Chapter 27 #2
She turned around, almost letting a bottle of tequila slip through her hands.
She had her hair, now slightly longer, in a messy top knot.
Black leggings hugged her curves, and she had on my old hoodie again.
Black-framed glasses perched on her nose, and she pushed them up a bit before finishing the task of wiping down the bottle.
This was Magnolia in all her unfiltered glory. If I weren’t here, in her space, I’d miss these fleeting glimpses of her everyday life.
“Christmas decorations,” she said, jutting her chin out toward the boxes. “I wanted to get them up before we opened tonight because we won’t be around tomorrow.” She spun back toward the bar, and her massive emerald-cut ring caught the light, flashing so brightly it nearly blinded me.
I crossed the room and opened up a box, letting clouds of dust float across the space.
It had been years since these decorations had made their way out of the attic.
After delicately unwrapping the tissue from the antique ornaments and carefully placing them on the table, I made my way to a large box in the corner of the room.
Inside was a decrepit, old silver tree that was missing half of its limbs.
“I don’t remember this mangled thing. Was this your tree? ”
She beamed, coming from behind the bar to stand next to me, handing me a cold beer from the ice chest. “No, actually, it was my momma’s.
Or her momma’s. She hated this old thing.
She always made my daddy go and get a real one every year.
Actually, this will be the first year I don’t get a real tree myself. ”
She poked her head into the box and then shut it, reaching for the roll of packing tape on the bar. “We don’t have to put this up. Something might jump out of the remaining branches and latch onto a customer’s neck,” she declared before walking away.
“Why aren’t you getting a tree this year?” I called after her. I knew the reason, but I still asked at any rate.
“Dane hates all the Christmas shit.” She shrugged. “If the trolley wasn’t stopping by, I probably wouldn’t even put any of this up.”
Her cool tone didn’t catch me off guard. I had grown used to it over the past few months. Yet, Christmas had always been her favorite time of year, a season she cherished deeply, so it surprised me that, especially with Dane out of town, she wasn’t acting more excited.
When we were kids, Charlie would drag her down to the old lot outside the church, and the two of them would pick out the raggediest tree they could afford with what little money Cole could scrounge up.
They’d sit up every Christmas Eve, keeping a years-old tradition alive to see who could stay awake the longest and catch Santa, even though neither of them believed.
Even when they were in their twenties, Cole would sneak up the back staircase after he’d hear them snoring from down in the bar and sneak presents under the tree.
She loved everything about Christmas—the baking, the cookies, the music, the lights.
Lord, she’d drag me up and down every square in Savannah just to see all the big houses lit up like they were signaling aliens from space.
And every year, when we got to my momma’s house, she’d stop, smile, and say, “I’ll have lights like this one day. ”
What she loved most, though, was the way Christmas reminded her of her momma, who cherished the holiday more than anything. Every year, she’d place a star made of seashells on top of the tree—a star that had once adorned the tree in the house where she was born on Tybee Island.
We quietly put up the decorations, and when we were done, she paused, taking in the room with a deep breath, her lips curling into a bittersweet smile.
“Jordan will come by tomorrow to bring some holiday-inspired floral displays, and we’ll be done.
” The half-smile still lingered on her lips, but her voice betrayed a deep weariness.
“I’m going to get ready for tonight. Thanks for all your help. ”
She didn’t look back at me as she made her way to the door that led to the staircase leading up to her apartment. I stood frozen in the middle of the room, holding on to a star made of seashells, a single, quiet tear falling down my face.
***
I opened Momma’s front door, Janelle following close behind me. The house was buzzing with wait staff, florists, and a gaggle of other workers scrambling about as they finished the last minute touches on the engagement party.
Making our way through the sea of chaos, I pushed open the double doors leading to the kitchen, where we found Sutton sweating and swearing at herself as she popped a few pans into the oven.
Turning to Janelle, I kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you go find the bride-to-be and see if she needs anything?”
Janelle rolled her eyes but marched down the marble foyer and up the winding staircase in search of Maggie. She’d find her in the guest bathroom, undoubtedly rolling around in the bathtub, letting her nerves get the best of her. If Maggie was smart, though, she would have locked the door this time.
