Chapter Twenty-Four
Magnolia
Iwoke up to the sound of the baby wailing, my eyes sticky with sleep, my head aching.
I'd fallen asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow the night before, but I felt as though I'd cried myself to sleep. Rosie was moving around in her crib, fretful and unhappy. Vance was nowhere to be seen.
I sat up and pushed the covers back, shaking my hair out of my eyes. I had to get to Rosie. I stumbled into the bathroom to brush my hair and splash water on my face before I pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
Rosie's diaper was wet and worse. I loved that baby to death, but good God, her diapers were horrible.
I got her cleaned up and made her a bottle, which stopped her crying and left me desperate for coffee. Both Vance and Scout were missing when I went downstairs, a note leaning against the coffee maker telling me they were out for a run.
At least the coffee maker was full, but it would've been nice of Vance to ask if I wanted to go for a run instead of leaving me with the cranky baby and that toxic waste dump of a diaper.
I put Rosie in the floor gym as soon as she finished her bottle and I'd burped her—mercifully, without her throwing up in my hair—and sat at the island to finish my coffee.
I'd told myself that everything would seem better in the morning. I'd been wrong.
I was just as confused as I'd been when I'd fallen asleep. I was frustrated with Vance and more frustrated with myself. The mess I was in wasn't really his fault.
It was mine. It was me. I was the one who let him in—into my house, into my bed. He never made me any promises, never declared any intentions other than wanting to have sex with me.
I knew Vance cared about me, but I didn't think he was in love with me. And I sure as hell wasn't going to ask him. I was tired of feeling like I was begging for love.
I was head over heels for him, and head over heels for Rosie. I was putting myself out there, my heart on the line, and I was going to end up shattered. When it happened, it wouldn't be anyone's fault but my own.
I stood in the kitchen, looking out the bay window to the backyard, missing my grandmother with every fiber of my being. She was the only time I'd ever known real love. Unconditional love.
The night before, at Winters House, love had been everywhere. Those couples glowed with it. Love was the backbone of the Winters family. They'd been through so much and they would fight to the death for each other.
The only person I'd ever had who loved me was my grandmother, and she was gone.
Was I going to spend the rest of my life satisfied with crumbs? I realized, too late, that the reason I'd been okay with Brayden's lack of devotion was that I'd had Vance.
By the time things had started going wrong with Brayden, I'd already been working for Vance and we'd grown close. Nothing had ever happened between us. It wasn't a romance, but his friendship had turned into my main source of emotional support.
I hadn't needed Brayden to be perfect, because I'd had Vance. When things eventually fell apart with Vance, I would be alone.
Truly alone.
As if my mind had conjured him up, Vance appeared in the backyard, Scout at his side. He was shirtless, his golden skin gleaming with sweat. Scout followed him through the yard to the carriage house in the rear of the property.
A lot of carriage houses from this era had been turned into guest houses. This one was really no more than a glorified garage that no one used because my grandfather had added an attached garage in the 80s.
The building was in good structural shape and had been freshly painted, but the inside was a disaster of disorganization. Decades of the Henry family's junk—stuff we were attached to or too lazy to throw away.
When Vance opened the door, I was half curious as to where he'd gotten the key and half worried the interior would collapse on his head in a wave of boxes and papers and broken bicycle parts.
He disappeared into the carriage house. It was at least ten minutes and half a cup of coffee before he reappeared, a determined expression on his face, and headed to the back door.
"What's with the carriage house?" he said as soon as I opened the door.
"What do you mean? It's a carriage house. No one uses it, as I'm sure you could tell. Where did you get the key?" I asked.
"It was in the kitchen drawer," he said, shrugging. "I think we should empty it out and turn it into a studio. Then I could work there instead of going in to the loft every day."
I stared at him, speechless. Converting the carriage house to be used as a studio would be a major renovation. Vance's work was a fire hazard. The first floor of his loft had been specifically designed to accommodate his welding equipment.
If he wanted to use the carriage house as a studio, we’d have to gut the building and redesign it from the inside. That was a big deal. A huge commitment.
This house, the property, were the only things I had of my grandparents. I hadn't even redecorated, even though a lot of the furniture didn't suit my style.
Tearing out the inside of one of the buildings to give Vance a studio?
I struggled to find words.
"Magnolia? What? Don't you think it would work?"
"I don't . . . I think . . ." An awful realization washed through me, and words tumbled out. "I think you need to move out." I snapped my mouth shut in horror.
