Chapter 31
Moments later, Magnolia sits in my passenger seat as we wait behind a horse and carriage tour moving painfully slowly.
“I think we need to showcase the Historic Society, if y’all get the show,” Magnolia says.
“Didn’t you hear me mention it?” I ask. “I’m going to name-drop you plenty.”
“No, I mean a real feature,” Magnolia says.
My regret doubles at offering to be her driver. We started with her being disgusted over the idea of giving Exquisite Interiors
a shot at all, and now she wants her group to be front and center. Whatever she must do to control my life, I guess.
“It wasn’t long ago you called the show crap. Remember that?” I ask.
She swats the air. “You knew what I meant. I hadn’t watched it; I didn’t realize people actually got things like homeware
lines, cookbook deals, and sponsorships. I thought it was more like something only played on loop in a dentist’s office, not
viewed regularly in millions of households across the country. People actually get famous from this, Magnolia.”
So that was what this was about.
“Mother, are you wanting your own fifteen minutes of fame?”
“Oh heavens, no.”
I turn to look at her, and she’s not a single bit convincing. She looks hopeful and wanting, and for the first time I realize
I might just have a little bit of an upper hand here.
“Really?” I ask. “Because every time I’ve brought you through the house, you’ve only nitpicked the work we’ve done. And today
you were all compliments.”
“I only want the best for you, Magnolia. To make sure you’re living a good life like you deserve. Why wouldn’t I talk up your
work in front of the camera, to the very people handing out contracts?”
I turn on my blinker and cut around the campus. “In theory I appreciate that, but I know what I’m doing. I would love your
support, but I’m not sure what I can promise the Historic Society.”
Magnolia folds her hands in her lap.
She looks out the window, and we sit quietly for the rest of the drive. I know there’s something brewing as we fly past the
palmetto trees, past the market thick with visitors. She didn’t get her way, even if I didn’t say no, and Magnolia never gives
up on a fight.
I pull into the round driveway of the Charleston Place Hotel, and as we wait for the position by the door to clear, she turns
to me.
“I understand I was mistaken about the show. I should’ve done my research before I took a stance. But I’ll have you know that
if you get the show, and my board and I aren’t in some way included, I can’t say you’ll see another job handed down from us,”
she says, then she puts her sunglasses back in place and exits the car.
I wish I could speed out, gravel flying behind me, but I’m blocked in until the unloading car in front moves. It’s nothing
I’m unused to, being trapped under my mother’s threats of any and all varieties.
She talks about wanting me to have this good life, have success, but it only goes so far. It only counts if it’s in her approved ways with her blessing, nothing of my own creation. It has to be something she has a hand in—benefits from, in the best cases.
Maybe her realizing that the show could actually be a good opportunity has her in new territory. Finally there’s something
that’s mine that she doesn’t necessarily have a say in. I’m not sure her threat holds much water; if we get the show, we’ll
have more interest, more work coming; we wouldn’t need her society’s referrals.
But I’m certain she’d make my life difficult in other ways. And then there’s the impulse inside me to please her, to put my
own wants and feelings aside and make her happy.
It’s not as strong as it was before, when I was younger, but I don’t think I’ll ever outrun it completely.
Finally the traffic clears and I’m back on the road, my muscles slowly unclenching as I put physical space between me and
my mother. Only the promise of margaritas and chips and salsa is keeping me going.
***
La Cocina is its usually flurry of bright colors, thumping pop music, and sizzling smells. It’s exactly what I need. I push
into the door, and I’m met by a gentle hum of chatter and laughter. A plate of steaming, smoky veggies floats by me.
Fitz waves from a table for two tucked alongside the large wall of windows. I duck past the colorful paper flags strung up
for a birthday celebration. He’s already ordered us drinks and my favorite queso dip.
“Fitz, if there wasn’t already a spot waiting for you in heaven, you’ve secured it this evening.”
He chuckles from inside his glass. “I won’t be banking on it too soon, considering how hard I hit the casino a few weekends ago in Vegas.”
“Eh.” I take a sip and savor the tang on my lips. “I like to imagine God has a bit of a sense of humor.”
