Chapter 2
two
When I was younger, I believed she genuinely thought she was doing what was best for us.
But the older I’ve gotten, the more I have grown to have a mind of my own.
The more I've come to understand that no one should ever treat another person like their views don't matter, especially not a parent or a partner.
“So you’ll be there, of course,” my mother says. I have no clue what she’s talking about, but apparently I have no choice but to attend.
“Fine. When do I need to be where?” I ask, nervously running my hands down my floral sundress.
As much as I hate wearing dresses, I hate shopping for clothes even more.
Put me in a bookstore and I can get lost for hours, but I’ve let my mother fill my wardrobe for as long as I can remember.
With the exception of my favorite yoga pants and the countless t-shirts I’ve collected from environmental causes I support, my closet looks like Barbie’s wet dream.
“Honestly, Magnolia. Do you ever pay attention?” My mother sighs and I roll my eyes. The ability to guilt has always been strong with this woman. “The estate at 7 tonight. Please make sure you look presentable.”
She hangs up without another word, and I huff out an annoyed breath.
I’ve always despised the way she refers to my childhood home as the estate.
It’s not like we’re the Kennedy’s, for Christ’s sake.
I know she only does it because it makes her feel important.
Most days, I genuinely feel sorry for my mother.
It must be so exhausting to need other people’s approval and validation that desperately.
But then I remember, as much as I don’t want to, I crave hers just as much.
Smoothing my hands down the front of my navy blue bouffant dress, I pull the inside of my cheek between my teeth, chewing nervously.
Staring up at the heavy oak and iron doors of my parent’s house, I wish I could be absolutely anywhere but here.
This place has always felt so cold to me, completely void of real familial love every time my mother is inside it.
All of my best childhood memories were spent with my dad on a surfboard, or at the house in Holden Beach.
This mansion is a beautiful gilded prison, and I’m grateful every day that I moved out, even though my mother raised ten kinds of hell over it.
My apartment in town is perfectly suited to me, and I love the independence it gives me.
Before my hand connects with the wood, the door swings open. My dad’s dark green eyes mirror my own as his warm smile welcomes me in. I will always come back to this place, without hesitation, because of this man.
“Magpie! I’ve missed you so much, my girl,” he says, pulling me in for a bone-crushing hug. There’s nobody on this planet I love more than my dad. Nobody who loves me as much as this man does. No matter what I’ve endured from my mother over the years, I’d do it all over again for him.
“Hey, dad. I missed you, too! But I was just here on Wednesday. It’s hardly been 48 hours,” I tell him, rolling my eyes at his exaggerated excitement.
“That’s 47 and a half hours too long, Mags.
I’m sure your mother is going to bring it up over dinner, but I want to spend the Fourth of July at the beach house this year.
I’m standing on the edge of retirement and I’m ready to start enjoying the time I have to spend with my girls again.
Think you can swing it?” He asks, guiding me through the foyer and into the formal dining room.
“I’ll see what I can do, dad. It shouldn’t be a problem.” I give him a genuine smile, the one I rarely show anyone else.
“I’m sorry in advance about tonight, Magpie. You know how your mother is,” he grumbles, his voice low enough only I can hear. I’m confused for only a moment before we step through the doorway and I see the reason for his apology.
Aaron Montgomery, the son of my mother’s best friend, and the cause of at least fifty percent of my childhood trauma, sits at the table next to my mother.
This man tortured me from the time we were old enough to speak.
I still remember him calling me “the great white whale” every day for an entire summer when we were seven.
I’m not blind or na?ve. I’ve never been a small girl. But I was just a little kid. The highlight of my summer that year was my sister, Ivy, punching him in the nose when she overheard him picking on me. She swore it was an accident, even convinced our mother she was swatting a bee.
“Ah, Magnolia. Nice of you to join us,” my mother chastises. I’m not sure why. I’m fifteen minutes early.
“Mother. What is he doing here?” I ask bluntly, my mother shooting me a glare so icy I’m sure I’ll have frostbite.
“Oh, come on, Mags. You know you’ve missed me,” Aaron says, his cocky smirk already grating on my patience.
