Magnolia
I’ve always wondered what it would feel like if I ever saw Lukas again.
I used to imagine that I’d come to Copper Ridge to visit my family and happen to run into him in the grocery store.
He would have a beautiful woman on one arm and his child held tightly in the other.
I thought we’d politely smile at each other, make awkward small talk, and I’d leave with a lump in my throat.
Then once his voicemails started, I told myself it wasn’t safe to see him. Seeing him might make me want to give in, make me want to test the spark between us and see if it would catch fire. I thought that spark would burn me to ashes once again.
I knew I’d feel some sense of longing. Nostalgia, maybe.
After all, my heart never got over him, even when he pushed me away.
The few phone calls we’ve had left me drained—physically and emotionally.
I can acknowledge that there’s something left between us, and maybe we’re trying to work our way toward something, but what that something is, is still to be determined.
But seeing his reaction to me, watching his face morph from disbelief, to confusion, and then to something softer, has my pulse thundering.
I told myself I was terrified to see him.
I would make this quick trip back home to see Nana and practically hide from him because I was worried that seeing him would undo all the growth I’ve made.
And I was one hundred percent right. Because seeing him take in my features, looking at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time, and that tether is back, pulling me into his orbit. I have to wrap my arms tighter around my core to physically keep myself from running to him.
“Hi, Lukas.”
“Mags,” he croaks, seeming to gather himself a bit. He stands tall, stepping fully into the room to set the water jug on the bedside table for Nana.
He hovers there for a bit, as if he might take that next step toward me, but then he takes a pace backward with his hands clenched at his sides.
He stands awkwardly, looking from me, to Nana, then back again, and then he opts to shove his fists into the pockets of his jacket.
He’s changed so much from the young boy I fell in love with.
Gone is the lean teenager, the twenty-year-old baseball player.
Gone is the fit Marine, the one with short, bristly hair and sadness to his eyes.
The man in front of me is somehow a combination of all of them. Even through his thick jacket I can see the swell of his shoulders, the hard-earned brawn that comes from day after day of work on the ranch. His thick muscle fills out the black henley underneath it.
He’s gained weight, I can tell, but he holds it so well.
And his hair. It’s the length I have always loved.
The ends are wavy, a little creased, as if he wore his ball cap all day but took it off before coming inside as a sign of respect.
My fingers are itching to reach out, to wrap one sandy brown lock around my skin and see if that same full-body calm takes over.
“Lukas, I…” I stare over at him, then turn back to Nana, and suddenly, the last twenty-four hours now make sense.
I had flown to Copper Ridge on a red-eye flight last night, desperate to lay my own eyes on Nana.
The call from my dad nearly broke me, and even though he said she was out of surgery and doing fine, I didn’t believe it. Some part of me needed to see for myself. I needed to talk to her in person. To see her move her arms and legs and make sure her sassy attitude hadn’t changed a bit.
I arrived yesterday morning and immediately drove to the rehab center. We spent the day together. I had lunch at the facility and watched her work through physical therapy then forced her to play bingo later in the afternoon.
We said our tearful goodbye yesterday, knowing that I’m flying back to Paris this afternoon. Yet after I left, Nana called and asked that I stop in to see her one last time before I left for the city.
And now that Lukas has walked into the room, I can say with one hundred percent confidence that she is back to her old ways.
“Well, you two. I’d love for all of us to go sit in the sunroom and chat, but I forgot that I have physical therapy this afternoon.” Like clockwork, there’s a knock on the door, and a man in scrubs enters. He’s a little older than Lukas and me but still young, and he smiles at Nana.
“I see you have company.”
“Oh, they were just leaving.”
My head whips back toward Nana. “Are you sure? Mom was going to run some errands then pick me up in about a half hour. Maybe I’ll go to physical therapy with you.”
“Bobby,” she says, addressing the therapist. “Could you give me a few minutes with the kids?”
He nods at that, smiling at us both before excusing himself.
