
I’m on the porch tipping back the last gulp of my coffee when beyond the gate, a silver Toyota Corolla pulls up and stops.
The back door pops open, and Magnolia hauls herself out, cash in hand.
I wasn’t able to dissuade her from attending today’s meeting, despite my very best begging and pleading. Not now that there’s another arm to this project in which she was adamant to be included.
Magnolia stomps up the brick path, muttering under her breath, and when she reaches the porch, she stops and props a hand
on her hip. “I cannot believe I let Dee convince me to use Uber.” She pronounces it like yoo-ber . “She said it was easy and convenient, but she didn’t mention the vehicle would smell like three-day-old hamburgers. I have
a right mind never to let Victor take a vacation again.”
I stop myself from laughing. “It can be luck of the draw sometimes,” I say. “But how young and hip of Delta Suffolk to use
Uber.”
Magnolia rolls her eyes. “I think she’s going through a three-quarters-life-crisis or something like it, but I’d much rather
she buy a boat or a flashy car than act like she’s some college student getting into a car with God-knows-who.”
“Good news is that you made it,” I lie. I’m nervous enough to navigate the next level of network scrutiny even without the
captain of my constructive-criticism team in attendance.
“Is the powder room in order?” Magnolia asks. “I should freshen up.”
“Downstairs is functional, but not pretty,” I warn.
Magnolia turns up her nose and takes a seat in a rocker. “I’ll just have to be tacky and check my lipstick out here in front
of the general public.”
Before long Fitz arrives, and not far behind him is Erica with a couple new sound techs and three professionally dressed new
faces.
I dreamed about who these senior leaders would be last night, and the people before me in the light of day are certainly more down-to-earth. Not one of them resembles a zombie, not even in the slightest.
The first woman extends her hand. “I’m Shante. I’m the executive producer for the Southeast region. Nice to meet you.” She
wears a flowy maxi dress in shades of brown with a pop of bright pink.
“Jonathan,” the man in the blue jacket says. “I hold the same role as Shante.” He nods to his other colleague. “And Beatrix.”
Beatrix has curly gray hair, shoulder length, and wears a gorgeous linen skirt set paired with large-scale wooden jewelry.
She smiles from behind red glasses frames. “Yes, same for me.” She laughs. “We’re excited to be here.”
“Trust me,” Erica chimes in. “They’re going to knock your socks off.”
“Well, we sure hope so,” I say. “So without further ado, welcome to the Daniel House. It was built in 1890, and the Carolina
Historic Society recently received the property from the late owner’s estate—”
Magnolia clears her throat.
I close my eyes slowly and beg the universe to let this be nothing more than a passing tic. I pull in a breath to continue,
but Magnolia beats me to it.
“Yes, hi.” Magnolia squeezes between Fitz and me. “I’m Magnolia Bishop of the Carolina Historic Society. I’m Magnolia’s mother—or
Mack as you know her—and I’m involved on-site too.”
Erica’s eyes dart between Fitz and me.
“I’m glad you mentioned it,” I say, gently placing an arm around my mother. “We’re so grateful to have received the commission
from the board. They are very supportive and quite hands-on compared to other organizations in the Lowcountry.”
Magnolia beams with pride. “I take good care of my projects—I need to protect my reputation.”
“And we’re here to protect the building,” I say. “Can we show you inside?”
Erica surreptitiously begins shooting footage as I lead the group up the steps to the porch.
I’m not surprised by Magnolia making herself known to the crew. She isn’t one to sit quietly in the background. But the way
her chest puffs up, oh so slightly, and the way the tips of her cheeks turn barely a shade pinker than her blush, I’m starting
to wonder if she’s dreaming, at least a little, about having her own moment on-screen.
I could also be imagining it.
Magnolia was clear about her taste being far too highbrow for reality television, and it’s entirely in keeping with her personal
brand for her life thus far. (Though she’d deny she has a personal brand at all. Again, far too pedestrian and commercial.)
I push open the front door. “You’ll notice first underfoot, these floors,” I say. “We have an incredible team, with Sam Jacobs
at the helm, who stripped, patched, and restained the original flooring to something gorgeous.”
“Wow.” Shante nods.
“You’re right about that,” Jonathan says.
Magnolia shuffles to the front. “They turned out stunning,” she says.
Out of her sight, Fitz throws me a look, and I shrug. The compliment is likely for herself—seeing as she’s now taking credit
for being hands-on. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s soon claiming to have laid the tile herself.
“Mack,” Magnolia calls over. “Show them the sink I inspired you to choose.”
I give her the eye and cross into the kitchen. “Yes, thank you, I’ve got this under control,” I say. “Fitz, do you want to discuss the tile in the kitchen and how we got there?”
Fitz takes off, charming the socks off all three producers as he tells the story of the beyond-repair boards, the water damage,
and the tile we selected, the tile my mother was so clear to state she didn’t care for. I keep my eyes trained on her in case
she feels the need to take a dig at our design choices. Fortunately, she remains quiet.
I show the producers the progress in the powder room, and Erica films an interview clip of me discussing the wallpaper. Fitz
stands beside me.
“When we pick a wallpaper in a home like this, we do our best to choose a pattern that might’ve been around during the time.
William Morris was taking off in England at the time, and we still love those patterns—and new ones inspired by his design
aesthetic—for a home of this age. It’s not perfect, but it’s about being thoughtful.”
“Not to mention,” Fitz says, “if original wallpaper were around these days, it would probably be a flaky mess that’d dissolve
with a single sink use.”
I laugh. “No kidding, especially with the way my daughter flings soapy water around every time she washes her hands.”
“She’s a saint, that child, so y’all will need to cut that comment,” Fitz says directly into the camera.
“So yes, getting away from my angel baby and back to wallpaper,” I sing. “We needed something practical that also honors the
age of the home.”
“Cut!” Erica yells.
The producers stay quiet for the most part, observing while we film. It seems most of their outstanding shows deal with newer builds, so when we talk about saving original components and doing repair work, their attention piques. It gives me and Fitz opportunities to highlight the unique aspects of working in historic homes. We even get to share some stories of past project mishaps and garner a few encouraging laughs.
Erica checks her watch. “I think that’s it for today. It’s after five, and I know you started early.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you all and see your work. I love what you’ve got going on,” Shante says.
The others say their goodbyes, and Erica walks them out to the street. “I’ll call you soon, Mack,” she says. “Have a good
evening.”
Once the network folks are out of sight, I enjoy a deep breath in the quiet. I’m happy with how things went—equal parts optimistic
about what’s to come and proud of the design work we’ve completed thus far. I’m not sure I could’ve planned a better tour
of this house, and even Magnolia was on marginally improved behavior.
“We knocked it out,” Fitz says, squeezing me in a hug. “Margaritas tonight?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “Grady’s got Hal, so I’m free.”
“Magnolia,” my mother says. I’d partially forgotten she was still around, inserting herself in my excitement. “A word before
you go off to drink those ghastly beverages? I’m staying the night at Charleston Place Hotel, and Victor will come pick me
up once he’s back on shift in the morning.”
I turn around. “How about I drive you to the hotel and save you the misery of a rideshare?”
“That’ll work,” Magnolia says.
“Usual spot at six?” Fitz asks me.
“I’ll see you there.”
Fitz leaves, and six can’t come soon enough. Chats with my mother rarely go well, and especially because I’m currently feeling good about this whole thing, I have no doubt she’s going to have something to say about it.
But she’s the only mother I’ve got, so I’ll stuff down my discomfort and grit my teeth through it.
Like I usually do.