My brow lifts at his decision to use Robert’s nickname to refer to Magnolia. I know damn well he calls her that. “You calling her Mags now?”
“Better than Rose,” he jokes back and that sickening apprehension in the pit of my stomach churns again.
“Real funny.” The memory of that prick sitting across from me, threatening to take her away like he had that power, still pisses me off. Rolling back my shoulders, I try to get out any of the tension; it doesn’t work, though.
“So he was her first love. And he might think he has some claim to her, but she told him no,” Griffin reminds me.
“Right,” I answer him and inhale a deep breath. It’s cut short by the door swinging open behind us.
“Hey now.” A voice I haven’t heard before that has a slight twang to it comes from behind us. I greet the man, who looks to be about our age and wearing a black shirt, board shorts and a worn pair of flip-flops, with a nod. His smile is contagious, though, as he reaches out for a handshake, meeting my gaze and then Griffin’s.
“Finally get to meet the newcomers in town,” he comments and then answers my unspoken question. “I’m Asher.”
“Oh, perfect.” Griffin claps once. “You’ve got everything you need to hang it?”
Asher nods, and before he can answer someone calls out his name behind us and he waves. Glancing over my shoulder, a few guys call out a greeting to the town handyman.
“Went to school together,” Asher explains, leaning forward.
“Seems like everyone went to school together around here,” I joke.
“Well, there is only one high school.” His answer is deadpan.
“Right, right.”
“I just wanted to come in and let you guys know me and my buddy are going to come ’round tonight and get that sign up. Shouldn’t be too late, maybe around five at the latest.”
Resisting the urge to check my phone, I’m almost certain it’s not even ten yet.
“That works for us,” I tell him. “Whenever is good for you.”
“You guys be around then?” he asks and Griffin takes over the conversation. As I’m slipping my hands into my pockets, letting the fact sink in that this is really happening, that this dream we thought up together years ago is finally coming to fruition, another crew member walks in. I know him decently now since he and his brother Ben are talkers. Tom gives Asher a manly slap on his shoulder as he walks by, interrupting the conversation.
Asher returns the friendly smile and asks how Tom’s sister is doing.
It’s an easy, natural exchange for only a moment, but it’s so much more than that. The realization dawns on me that this could be my life. A small town where everyone knows everyone. Where life is seemingly easy and simple, yet tangled in the social aspects.
It’s different from the suburbs I came from and where I grew up. It’s hard to describe the feeling that brews inside of me. Shuffling my feet, I can only half listen to the rest of the conversation, my mind occupied with thoughts of a little girl everyone here knows better than I do.
And the woman who raised her on her own. I didn’t think that I cared what anyone had to say, but a protective part of me has its hackles raised and wants to know everything that’s ever been whispered in this town about both of them.
Including the parts that contain information about Robert.
This could be my new life … or not. For a moment, a thought wriggles into the crevices of my mind: What if it doesn’t work out with Magnolia? The permanence of it all steals my complete attention and I don’t even realize Asher’s gone until Griffin tells me to snap out of it.
“Shit.” The word is muttered under my breath. Running a hand down my face, I apologize.
“It’s fine. You’ve got a lot on your mind.”
Taking in a deep breath and forcing myself to exhale slowly, I stare at the front doors to the bar before agreeing with him.
My gaze is snapped back to him when he asks, “Did you tell your mom?”
“And give her a heart attack?” Is he fucking crazy? “No I did not.”
My reaction only makes Griffin’s smile broader. “Probably best to wait.”
“Yeah,” I say and it’s the only word I can give him.
“When do you find out again?”
“Up to seven days.” That’s the third time I’ve told him so far today. I bite back the thought that nearly slipped out unbidden: I hope she’s mine. I don’t know where it came from, and the thought is scary as hell.
“I’ll wait to know for sure before I tell her anything,” I tell Griffin and he nods agreeably.
“Fair enough.” Then he adds, “You never did answer my question.”
“What’s that?”
“Did Mags text you back?”
I ignore the hairs raised at the back of my neck by hearing her nickname … the one Robert used. I can’t hear it without thinking about him as he sat across from me at the table.
“Yeah,” I say then pull out my phone from my back pocket and bring up the text messages. Me to her: I’d like to meet her if that’s okay. Her response was immediate, leading me to believe she’d already thought a lot about it: Come by tomorrow night.
“You want to come with me tomorrow?” I ask him and Griffin lets out a laugh.
“Renee already invited me.”
It takes great effort not to shake my head at his response.
“What if I am her dad?” I ask because I just can’t help it. It’s all I can think about.
Griffin’s response is far too lighthearted for my frustration and impatience in wanting to know the truth. “Well then you lucked out in a way, missing the dirty diapers.”
“I didn’t plan on this and I’m dying inside not knowing.”
“Imagine how she felt.” His comment is the most serious tone he’s taken today.
“What?”
“You’re feeling all sorts of ways right now. Imagine how Magnolia felt. Not knowing but having to do it all on her own. You can suck it up for a week.”
“Well damn.”
His hands go up in defense as a crease settles between my brow. “Don’t be mad at me,” he adds.
“I’m not mad, I’m just lost.”
“You’ll know soon enough.”
If I’m not the father and Robert is … there’s no way I have a chance with her. Scolding myself for sounding like a damn child, I attempt to shut up the voice in the back of my head that keeps thinking: it’s not fair.
None of this is supposed to happen this way.
Magnolia
“Your worthiness is never on the table,” I whisper beneath my breath, my eyes closed and my head tilted back. It’s a mantra from some self-help audiobook I listened to years ago. “Your worthiness is never on the table.” I think it came from The Power of Vulnerability by Brené Brown. I need to search my history and listen to it again. The only thing I took away from it was the saying: Your worthiness is never on the table. Promotions and other degrees of success may be, but my worthiness of love, including self-love, never is.
Blowing out a deep breath I open my eyes and state, “My worthiness is never on the table … even if I’m scared.” The last bit is whispered as I look back down to Brody’s text message where a single line stares back at me. I’ll be there.