Chapter Five
Magnolia
BLAST OFF
Iwasn't getting out of bed. Ever. I was never, ever getting out of bed. Scratch that. I’d get out of bed to answer the door. I’d have my groceries delivered, and I could get up to let Scout outside.
Other than that, I was never getting out of bed. I was going to lay here, in my room, and eat ice cream for the rest of my life. Possibly while watching action movies. Explosions made everything better.
I know 'heartbroken girl eating ice cream' is a cliché, but I wasn't going to make it worse by watching sappy movies. Besides, I didn't think I could handle sappy movies, and I was done with crying. At least for the moment.
Pounding echoed up the stairs, interrupting my self-pity. I ignored it. I'd already texted in sick to work and then turned my phone off.
The pounding stopped, and I let out a breath of relief. Whoever it was would go away, and I could get back to my ice cream and the Die Hard trilogy.
Just when I thought I was off the hook, the pounding started again, louder than before and accompanied by shouting.
"Magnolia Henry, open this door right now, or I will break it down."
Vance. I should've known he wouldn't be put off by a text. I should have called, but I hadn't wanted to talk to him. I hadn't wanted to hear him say I told you so.
"If you don't let me in, I'll keep yelling and your neighbors are going to call the police," he threatened.
It was unlikely. My house sat on five acres, directly in the center, and while I could see my neighbor's rooflines, we weren't in shouting distance.
Though Vance was pretty loud. And I was in my pajamas and probably had chocolate ice cream smeared on my chin. I didn't want to entertain the police in my living room in this condition.
Sighing in annoyance, I dragged myself out of bed, picked up the pint of Hagen Das, and went downstairs, shoving a bite of ice cream in my mouth on the way.
Vance stumbled forward when I swung open the door, his hand raised and ready for another fit of pounding. His eyes widened at the sight of me, my hair in a messy knot on the top of my head, not a stitch of makeup, puffy red eyes and a pint of ice cream in my hand.
I made a sad sight, and I knew it. I just didn't care.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Vance demanded. "Are those your pajamas?"
I took another bite of ice cream and glared at him. Who was he to judge? At least I wore pajamas.
I looked down at the threadbare, pink- and white-striped broadcloth pajama set my grandmother had bought me when I was in college. They'd seen better days. The pink was faded, and all the bleach in the world wouldn't make the white stripes truly white again.
Was this why Brayden had left? I didn't have it in me to wonder.
"You don't look sick," Vance said. "You said you were sick."
"I lied," I said.
"Do you have coffee?" Vance asked, pushing past me to come in. "I tried making coffee, and it was terrible. If you're not coming into work, at least make me coffee."
"Can't you take care of yourself for one day while I have an emotional breakdown?"
"No," he said. "Is that what this is? An emotional breakdown?"
I gestured to myself with the ice cream spoon, splattering drops of chocolate on the front of my pajama top. "Can't you tell?"
Vance shook his head. "You tell me you're having an emotional breakdown, and you think that's going to make me leave?
You've stuck with me through all of my shit.
All those times you dealt with me drunk and hung over.
Amy's overdose. Amy and me getting back together and breaking up again.
You stuck with me when I went to rehab. You were waiting for me when I got out, and you kept my whole life together while I was gone.
Now you're having a tough time, and you think I'm going to leave you here to eat ice cream and cry on your own? What did that twat do now?"
I burst into tears.
"Babe, don't cry. Don't cry. He's not worth it." I felt him take the ice cream and spoon out of my hands.
One strong arm wrapped around my shoulders, and Vance led me to my kitchen, seating me on a stool at my island. I heard water running in the sink, then a cold, wet towel pressed against my hot face.
I took it from him and tried to wipe away the tears. And the snot. My nose always ran when I cried. When I had myself under control and my face cleaned up, Vance asked again, "What did he do?"
I let out a shuddering breath and said, "He dumped me. Two days before Valentine’s Day, and he dumped me."
"Well, hallelujah," Vance said with an oddly determined grin.
"I hate you," I said.
"No, you don't. You hate him. He's an asshole.
I'm your best friend. And he never deserved you, Magnolia.
Ever. He was never good enough for you. The only person who didn't know that was you.
You should've kicked him out years ago. I'm sorry that you're hurt.
