Chapter 40
After the day of shooting the pilot, I’ve granted myself a short reprieve. More specifically, I will be working —I use that term loosely—from home today in my pajamas. I just dropped off Hallie at her day camp—also in my pajamas—and I’m
back at home, heading across the kitchen for the coffee maker.
Yesterday, my mother was not a silent observer on set, which came as a surprise to not a single person in attendance who had
more than ten minutes of experience with her. Fortunately, Erica has a unique mother herself, so she came well-equipped with de-escalation tactics.
I grab the coffeepot and fill my mug to the top, then lift it. Before I get a sip, my phone rattles on the counter with a
call. I glance at it, and when I see that it’s my mother, I silence it and watch until it rings through to voicemail. I pull
in a deep breath and prepare to enjoy my first sip of the steaming brew when the thing jolts to life again.
Seriously? I mean, yes, of course, this is not only happening but should be predictable.
I give in and answer. “Mother. Good morning.”
There’s a pause before she speaks. “Hi, yes, good morning, Mack.”
I feel a ripple of serotonin release at her using my actual name.
“I felt I needed to call after yesterday,” Magnolia says.
I take my coffee and drop onto my favorite spot on the sofa.
“I didn’t behave appropriately on the set,” Magnolia says—just as my chin hits the floor.
When I’m certain it must be an auditory hallucination, she says, “I think I got excited about the prospect of the show, and
it sent me wild. I’ve been on with the psychiatrist and asked if I need to be sent to a rehab. Perhaps this is a manic episode,
I’m wondering, at least according to my early searches online. I was so unlike myself.”
“I’m sorry—a psychiatrist, Mama?” I’m not certain what my mother’s mental health history is or isn’t, but I am certain it’s out of character for her to share something this personal with me so casually.
Magnolia sighs. “They don’t recommend I be admitted to the rehab. In fact, they said it was highly unlikely it was a manic
episode given I’m fifty-plus years old and have no history of bipolar disorder. They said given the situation, it was probably
a normal response. Can you believe it? A normal response— as if I don’t have a fifty-plus-year track record of utmost propriety and stoicism. I’ll need a second opinion—naturally.”
I have to smile to myself. “Mama,” I say slowly. “We’re all really excited about the show. It’s all right for you to be excited
too. Playing it cool doesn’t make you any more proper or appropriate than the next guy.”
“I’m certainly not convinced,” Magnolia says. “I think I’m losing it with age, going soft or loopy or earthy. Oh my goodness,
Mack, if I start wearing bohemian clothes, please , I beg of you, send me somewhere. I would rather be confined overseas than show up in harem pants to the club.”
“I can manage that,” I say. “But I’d guess the chances are slim.”
There’s a pause between us.
Magnolia’s voice is quiet when she speaks again. “Did I ruin the day for you?”
An actual chill runs up my spine and over and out through my limbs. I sputter and rush to clear my throat. “Oh no, not at
all,” I say.
It’s not the truth, but it’s the only response I can form at this rare, impossible show of tenderness from my mother, the
Dragon, for my benefit.
“Good,” she announces, her brisk tone restored. “I would never want to stand in the way of your success—only support it in
my own work. I’ll let you get back to your work.”
“Thanks, Mama,” I say, wondering if the version of her that visited a moment ago can hear me. “I appreciate the call. More
than you know.”
Magnolia clears her throat. “Yes,” she says tightly. “Oh, and I’d be remiss not to mention: Don’t wear white on shoot days
again. It drains your complexion completely, which is not how anyone wants to look on television.”
There she is.
“Thanks for the feedback,” I say. “Talk to you soon.”
We hang up, and I drop the phone into the couch pillows.
I let myself sit and finally enjoy my coffee. Well, try to enjoy it. Magnolia’s moment of humanness has me actually worrying
there’s something wrong with her. I’ve always wondered what was behind her brick-wall persona, and I’m not naive enough to
think she’s a cookie-baking grandmother type. But if nothing else, that call is proof that there’s more to her.
Eventually I get to work picking out the last bits of decor for the Daniel House. By next week, we should be able to start installing furniture and decor. I scroll through my favorite sites and add a bunch of things to a few different carts—some ceramics, a small side table that’ll go beautifully in the front entryway. I’ll need to head to my go-to antique store to source a few older pieces too.
I’m about to head for the kitchen to fix myself a sandwich when there’s a knock at the door.
I pull myself upright and peek around the corner, hoping it’s not the door-to-door salesman who was around last week. Through
the glass in the front door, I spot Lincoln. At the sight of him, I blush and jerk back behind the wall. We’ve exchanged a
couple of friendly texts since our kiss, but neither of us has mentioned it.