Fitz grabs a chip and swirls it in the queso. “Well, anyways, I figured I’d get us going here because I wouldn’t wish whatever
car conversation you and your mama had on my worst enemy.”
I unroll my napkin and set the silverware on the table. “I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you.”
“Try me,” Fitz says. “Or better yet, let me guess: Magnolia wants to sub in as cohost.”
I laugh, choking down a gulp. “I mean, it’s not verbatim what she said, but you’ve got the gist of it.”
Our waiter arrives, and Fitz and I place our tried-and-true orders.
“I could see it all over her face,” Fitz says.
I drop my head into my palm. “But why ? It wasn’t days ago she told me it wasn’t worth a moment of my time.”
Fitz clears his throat and sets his hands on the table, like he’s about to call school into session. “Let’s start at the top.
What is the one thing in the entire world Magnolia cares about most?”
“Her status, and most specifically it being seen as paramount and generally admired.”
“Now step back, and there we were at the shoot. Those producers looked sharp, like people in charge , and each of them had a specific air of confidence that only comes with power.”
I sigh. “Plus, it sounds like she actually watched the show. Delta Suffolk, an avid fan herself, sold her on it.”
“And what’s the other thing your mother cares about most?”
“Making her mini-Magnolia suffer?”
“Hmm.” Fitz squints. “Close. Maybe I could give half credit for that. I was looking for keeping her mini-Magnolia from straying too far .”
“But haven’t I done that with the studio? Stepped out on my own?”
Our entrées arrive, and I’m grateful for the pause. I shovel an oversize bite of shrimp taco into my mouth.
“You certainly have,” Fitz says. “The studio is your crowning achievement, and when you applied for the fellowship gig that
so many of her friends are wound up in, I think she probably felt like she got a foot in.”
I swallow. “She was definitely encouraging about the whole thing. Probably more so than with anything else I’ve done professionally. I’m sure it swayed me a little,
even if I didn’t realize it was happening at the time.”
“Right.” Fitz wipes his mouth with his napkin. “And I bet that felt good for Magnolia to be part of it with you.”
I shrugged. He was right. She called far more often and actually wanted to know about my work. She even complimented Grady
and me as a working duo when typically what she cared about most was that we were married.
“I just don’t want her fingerprints all over this,” I say.
“And why should you let her?” Fitz says. “She’ll throw a fit if you don’t let her in, and then—”
“The and then is what I’m worried about,” I say. “She’s my mother. I don’t particularly like her, but I do love her—even if it’s all a
bit twisted.”
“I know what you mean,” Fitz says. “Mine are almost as bad as her.”
It hits me that I haven’t followed up after Fitz admitted his struggles with his family and Henry. We were so wrapped up in the show, it never came up.
“So no progress with them on the Henry front?”
Fitz shakes his head. “And I finally hit the wall,” he says. “Henry still says he’s fine to wait, but I know the man. I can just tell he’s antsy. And honestly, I’m done putting him out because of my awful family.”
“The wedding?” I’ve always looked forward to celebrating their wedding, but now it sounds so resigned, overlaid by the family
hate.
He nods. “He wants it. I want it. The only thing standing in our way is my parents—the mighty Fitzgeralds—and the family fortune.
I talked to them again, hoping for the best, but it was the same old, same old. And now I have to choose: marriage or money.”
“And your house?”
“We’re keeping it, but I might need to call in some Bishop Builds favors over time, if you know what I mean. For now, all
the extras are on hold—indefinitely.”
“But Exquisite Interiors—”
Fitz sets down his fork and sighs. “I was thinking that too. If it works out, that’d be a massive help because I’d have my
salary at the studio plus whatever they’re willing to give us. We could actually save for retirement and have a vacation—something
my spoiled behind hasn’t had to worry about before.”
“We have to get it,” I say. Knowing Fitz needs it like this lights a fresh fire under me. “We have to.”
“It would definitely help. Even if it’s just an ego boost.” He waggles his brow.
I let out a laugh. “Yes, because confidence is something you’re lacking.”
The rest of the meal melts into easy conversation about nonthreatening things, but the thought never leaves my mind: Whatever we can do to make Exquisite Interiors work, it will feel like fighting for Fitz too.
And if there’s anyone beyond Hallie I would go to the ends of the earth for, it’s him.