I hate seeing you unhappy. But that asshole leaving you is the best thing for you, and you know it. "
I didn't say anything. Vance was right. I should've kicked Brayden out a long time ago. He was an asshole, and I did deserve better.
I shrugged, and Vance scowled at me.
"Are you going to make coffee? Because you know if you let me do it, it's going to be shit."
I pushed back the stool and went to the coffeemaker. I did want coffee, and if I let Vance make it, it would be disgusting. He could cook. He was actually pretty good in the kitchen, but every time he tried to make coffee, it was either too weak, burned, or as thick as mud.
"I'm taking you out," Vance said. I stared at the slowly filling coffee maker in disbelief.
"No," I said. "I'm not going out. I'm getting back in bed with my coffee and my ice cream and watching Die Harder. I'm taking the day off work, and I don't care what you have to say about it."
"No, you're not."
"You're not the boss of me," I said.
I wished for my headmistress voice—that one always seemed to work on Vance—but instead, I ended up sounding like a disgruntled toddler.
Vance crossed his arms over his chest and raised one eyebrow, looking like the debauched Viking I'd first thought him, charming and dangerous.
"I am exactly the boss of you," he said. "And today is a workday. As soon as I get a cup of coffee in you, you're going to go upstairs, take a shower, get dressed, and then do what I tell you to for the rest of the day."
Suspicious, I narrowed my eyes at him. "What are you going to tell me to do?"
"We're going to brunch. You're going to drink a lot of mimosas, then we'll go to the movies, and then you'll go to bed early so you can wake up and be at work on time tomorrow."
I poured us both mugs of coffee, handing Vance his. It was too hot, but I didn't care about burning my tongue. I needed the caffeine.
"I don't want to go to brunch, and I don't want to get drunk. Anyway, you don't drink," I said.
Vance blew on his coffee. "I didn't say I was going to drink.
I hate mimosas. But you love them." He shuddered at the thought.
"I'm going to keep you company. You can spend the morning telling me all about what a dickhead the twat is, and I'll agree with you because he is a dickhead and I've always hated him.
Then you'll feel much better. That's how this works.
Do you want me to call Charlie? She hates the twat as much as I do. "
"You need to stop calling him that," I said.
"Why? You're not still defending his honor, are you?"
"No, but it's vulgar. I hate that word."
"I don't really like it either, but it fits him so perfectly I just can't help myself," Vance said.
"Try," I insisted.
"If I promise not to call the dickhead a twat for the rest of the day, will you come out with me?"
Still channeling my inner toddler, I rolled my eyes. Not yet ready to agree to his plan, I asked,
“Why do you hate him so much? You already hated him when we met.”
Vance sighed. “You know I went to school with Brayden and his older brother, right?”
I nodded, sipping my coffee.
“The brother is okay, but Brayden was always a whiner and a bully. One year, he stole the charity fund his class was raising for Habitat for Humanity. It was a lot of money. Thousands of dollars. And he pinned it on another kid, one of the scholarship students. He almost got the guy kicked out of school.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me this?” I asked, shocked. Vance shrugged.
“Honestly, I wasn’t sure you’d believe me.”
“Did he get kicked out of school?” I asked.
“Kind of. He missed the rest of the school year, but he was allowed to come back.” Vance raised one hand and rubbed his fingers and thumb together in the universal sign for money.
What a surprise, Brayden letting his parents bail him out of trouble.
“I’m such an idiot. I should have kicked him out a long time ago,” I said.
“No comment. Now go get ready while I call Charlie.”
“Charlie can't come with us. It's a weekday, and she's working."
"Charlie runs her own department,” Vance said. “She can let her assistant handle things for one day. God knows, she works enough. She hates her job, and she needs a day off."
His comment distracted me from my own misery. "You picked up on that too, huh?" I asked.
"Ever since she finished school and started working for the company full time, she's been miserable. But she won't admit it. Too stubborn to give up, like some other people I know."
He gave me that raised eyebrow again, as if I didn't already know he was talking about me. There was nothing wrong with being stubborn. Or tenacious.
Sometimes, it's hard to know when you need to stick with something and when it’s time to cut your losses. I knew Charlie wasn't enjoying her work, but I didn't give her a hard time about it for the same reason she never gave me a hard time about my relationship with Brayden.
In the end, we had to make our own mistakes.
"Fine, I'll go out. But I want it on record that I'm doing this under protest. I liked my ice cream and John McLane plan better."