Magnolia May

Chapter 26

I don’t remember ever hating a filming day this much. I figured it’d be miserable, with long stretches of downtime in my trailer. But four hours in, I haven’t had time to scarf a sandwich, let alone take a nap, and my grumpy ass could really use a nap.

Maggie tried to tell me. But sleeping when she isn’t? No way.

We’re running late, which wouldn’t be a big deal if it didn’t feel like everyone on set had suddenly forgotten how to do their job. Artie’s been cruising around with two coffees and no schedule, saying we’ll be rolling “any minute now.”

Spoiler alert: he lies.

I’m tired, I’m hungry, and Rex Walker keeps blowing takes because he refuses to hit his damn mark.

I glance over at Gabi, scrolling her phone while her feet soak in a footbath. She’s the picture of contentment, and that’s pissing me off too.

If only Amar were here. He’d feed me. Find me a bottle of water. Cold water, not one of those Aquafinas that’s been sitting on the front stoop all day. Because Christ, it’s hot in here with these fucking lights—and wow. I sound like a dick.

When the scene wraps, I head straight for my trailer and collapse onto the lumpy green couch, using Maggie’s sweater as a blanket.

If I had more than forty minutes, I’d sneak next door to the lodge and finally grab some shut-eye, but paps have started showing up again.

Just a couple for now, but enough to make it a hassle.

We went longer than expected without them. I guess word finally got around.

My phone vibrates the second I close my eyes.

If this is my father, I swear to God I’m throwing this thing in the toilet.

But it’s not. And come to think of it, I haven’t heard from that asshole in days.

I sit up and swipe to answer.

“How’s my favorite sibling?” My grin clicks into place, despite my mood.

“You picked up,” Hannah says, and the fact that she’s thrilled just to have reached me is enough to brighten my day. “I thought you were filming.”

“I am, but you caught me at a good time. How was the movie last night? What’d you end up watching?”

“Wicked.”

I smile. The kid’s probably seen it a hundred times. “Again?”

“Yeah, but Mom fell asleep.”

My gut tightens. “She fell asleep during Wicked? With all the singing and the monkeys and Jonathan Bailey? How is that even possible?”

“I think he might be the cutest boy ever,” Hannah says, giggling—and I swear it’s my favorite sound.

“Right? I mean, it’s Fiyero!” My smile lingers, but my brain’s already ten steps ahead. “I guess we should cut her some slack. I’m sure you wear her out.”

Wear her slap out, as Maggie would say.

“It’s not me,” Hannah argues, mildly offended. “She said she’s not sleeping good.”

“Is she…” I hesitate. “Getting enough to drink?” I close my eyes, bracing for her answer.

“She always has that big pink cup.”

Her Owala. I let out a breath. “Good…that’s good.”

“When are you coming home? It’s so boring when you’re filming.” The way she stretches out boring makes me laugh.

“Boring?” I glance at the clock on the microwave. It’s noon on the West Coast. “Aren’t you supposed to be studying with Miss Lois?”

“I’m on break.”

“What are you working on today?”

“Reading.” She says it like it’s a punishment. “Which is boring.”

I feign a gasp. “You don’t like to read?”

“Um…nobody likes to read.”

“Maggie does,” I say, fingers absently working the hem of her sweater in my lap.

“She does?” My sister’s voice perks up.

“She writes books, too.”

“Whoa, really? I’d read that.”

Not for another seven or thirty years, kid.

“Is she with you?” Hannah asks. “Can I talk to her?”

“Not today. She’s actually writing,” I say. “Right now.”

“When can I talk to her?”

Hannah’s excitement over Maggie does something to me I can’t name.

“Tell you what,” I say. “If I don’t get home too late, we’ll FaceTime you.”

Hannah breaks into another round of giggles. “You said home. When you get home. You don’t live there, Holden.”

A weird, sharp pang hits me in the chest. I have a home. Over a thousand miles from here. In the same city as my favorite person on the planet, who I happen to be talking to.

But this place is growing on me.

This place…or Maggie?

“I’m just tired, Banana.”

“You and Mom. I swear,” she says, and I grimace.

“You have soccer tonight?”

“We’re scrimmaging.”

“That’ll be fun.”

