I love you, Magnolia Barton. I’m honestly not sure I’ll ever be able to stop. I just wish I’d been man enough to admit it, to tell you myself that you’re not just my best friend—you’re the woman of my dreams.
Maybe in another life, I’ll get a do-over, and I’ll do everything I can to be enough, to be worthy of you. I won’t be gutless and let a day go by without telling you how I feel. I won’t be the bastard wishing he had the fucking nerve to ask you to go against everything expected of you and do one thing: choose me.
Go have beautiful babies with blond hair and blue eyes and gorgeous smiles that take people’s breath away, just like yours. Make sure they have a treehouse that’s their haven, they find a favorite Shakespeare sonnet, and they experience the joy of Pop Rocks.
Most of all, be happy, Shortcake.
Love,
Hollis
(Yes, like that.)
Magnolia
Jitters. They’re normal…or so I’m told countless times by my mother. She picks up on my agitation when she arrives with the wedding planner in tow to escort me from my room to the backyard.
After scolding me and demanding I get my emotions under control so the photographs won’t be a “godawful mess”, Mother finally stops fussing, so I suppose I’ve managed to stifle my nerves enough to her satisfaction.
Nervous agitation has given way to a dazed detachment from my surroundings and it clings to me, adhering like moss to a tree, while my mind attempts to process everything.
With a warm smile, Roy waits for me to approach. He loops my arm through his and when the violin quartet begins playing the wedding march, he guides me toward the rear aisle. Everyone’s attention turns to us. My eyes immediately search for him in a near frantic and needy way.
Hollis.
As soon as I find him in the very back, leaning against one of the posts of the pergola, my spine relaxes a fraction. It’s bittersweet to have him here. Sweet because out of everyone else, aside from my grandpa Joe, Hollis has always grounded me. He’s made me feel safe and accepted.
The bitter comes from the realization that our friendship will be forever altered after today. With Grant as my husband, I expected Hollis would eventually fade from my life. It’s just his way. He’s always been a gentleman, wanting to do the right thing. But after his letter—a letter he never intended for me to read—there won’t be anything close to a fade.
Hollis plans to disappear from my life forever.
Roy and I draw to a stop, and he and Grant shake hands. My stepfather presses a light kiss to my cheek before finding his seat beside my mother in the front row. I hand my bouquet to Stephanie before I turn and place my hands in Grant’s. His palms are warm and comforting. Familiar.
I know Grant loves me. Even if I’m not the ultimate love of his life, we still have a solid relationship.
But is it enough?
Grant said it was okay to call off the wedding, but could I really follow through?
Could I do that to him? What kind of woman does that? And to a good man, no less?
I draw in a breath in a desperate attempt to calm myself, to quiet my racing mind.
This is it. My wedding day. Aside from the increased number of guests Mother invited, this day is nearly what I’ve dreamed of since I was a little girl. A backyard wedding. My grandfather officiating. The man who loves me ready to pledge his life to me in front of these guests.
Grant’s blue eyes crinkle at the corners as he gazes at me, a tender smile playing at his lips.
“We are gathered here today…”
While Grandpa Joe begins the ceremony, I lose myself in the eyes of the man who’s been by my side for most of my adult life.
The man who will love me forever.
The man who will support me in anything I do.
Yet one thing lingers.
Edging its way into my mind is the awareness that the cherry flavor has faded from my taste buds.
And it serves to signify that I’m losing something far bigger than the flavor of the Pop Rocks candy Hollis left in my room.
Hollis
At barely ten past three in the afternoon, the diner holds only a few customers. I tug open the door, noting the Seat Yourself sign, and find that I’m a glutton for punishment.
Because I slide into the booth. Our booth.
“One last time,” I mutter the promise under my breath.
A young waitress I don’t recognize comes by, and I only order a coffee. Once she delivers it, I discreetly pour in some of the whiskey from my flask and recap it, stashing it back in my inner pocket.
I stare into the black brew, and my goddamn chest feels hollow. How the hell is my heart still beating?
This is it, I think. Once I finish my final cup of coffee, I’ll say goodbye to this place forever.
There’s nothing left for me here.
Magnolia
“…join these two in holy matrimony…”
“…two souls become one…”
As Grandpa Joe continues with the opening of our ceremony, his deep voice fades into the background while I gaze up at Grant. His hands hold mine, offering what they always do.
Comfort.
Security.
Love.
Affection.
But is it enough? Especially now, when I know there’s a chance I could have more. That I could have the love of a man who’s always had a hold on my heart.
My focus drifts over the backyard to the spot where Hollis had stood against one of the pergola posts.
The wooden post stands alone. The man who’d been there only moments ago is now gone. His absence ricochets within me before the loss settles, embedding itself deep. It serves to finally shake me from my stupor, as realization and resounding shame simultaneously engulf me.
You need to stop worryin’ about everyone else. Grant’s earlier words echo in my brain, serving as a much needed reinforcement.
I can’t deny that I’ve never truly stood up for myself before—not in the full capacity of any kind. I’ve never been brave enough to speak up about what I want from my life.
Though I’m adult now, I reckon I’ve never really outgrown feeling like that little girl whose gap between her front teeth displeased and embarrassed her own mother. The girl whose hair wasn’t perfect or even the desired shade of blonde, and who never managed to be ladylike or refined enough. The one who wasn’t friends with the “right” people.
It’s been practically drilled into my brain that I need to be exactly what my mother and Roy expect of me, even at the expense of my own happiness. My life has consisted of me desperately trying to gain their approval and acceptance—ultimately, their form of love.
And I’m not sure I ever fully succeeded in gaining it.
I turn back to Grant, and the shift is subtle. His eyes change to brown, his hair darkens and is a little longer on top, the sides cut shorter. A dark beard covers his face, one I imagine will rasp against my skin in the most delicious way. Tattoos peek out, flowing from beneath the cuffs at his wrists, and I itch to trace each curve and swoop of ink lovingly. And those familiar lips curve up at the corners in a smile meant solely for me.
He’d whisper, “Love you, Shortcake,” so softly that only I could hear him.