“Here, let me help.” I rolled up the sleeves of my light-gray button down and started placing bacon-wrapped scallops on a serving dish.
Charlie walked in, saw me working alongside Sutton, and rolled up his sleeves as well. Sutton pulled a pan off the stovetop, forgetting her oven mitt, and howled.
“Fuck, y’all, I cannot do this!”
Charlie went to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and I grabbed the two of them, scooting them as a unit over to the sink so she could run her hand under the water.
“It’s just another party, Sutton. It’s just food. Stop freaking out.” I removed her from Charlie’s grasp and picked her up, putting her on the counter like a child. She pouted.
“Besides,” Charlie added, grabbing a dish towel for her to wrap her hand in, “when the kitchen at O’Malley’s is done, you won’t have to work at LaMonte’s anymore.”
“We should tell her,” she whispered, looking down at the burn on her hand.
“You want to tell her now”—I gestured wildly toward the food strewn about the kitchen—“while you’re in the middle of cooking for her engagement party?”
Sutton huffed. “Well, Lee, we should have told her earlier, but you said you’d come up with some grand plan to tell her and never did. And when I suggested you bring up the kiss with Magnolia…”
“Wait, what are you guys talking about?” Charlie said, head volleying between us like he was watching a tennis match. “When did you kiss my sister?”
“I mean, we dated for a while, Charlie…”
“Don’t be stupid, Lee,” Sutton interjected. “Maggie kissed Lee by the river, the morning after his first gig at O’Malley’s. I thought if Lee pleaded his case to Maggie, citing said kiss, she’d realize that she was still in love with him and call this stupid farce with Dane off.”
Charlie shook his head in bewilderment, then turned toward me, shooting me a wicked glare. “Is that true?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s just…”
“He didn’t tell you that because if he did, he’d also have to tell you Dane made a pass at me and Vance threatened me within an inch of my life not to say anything.” Sutton reached over, grabbed a bottle of wine, and took a huge gulp.
“Lord above, Sutton, you are so damn dramatic, he just… kind of threatened your livelihood. Anyway, Charlie, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. But, truth be told, that’s not the whole of it.”
“What?” Charlie and Sutton both bellowed in unison.
“I’m pretty sure Dane’s—”
“What’s going on?” Dane asked, waltzing into the kitchen in a three-piece suit, perfect dark-brown hair styled on top of his head. He leaned over the three of us, grabbing a scallop and popping it into his mouth. I could feel Sutton tense up as he got close to her.
“I just burned my hand. I’m fine.” She hopped down and moved to the other side of the kitchen, letting Charlie bandage her hand.
“Where’s the blushing bride?” I asked, plating the small cups of cornbread casserole and desperately trying to swing the mood in the kitchen back to cooking instead of the murderous rage plastered over Charlie’s face.
“I haven’t seen her. I did happen to run into Janelle, though. Damn, she is smoking hot. How did you nail that? Oh, that’s right, the label bought her for you.” He winked at Sutton before strolling out onto the veranda and down the back steps into our parents’ yard.
“Hate his face!” Sutton hissed, as Charlie finished putting the burn solution on her hand.
“We all hate his face,” I mumbled, turning the timer on the oven. I reached into Momma’s fridge and pulled out one of the thirty-five bottles of white wine she had stored for the occasion. I handed it off to Charlie who opened it and poured three glasses, passing them to Sutton and me.
“So, what are we going to do, Lee? Are you going to tell my sister the truth?” Charlie ran his hands through his hair, mussing up the careful placement. “I can’t believe that we’re standing here, at her engagement party, having this conversation.”
“We should wait, then,” Sutton said, pushing off the counter. “Let’s just try to get through this sham of a day and figure out how to tell her when it’s over. Deal?”
“We’ve been through worse guys, we can do this,” Charlie said, putting his glass in the middle of the three of us so we could clink them together. “I still don’t forgive you for lying to my face, though, Lee.”
“We might have been through worse,” Sutton said, gulping down almost her whole glass in one sip, “but we might not recover from this one.”