I haven’t seen him until now either.
I lean over and check my reflection in the mirror above the console, wishing I’d actually showered, or at the very minimum
refreshed my curls with a misting spray. I resign myself to my au naturel appearance and head to the door.
“Hey,” Lincoln says when I pull the door open.
“Hi.”
We both grin as our eyes lock. I feel my face turn warm, and I can see it in him too.
“Come in,” I say.
Lincoln follows me inside, and I say, with my back to him, “Sorry, Hal’s not here today.”
Lincoln clears his throat. “That’s no problem,” he says. “I’m here for you.”
The butterflies erupt in my stomach, and I want to hate the way it feels like a decade and a half ago. I should be immune
to this by now or at least not feeling so wobbly in the knees.
I turn at the kitchen island. “Well, lucky me.”
I say it without thinking, and it comes out far flirtier than I like.
Lincoln grins. He opens his mouth to speak but stops after he pulls in a breath. He takes off his ball cap and runs a hand through his hair. “This seemed much more straightforward in my head.”
Anticipation rises in my chest, because if he’s feeling nervous, this has to be about the kiss.
“About the other night,” he says.
I pull in a breath. “We don’t have to... You don’t...”
I’m not sure what I’m trying to say, but certainly I’m trying to protect myself from any option besides him coming here to
tell me how much he’d love to do it again.
Lincoln lets out a tight laugh. “What’s that?”
“Sorry, you go.” I cover my mouth with a hand, lean back on the island, and wave him on.
“Look, I’m in no position to ask you this because of how I messed up in the past, but Mack, being back here, getting to know
you again, the other night... Would you want to go out sometime?” Lincoln has his hat in his hands and he’s kneading the
bill into something very cylindrical. “Again, it sounded way more cool and charming in my head.”
A smile creeps across my face, and I nod. “I’d love that. And it did sound charming—at least to me.”
Lincoln strides toward me and puts his cap back on his head backward. He wraps his arms around my waist and draws me into
a hug.
“Sorry, is this too much?” he asks.
I giggle into his shoulder, my arms wrapped around him. “It’s nothing compared to the other night.”
I feel the tension in his shoulders release, and he pulls back a little. “You can just tell me, you know. As we figure this
out.”
I look up at him. “It might take a while to get the weird wrinkles out of this whole thing. It’s not often a girl starts re-dating
a guy she used to love.”
Lincoln’s brow flickers. “You really did feel that way back then?”
I nod.
Lincoln sighs. “I guess I thought you could’ve— probably did change your mind after it all fell apart.”
“Oh, I tried.” I laugh. “But apparently I didn’t get much say in it.”
Lincoln leans back, and I break the hug, our arms falling slack.
“So when’s our second first date?” I ask.
“I hadn’t actually thought that far,” Lincoln says. “I was too nervous about asking. I do, however, have seven different plans
for how to manage your surefire rejection.”
“Well.” I look around. “You got lunch plans? I’m starving, and the fridge is bare bones.”
Lincoln grins. “I’ve got my keys. You ready?”
I look down at my sweats and remember the frightful bags under my eyes that I spotted earlier in the mirror. “Like this?”
“What’s wrong with that?” Lincoln asks. He turns and takes my cheek in his hand, drawing closer.
“I look like I live without running water and definitely without a mirror.”
“Then mirrorless, unwashed women must be my type.” He is so close his lips are almost to mine. Then he grins and closes the
gap.
The heat of the kiss covers me, the closeness to him a thrill and a comfort at once.
I pull back before it overcomes me. “I’m sold. Say no more.” I break out of his arms to grab my wallet and phone.
“And I didn’t even have to make my second point.”
I start toward the door and look over my shoulder. “Which was?”
He follows. “That I’ve seen you after the worst hangover of your life—or at least by that point in your life—and let me tell
you, that was one for the books.”
I laugh and reach for the door handle. “It’s still the worst. I like to think I learned my lesson.”
Lincoln shudders. “Captain Morgan was a bad choice.”
I open the door and we step outside. “Couldn’t agree more.”
I follow Lincoln across the lawn to his truck, and it strikes me that I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. I was
married to Grady for years—technically still am—and I can’t remember. I can’t remember Grady ever making me feel special or
chosen in such a basic way. Sure, he bought expensive gifts and took me to expensive restaurants and highbrow events, but
he never took me to lunch looking like a creature from the depths of the ocean.
Lincoln stops at the passenger door and pops it open. “Your chariot, my lady.”
I climb in, and he looks at me before he closes the door, and it’s pride and admiration on his face.
He thinks he’s the lucky one, getting this date, but I know better: It’s me who’s the lucky one.