“I guess.”

“Hannah, time to wrap it up,” Lois calls in the background.

Hannah sighs. “I have to go.”

“I heard.”

“FaceTime me when you get home.” More giggles.

“If it isn’t too late,” I say. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I set my phone beside me on the sofa, my smile—now genuine—still in place.

But Cara’s sudden fatigue gnaws at me. She’s in her thirties, for Christ’s sake. And she’s smart. If she were drinking again, knowing full well I’m watching her, would she really be dumb enough to use a wine glass? Or would she go for that big pink cup?

Hannah, light of my life, made me almost tolerable today, and I’m sure the crew appreciated it. But by nine, we’re nowhere near wrapping, and my inner Hulk’s back with a vengeance.

During a quick break between scenes, I pull out my phone to call Maggie.

“Hey,” she says when she picks up. “You on your way? Ben made lasagna.”

“No. And it doesn’t look like I’m going to make it anytime soon.” I rub my forehead. “This has been the day from hell.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I just wanted to let you know so you don’t wait up.”

“I don’t mind,” she says. “Or you can wake me.”

I lean against the wall near the dance hall bathrooms. Extras eye me as they shuffle past, smelling of leather and hairspray. “It’ll be midnight, at least. I’ll just crash in the carriage house. Hey, how was writing?”

“Really good,” she says, but she doesn’t sound really good, and I have a feeling I’m the reason. “I got almost two thousand words down, which is pretty spectacular for me.”

“Can I read them?”

She laughs, but it’s tired. “Oh, no. It’ll be months before that can happen.”

Months. When I’m back in LA. Without her.

Gabi lifts her coffee, motioning me over like she’s summoning one of her minions.

“I have to go.”

“Have a good night, Holden.”

“Yeah, you too.”

The next two hours drag, and the second we wrap, I slip out and make a beeline for my trailer before anyone can stop me.

After a quick shower, I change into joggers and a soft T-shirt that still smells like my detergent back in LA, faint but familiar.

Not exactly red-carpet ready, but good enough to sneak out without being noticed.

Then I hop in Ben’s truck and head home to Maggie.

Twenty minutes later, I’m parked in her driveway and climbing out of the cab.

The wind’s kicked up since I left the dance hall, nudging the old windmill across the fence into motion.

Pale light glows in her bedroom window, and I catch a flicker of movement in the main part of the house.

Maybe she’s still awake, I think as I jog up the steps.

But it’s Ben I find hunched on a barstool, hands wrapped around a bottle of beer.

“Didn’t think I’d see you tonight.” He turns the beer toward me. Some kind of IPA. “Thirsty? Or if you’re hungry, there’s still plenty of lasagna left.”

“Both.” After Maggie told me Ben cooked, nothing from crafty was going to cut it.

He starts to stand, but I stop him.

“I got it,” I say, already on my way to the fridge. I open the door and poke my head inside. “Is this plate somebody’s?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s yours. Maggie made it.”

The gesture catches me off guard in the best way. I honestly can’t remember the last time someone just…thought of me like that.

“I take it she’s asleep? I saw her light on,” I say. “Hoped maybe she’d be up.”

“Probably passed out reading.”

I pull off the plastic wrap and pop the plate in the microwave. “Hey, congrats on graduating, by the way.”

“Thanks, man. I’m skipping the ceremony, though, much to Maggie’s horror.”

“Yikes. I can’t imagine she’s thrilled about that.”

He hums in agreement, eyes fixed on the counter as he takes a long swallow. He’s a little more subdued tonight, and I’m guessing this morning’s breakup has something to do with it.

I crack open a beer. “You doin’ okay?”

His tired gaze lifts to mine. “Yeah, sorry. Just a lot on my mind.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nah, you’ve had a long day. I’m sure you’re wiped.”

I take a sip and set the bottle down. “The opposite, actually.” When the microwave beeps, I grab my plate and a fork, carry it to the island, and drop onto a barstool next to Ben. “Have you talked to him?”

“For a few minutes when he dropped off my stuff.”

“Ouch.”

His jaw works. “I get it. I do. It just sucks.”

“He wants you to move, is that it?”

“To fucking France, yeah.”

“And you don’t want to…”

Ben sighs. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I can’t.”

