I wrote her a letter—one I never intend to give her. There’s no way I’m a big enough bastard to confess my feelings on her wedding day when she’s minutes away from pledging her life to another man.
I ease away from the crowd and lean against one of the rear posts of the enormous pergola. I’m not claiming one of those chairs because I’m man enough to admit the odds of me lasting through the entire ceremony are slim as hell. I reach inside my suit jacket for the flask tucked there. Sliding it from the inner pocket, I twist off the cap and take a swig of whiskey before pocketing it again.
The backyard overflows with guests. Neat rows of white wooden fold-out chairs line each side of the walkway leading to where her grandfather stands, chatting with Ms. Margie, the owner of the local diner. A trio of violinists stand poised off to one side.
This wedding might be in the backyard like she always claimed she wanted, but it’s far larger. It’s not small or intimate; it’s turned into a bit of a circus. But she’s getting her wish of having her grandfather officiate and her stepdad walk her down the aisle.
The violinists play the first few notes of the wedding march, and my entire body stiffens with a mixture of anxiety, nausea, and pain. A thousand-pound weight settles on my chest and grows even heavier as I watch Magnolia’s stepfather usher her along.
She’s getting her happily ever after.
The one constant in my life, my best friend, and the only woman who’s ever owned my fucking heart and soul is getting married today.
With every step she takes, her beauty robbing me of breath, bringing her closer to him, more anger unfurls deep inside me. I should’ve manned up long ago.
I wish I’d had the courage to ask her to choose me.
As soon as she turns and is halfway down the aisle to him, I hightail it to my truck. I can’t do this. I can’t stick around and listen to her exchange vows with another man while I wish like hell I were in his place.
Within minutes, I’m yanking open the door to the old diner. I hesitate as soon as I’m inside, the Seat Yourself sign on display since it’s not too crowded at this time. In the end, nostalgia wins out, and I slide into what I’ll always think of as our booth.
I order a coffee from a young waitress I don’t recognize. Luckily, she leaves me alone, and I discreetly pour some whiskey into my cup. The hefty swallow of spiked coffee doesn’t do much to soothe me.
Staring into the dark brew, I’m bombarded with the memory of Magnolia and I coming here so often that Ms. Margie would place a Reserved sign on this booth for us after home football games on Friday nights.
More memories flit through my brain. The first time Magnolia introduced herself. When we built the treehouse. Battling bullies and her insecurities. Navigating high school relationships. College. We’d been inseparable for years. Sure, there’ve been some rough patches, but we’ve always been friends.
Now, I can’t deny it any longer. I need to move on. Sell the damn house and cut ties with this place altogether. There’s nothing left for me here.
The hot coffee sears my throat, but I pay it no mind. I’m lost in the past.
In how it all began.
Hollis
EIGHT YEARS OLD
Fairhope, Alabama
This is the summer I always dreamed of.
I get extra time with my dad before he starts his new job and we’re building a treehouse.
Plus, we’re out of Mom’s hair so she can’t complain about whatever bee gets stuck in her bonnet.
“What we’re doin’ here, son, is buildin’ a cabin-style treehouse.”
I peer up at my dad. “What’s the difference between that and a regular one?”
“This one’s more elaborate…which means it’ll be a little bit more work.” At my groan, he raises his eyebrows with a knowing look. “But it’ll be worth it because it’ll have a shingled roof, a small window, and a door.”
“Really?”
He smiles. “Yes, sir.” Then he gets back to work measuring the boards, and I hold them steady while he uses his electric saw to cut them along the pencil markings.
The best part about Dad’s new job at the paper mill is that we moved from our apartment in Birmingham and got this great house—especially with the huge tree in the backyard—here in Fairhope. Now, Mom can stay home and be a seamstress.
After lunchtime, Dad and I start running out of steam. The heat and humidity during the summer here on the Gulf Coast are awful.
“I reckon it’s almost time to call it a day.” Dad raises his eyes to look at me. “What do you think?”
I heave out a tired breath. “Yes, sir.”
I turn at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway of the house behind us. This neighbor’s home is large—way bigger than ours—and it has a garage on the side. It’s like someone drew an imaginary line between our backyards. On our side of the neighborhood, houses are smaller but still nice. The house behind us is on the other side with much bigger houses with stucco that doesn’t look faded.
The other clue is the cars—all fancy, shinier ones.
A girl around my age gets out of a car with a suitcase on wheels and one arm wrapped around a sleeping bag. She hurries up to the door of the fancy house and disappears inside.
Dang. I’d been hoping there’d be a boy I could play with. Maybe there are others around here. Once Dad and I finish up for the day, I’ll ride my bike around the neighborhood and check it out.
A few minutes pass while Dad and I cut the last few boards before a little voice calls out, “Hi there!”
We turn to find the same girl I just saw. She’s wearing some fancy dress that has flowers on it and lace at the collar. Her shoes are shiny and pink. Her blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail.
“Hi.” I force the word out and I know it’s not the most mannerly, but I kinda want my dad to myself.
“I’m Magnolia Barton. I live right over there.” She waves a hand to her house.
My dad smiles at her. “Nice to meet you, Magnolia. I’m Jay, and this is my son, Hollister.”
I’m quick to correct him. “Hollis.”
“Nice to meet you, gentlemen.” She smiles, her head tipping to the side and the ends of her blond ponytail slide over the shoulder of her dress.
“Y’all are workin’ mighty hard out here.” Her Southern accent is thicker than molasses. “Would y’all like me to get you some sweet tea?”
I stare at her for a minute before I turn to my dad with a look like, Is she for real?
He smiles and his eyes crinkle the way they do when he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “Why, that’s a lovely offer, but I think we’re good. Thank you, though.”
“You’re welcome.” She grins, showing a small gap between her front teeth.
“Why do you talk so prim and proper?” I blurt out without thinking.
“Son.” Dad’s tone is sharp.
“Sor-ry,” I mutter.
She steps closer, and I notice her eyes are a bright blue. “Mother tells me a young lady’s always polite. Plus, my stepdaddy, Roy always says we need to be a good example for others.”
Sounds pretty boring to me, but whatever. I turn back to the boards but stop when my dad looks like he’s just realized something.