“Hardly,” I say, letting my father pull out my chair and help me into it.
“Magnolia, that’s enough. Aaron just graduated from Stanford. He’s home visiting his parents for the summer and was so eager to visit with us, as well.” She says, smiling sweetly at Aaron.
I grimace, knowing Aaron never does anything without some ulterior motive.
During every school break, every holiday meal, every annual family trip, he’s weaseled his way into this house.
I know he has his sights set on my father’s company, Monroe Holdings.
It’s one of the largest oil and natural gas companies in the south.
Judging by the way I’ve seen his father’s stocks drop lately, I’m sure that’s why he’s here now.
When we were younger, he followed my eldest sister Rose around like a wasp.
She’d swat him away, and he’d always come back.
But when she met her husband, Jameson, I’m sure he saw his chance at getting a foot in the door go up in flames.
“How are things going at that little shop, Maggie moo?” Aaron asks, the nickname he gave me when we were kids grating on my last nerve.
“They’re fine. How’s unemployment, Aaron?
” I can throw barbs with the best of them, but my comment elicits a cold stare from my mother.
She’s always hated my sarcasm and wit, while my father celebrated it.
I think he was glad to have at least one girl turn out just like him.
I look over at my dad and see him suppressing a laugh.
“I’m hardly unemployed, moo. I’m next in line to run the largest financial consulting firm in South Carolina,” Aaron replies, his nose physically lifting in the air as he adjusts his suit jacket.
“Really? I thought I saw a nearly two-point drop in your father’s stock holdings last week. My mistake,” I tell him. My father smiles proudly and I can see the red slowly creeping up Aaron’s neck. He’s pissed, or maybe embarrassed. Either way, I don’t care.
“Enough shop talk at the table,” my mother says brightly, kicking me in the shin and making me wince. “Greta, can you serve dinner now?”
Greta, my parent’s housekeeper and chef, has been with us since I was a little girl.
She’s more of a mother to me than mine has ever been.
It was Greta who wiped my tears when I fell as a kid.
She read me bedtime stories when my father was away on business.
She told me from the first time my mother ever made a comment about my weight that we were all created as individual molds, no person looking exactly alike.
She constantly assured me life is too short to spend it at war with yourself over something as stupid as looks, when we all end up dead at the end, anyway.
At the time, I thought it was horribly morbid, but now it’s one of my most cherished pieces of advice.
Greta gives me a wide, warm smile as she comes into the dining room with a serving tray.
I return it with one of my own as she places the dishes around the table and heads back into the kitchen.
I make a mental note to catch up with her before I leave tonight as my mother chatters away with Aaron about his plans to step into his father’s role soon.
“Pssst…” my father says from the corner of his mouth. I giggle as a lean closer towards his seat at the head of the table. “I’m going out to Holden tomorrow to try and get some time on the board before I have to go to Japan next month. You wanna come?”
Surfing with my dad has been one of my most consistent and beloved memories since I was old enough to stand on the end of his board. I nod enthusiastically, completely ignoring whatever Aaron and my mother are saying.
“I heard the swells are going to be amazing this year. Better than we’ve seen in the last few years for sure,” I tell him. He nods, spearing the white fish on his plate with a smile.
My dad had a heart attack last year, and it was the single most terrifying experience of my life.
Facing the reality that one day I will have to live without him on the planet was enough to send me into a depression spiral for weeks.
Since then, Greta has been serving fish and vegetables more often.
I’m glad someone’s looking out for him. Lord knows my mother is too absorbed in herself to pay attention to his health.
“Maybe you and Aaron can attend the Fourth of July party together this year, hmm Magnolia?” my mother says, my name finally drawing my attention away from my dad and into their conversation.
“What? Why would we do that?” I ask, confused about why I would ever want to attend any event with Aaron Montgomery. Unless it was his funeral, of course.
“Honestly, Magnolia. I swear your head never leaves the clouds. It’s time you and Aaron get more serious about your future, don’t you agree?” She asks, discussing our futures as if they’re one and the same.
“Ummm… what the hell are you talking about, mother?” I ask, and she gasps at my use of a curse word at the dining table.