Had I just said that? Vance's eyes widened and his face went pale. I guess I had. I hadn't even been thinking it. I'd just opened my mouth and heard myself speak with no input from my brain.
"You want me to move out? Babe, we don't have to do anything with the carriage house. It was just an idea," he said, turning to grab a coffee cup and filling it.
My stomach rolled with nerves and dismay. I could take it back. I wasn't sure Vance had really heard me. I opened my mouth again, planning to apologize.
"I think you need to move out," I repeated. I spoke as if on autopilot, my voice flat. "I don't think I can do this with you anymore."
"Do what with me?" he asked, eyeing me warily.
"You and me. I can't do this. Everything changed so fast after you found Rosie. You both moved in, and then we were sleeping together, and now you want me to remodel my house so you can work here . . ."
My voice trailed off, and I wished desperately for the words to explain how I felt, but everything that popped into my head made me sound too vulnerable. Needy.
I was tired of feeling needy.
"Magnolia—" he started, and I interrupted.
"My whole life is about you and Rosie," I said. "Now you want a studio here, and I don't even know what we're doing together. I can’t keep playing house with you. I love Rosie. I—"
I almost said it. I love you. I bit my tongue hard. I was not going to tell him I loved him. I was not putting myself out there like that. He stared at me, incomprehension all over his face. Did he really not get it?
Apparently, he didn't because he said, "We're not playing house, Magnolia. That's not what this is."
"Then what is it, Vance? If we’re not playing house, then what are we doing?"
"We're together," he said in an exasperated tone that implied I should know what that meant.
My frustration exploded out of me in a tirade of words. "What does that mean, we're together? Together, like we're friends who sleep together? Together, like I'm your girlfriend?"
"Like you're my girlfriend, for fuck’s sake." He shoved a hand through his hair. "Magnolia, tell me what's wrong."
"I don't know what you want from this," I said, unable to meet his eyes. I didn't want to see annoyance, or worse, pity.
"I don't want anything," he said.
Disappointment speared through me, followed by dull, numbing resignation. I'd hoped. I'd hoped so hard that I was wrong.
"That’s what I thought you'd say," I whispered, my voice stuck in my throat.
"That's not what I meant," he said, setting his mug on the counter with a sharp clank. "I want us to be together. That's what I want."
I stared at my bare feet on the hardwood floor. I could still end this whole conversation, shrug and say I was having a bad morning and everything was fine. Was that what I wanted?
With a sick, sinking feeling in my stomach, I knew it wasn't. I didn't want to go on like this, always feeling at a disadvantage, loving Vance and waiting for him to leave me.
Talking around the problem and waiting for him to make his feelings clear wasn't getting me anywhere.
I either needed to act like an adult and have the guts to be honest with Vance or I was never going to know where I stood.
I'd been protecting myself, but if I wanted the truth, I had to take a risk.
I was going to get burned. I knew it. But I had to know.
Gathering my courage, I raised my eyes to his and asked, "Are you in love with me? Do you want to get married? Have kids with me?"
His face went blank, his lips pressed together. Not the resounding yes I was looking for. My shoulders slumped in defeat.
In a voice that was almost too quiet to hear, I said, "I deserve that, Vance. I deserve to be with someone who loves me, who wants a life with me. I'm tired of going with the flow, hoping things will work out. We've known each other for years. If you don't love me now, you never will."
"Magnolia," Vance said. "Don't do this. Give me a chance. Everything is upside down right now. I'm still getting used to Rosie. I haven't thought about anything long-term. I just need time."
"No, you don't. You've had years of me by your side, every day. Now we're sleeping together. More time isn't going to change anything."
I crossed the room and shoved my feet into a discarded pair of flip-flops I kept by the back door.
Picking up my purse from the counter, I took in his perplexed expression and said, "I don't trust my own judgement anymore, Vance.
I love you. I love Rosie. But I don't want to be convenient.
I don't want to wait and see how it works out.
You and Rosie are my whole world. And I'm not yours. "
I turned to leave the kitchen. Vance called out behind me, "Magnolia, we can talk about this."
Without looking back, I said, "I'm going out for a while. I don't want you here when I come home."
He said something else, but I didn't stick around to listen. I grabbed my keys and headed out the door, tears streaming down my cheeks. I'd put everything I had on the line and I'd lost.
Again.
I had my self-respect back, but it was cold comfort without Vance.