Nana turns her attention to me. “Sweetheart, how about you have Lukas drive you to the airport?”
I can see Lukas stiffen out of my peripheral.
“Oh, no…” I fumble over my words. “No, that’s okay. Mom is picking me up.”
Nana reaches for the phone on her side table, bringing it over to rest next to her on the bed. “How about you let me take care of your mom? You have your bag, yes?”
She looks down at the small duffel I carried in with me. “Yeah, bu—”
“Perfect,” she interrupts. “Lukas, you can drive Magnolia to the city, can’t you? You didn’t have any plans this afternoon, right?”
He freezes for a minute before looking over at me. I don’t know what I want his reaction to be. Do I want him to backpedal, to say that it’s too soon, too awkward, to make up something about needing to get back to the farm?
But then I turn to him, and when I look at him, his gaze is solely on me.
Something passes between us, a question, a silent conversation much like the ones we used to have when we were kids, and it comforts me.
The adrenaline that had been racing through my chest dissipates a little at his comforting gaze.
“I’d love to drive her, if that’s what she wants.”
I turn to Nana, and she’s grinning like the Cheshire cat. Turning back toward Lukas, I offer up the best smile I can muster right now. “Can you give Nana and me a minute?”
He nods, his hands finally pulling from his jacket pockets.
“Absolutely.” He crosses to the bed, leaning over to kiss Nana on the head, and dammit, it kills me to see him love her so much.
“Call me if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll stop by in a few days.
My parents will be in tomorrow to visit. ”
Her bony hand reaches out to squeeze his forearm, smiling up at him.
He brushes past me, his lavender and amber scent following behind him.
I could smell him the second I walked into the room today.
I thought maybe it was one of the staff members wearing the same cologne.
I thought maybe someone had a bouquet of fresh lavender.
But it was mixed with something else, something so obviously Lukas, that the moment I walked in, I could barely breathe, knowing that he had likely been here or was here somewhere in the building.
“Come here, sweetie.” Nana pats the side of the bed next to her, and a sudden shiver racks through me, even though the room is humid and my thick sweater has kept me warm all day.
Leaving my duffel bag on the floor, I take a few slow, stubborn steps toward her, sitting down on the side of the bed with my arms still crossed over my stomach.
Nana reaches her hand out, curling her thin fingers around my forearm and tugging until it falls to the side of the bed. She reaches for my hand, wrapping my palm between both of hers, squeezing gently.
“It was so good to see you, sweetheart.” My eyes immediately well with tears, which has basically been my daily reaction ever since my dad called to say they cancelled their trip and were headed back to Copper Ridge because Nana was in the hospital.
He held his breath, letting it push out slowly before telling me that they never would have known about it, and she might have never been found, if Lukas hadn’t decided to stop over to see her.
“I wish I could stay longer.” I need to take another red-eye flight back tonight. I’ll arrive sometime in the early morning, then get a few hours of sleep at home before a long day of rehearsal, company practice, and my own physical therapy.
“Don’t you worry about this ol’ biddy,” she says with a smile. “A couple more weeks and I’ll be right as rain, ready to go home and get back to my old routine.”
“Won’t you consider Dad’s offer to move in with them?”
She scoffs at that.
“Or maybe downsize, move into a senior living apartment, or, or, or somewhere that—”
“Sssshhhhh,” she interjects, squeezing my hand. “We don’t need to talk about me and the future. I just wanted to say that I love you, and I’m so thankful you came to see me.”
“I love you too, Nana.”
“And you need to let Lukas drive you to the airport,” she adds, her eyes briefly flicking up to me. I can see the corner of her lip twitch, and I know she’s fighting a smile. “Talk to him.”
“I don’t know, Nana.”
“What’s there to know?” Her eyes dart back and forth across my face, a hand reaching up to smooth over my cheek.
“For the last year, I’ve watched both of you mope around because you didn’t have one another.
I’ve seen Lukas twice a week every single week since he got back home.
Each and every time, I catch him standing in the living room, staring at the old photos of you on the wall.