“Because of Maggie.”

He laces his fingers on the countertop and lets out a quiet grunt.

“I know I haven’t known your sister long,” I say, cutting into my food. “But I can’t imagine she’d want you to sacrifice your happiness to stay with her. She seems pretty capable.”

“She is—and she’s right. She could hire someone. It’s just…” He exhales, long and loud. “Never mind.”

“Tell me.”

He stares at his clasped hands, chewing his lip like he’s weighing every word. “Everyone she’s ever loved has left her.”

But I hear exactly what he’s not saying. That I’m next.

“Damn.” There’s nothing else I can say to that. I wouldn’t leave her either if I were in his shoes.

“Yeah,” he says. “Damn.” He tosses back the rest of his IPA and gets up to grab another one. “How was filming?”

“Boring.” I blow on a forkful of lasagna and take a bite. “Shit, Ben, this is really good. If the whole teaching gig falls through, you might consider a career as a world-renowned chef.”

He laughs. “Funny you should say that. Once upon a time, my dream was to go to Le Cordon Bleu. In fucking France.”

“What changed?”

“I saw Band of Brothers.” He sits back down and pops the cap off his bottle. “That’s how I met Zack. His family’s from Normandy, so he shares my WWII obsession.”

I pick up my beer. “Is that where he’s going? Normandy?”

Ben nods.

“Damn,” I say again.

“Yeah.”

We sit in silence while I finish my dinner. A Chopped rerun plays in the living room—one of those episodes where they have to make dessert out of black licorice and a can of sardines.

“You know she’s not going to leave either,” Ben says when it cuts to commercial.

My gaze snaps up from my plate. The warning comes out of nowhere to twist the knife I’ve been carrying the past few days. This morning I told Maggie we’d let what happens happen, but that’s the last thing I want to do.

“Does she really hate running the B&B?”

He leans forward, arms folded, elbows on the counter. “Sometimes. Probably most of the time. Definitely in the summer. But between my college, which she insists on covering, and maintaining this place, it’s what she has to do.”

The house was inherited. And he’s graduating. How much can that possibly be?

“I see your wheels spinning,” he says, picking up his bottle. “And trust me, you don’t want to go there.” He takes a long, slow sip, then sets it down with a thunk. “But I only have my certification left, so that will help. And then, hopefully, I’ll get hired on somewhere.”

“Not sure where you’re headed with this.”

“My point is, she won’t need to do as much. Maybe she cuts the B&B part and just hosts weddings. Maybe she limits those to a few months a year.” His sharp gaze lifts to mine. “Maybe she’d consider something long-distance, especially if the guy she was seeing was willing to meet her halfway.”

A swallow the size of this state sticks in my throat. Ben’s throwing me a bone. Giving me a little hope to cling to.

“You think she’d actually consider that?”

He shrugs. “Hard to say. But if you’re in love with my sister—and I have a feeling you are—it’s your only angle.”

Once Ben goes to bed, I slip quietly into Maggie’s room and find her fast asleep in my UCLA sweatshirt.

My heart trips, and my brain skips ahead to a time when this could be our normal.

I could come home to her after filming late and find her just like this.

Wearing my sweatshirt because she missed me.

I swallow another Texas-size lump and reach for the lamp, the notebook on her nightstand catching my eye. I’m not the kind of guy to invade someone’s privacy, but the lines at the top of the page are impossible to ignore.

Every goodbye I’ve lived through left a mark. But when he goes, the mark he leaves won’t fade. It’ll fester.

I close the notebook and kill the light. Then I feel my way to the other side of the bed, strip down to my boxer briefs, and climb in beside her.

A soft smile curls her lips, and she reaches for me. “You’re here.”

“Yeah, Magnolia, I’m here.”

She nestles into my arms, asleep again the moment her head meets my chest.

Maggie called this thing between us a truce, and I’m not gonna lie. The simplicity of it stung—because there’s nothing simple about it. I’m in love with her. Whether I like it or not.

I don’t know how it happened or when. I just know I went from wanting to kiss her to never wanting to stop.

Leaving her at the end of this? It won’t just leave a mark. It’ll scar me for life.

But maybe it doesn’t have to be that way.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be goodbye.