I see it on his face, sweetheart. He’s sorry.
And I know he hurt you. I don’t know what went on between the two of you, and I don’t think I want to know.
But if there’s any part of you that thinks he might be worth fighting for, I beg of you, plead with you, to fight for it. ”
My eyes well with tears, and when the first one falls, she swipes it away with her thumb.
“Life is short, honey. And if you find someone who you love, who loves you so much it makes them crazy, why would you accept anything less? Why would you waste time with anything less than obsessive, gut-wrenching love?”
There’s a huge part of me that knows she’s right.
There hasn’t been one day that’s gone by where I haven’t thought about Lukas.
I think about him all the time. The good, the bad.
I thought about him when I was dating another man.
I thought about him each time I met someone new.
Each time I forced myself to suffer through a blind date.
He has apologized repeatedly, and I do believe he’s sorry for what he’s done. But I need more than an apology.
“I’m scared,” I whisper, and she drops her hand from my cheek to squeeze both of mine, which had been sitting nervously in my lap, picking at the skin of my cuticles.
“That’s okay. He’s scared, too. You both are so terrified to lose the other again that you’re not willing to jump in with both feet.
But I think you should just talk to him.
Just hear him out. At the very least, you’ll get a ride to the airport, and you won’t have to listen to your mom’s God-awful sixties disco music. ”
I choke out a watery laugh. “I happen to like disco.”
She rolls her eyes at that. “No one likes disco.”
I blow out a shaky breath, exhaling it out through pursed lips.
“When will I see you again?” she whispers, and guilt rushes through me.
“I’m not sure.”
When I first decided to move to Paris, I knew that it would mean time away from my family. But the twenty-something in me only had her eyes set on the stage. On dancing my heart out in a French opera house in one of the most beautiful and coveted cities in the world.
Now, with each year that passes, I see my friends meet someone and fall in love.
They make families of their own and spend weekends with those they care about.
Some manage to make it work, balancing both the ballet life and family life.
Some have taken a step back, opting to start the next phase of living.
It makes me long for Copper Ridge. It makes me long for simple family dinners and summer nights sitting on the front porch watching the sunset. It makes me long for a house of my own with a porch swing that stares off into empty fields.
It makes me long for a place to call home.
“It’s starting to suck being so far away from everyone.
From you,” I tell her, and my chin starts to quiver, so I pull my bottom lip between my teeth.
“I know that I can’t have both, not in Paris.
I just…” I trail off. “I don’t know, Nana.
” I let the tears fall freely now, and they trickle down my face, tickling the apples of my cheeks.
“I feel like I don’t know anything anymore.
I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what’s happened to me.”
Nana reaches her arms out, opening them up for a hug, and I crawl in, lying down beside her in the bed.
She wraps her arms around me, holding me tight to her just like she used to when I was a kid.
Except now, I’m taller than her, stronger, but I still rest my cheek on her shoulder, letting her hold some of my weight.
“There, there,” she coos, swiping at my tears. “There’s nothing you need to figure out today, sweet girl. No decisions that need to be made. All you need to remember is that you’re my favorite person.”
I chuckle at that. It started out as a joke when I was a kid.
My dad is an only child, and I’m an only child, so she used to tell me I was her favorite granddaughter.
When I went through my teenage years and the hormones hit, and I thought my parents didn’t understand me, I’d run down the street to Nana’s house and cry to her about how hard life was.
As a silly hormonal teen, she would hug me and tell me that I was one of the lucky ones because I was her favorite. It’s become our secret to each other, that we are each other’s favorite person in the world.
I sit up, swiping the tears from my face with the sleeves of my sweatshirt, knowing that my blotchy streaked face matches the redness in Nana’s eyes.
“If you do anything for me, sweetheart,” she says with a squeeze of my hand. Her eyes dart to the door where I’m sure Lukas is standing, likely hearing every word. “Just give him a chance. Hear him out. I think what he has to say will make a difference.”