Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  Arms crossed over what I know is an expensive silk blouse, her chin raised primly, Mrs. Barton eyes me before her gaze flicks to where Magnolia’s car sits in my driveway.

  “I’ve given you more than your fair share of passes.” She steps closer and uncrosses her arms. Her upper lip curls slightly with distaste. “You don’t seem to pick up on the clues. You may have lost your daddy, but that doesn’t mean I’m handin’ over my daughter as a token of my sympathy.”

  One perfectly manicured index finger pokes me in the chest. “You’re not welcome in our home and never will be.” She punctuates this with another jab of her finger, and I swear it seems to puncture deep to my core. “You’re not good enough for her, and so help me, God, if you don’t leave that poor girl alone once and for all, you’ll regret it.

  “Y’all have some sort of co-dependent relationship, and it’s not healthy. Let her have a life of her own without you always hoverin’ on the sides.” Her mouth flattens to a severe line. “Now, you’re goin’ to send my daughter back home, since I refuse to”—she waves a hand dismissively toward the backyard—“even touch that termite haven of yours. And tell her to turn on her phone.” Her eyes narrow dangerously. “Are we clear?”

  I grit my teeth before I force a calm response. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Like a switch has flipped, she turns on a smile so fake I’m hit with a wave of nausea. “Good. You have yourself a lovely day, now.” She spins around and strides away quickly across the lawn to her house. As if it’s a second thought, she tosses over her shoulder, “My deepest sympathies again for your loss.”

  I stand at the edge of my driveway with a sick churning in my stomach. What the fuck was I thinking? Every heavy step I take, crossing through the backyard, seems to emphasize another reminder.

  I’m not good enough.

  I don’t have money or expensive clothes.

  I don’t even know what I want to do with my life. Hell, I’m still unsure about my damn major.

  Of course, what ricochets through my brain, screaming louder than all the other thoughts, is the point Mrs. Barton made.

  Y’all have some sort of co-dependent relationship, and it’s not healthy.

  As much as I despise having that woman in my head, I can’t deny she’s right. Magnolia and I have never ventured off, separately, before. Not really. We’ve always had each other as backup of some sort.

  Am I preventing her from living her own life?

  As I hover at the base of the steps, the thought settles inside me, weighing heavily. Pain lances through me, ricocheting deep in my heart. And, even through the stifling haze of pain and regret, the realization of what road I need to choose becomes clear.

  Drawing in a few deep breaths, I set the coffees on top of one another and grip them in my hand while I carefully climb up into the treehouse.

  Magnolia’s dressed and lies propped up in bed with my cheap edition of Shakespeare’s sonnets in her hand. As soon as she sees me, the widest, happiest smile spreads across her face. It only causes a searing pain to radiate through me, knowing what I have to do.

  It must be written on my face because her smile wavers. “Hollis?”

  I hand her the coffee before I lean against a wall and toy with the coffee sleeve on my cup. “We need to talk.”

  Her laugh is a little forced. “Even I know when a guy says that, it’s never good.”

  I force myself to be calm, to get everything out. Setting my coffee on the small shelf, I start, “I, uh, sat in the attorney’s office for a while after I signed all the paperwork. I have the house, and I’m in charge of givin’ my mom an allowance.” I make a face. “Which is weird,” I continue, “but I realized that this entire year I’ve been goin’ through the motions, not really sure what I want to major in, let alone do with my life.”

  Magnolia watches me, listening patiently, which urges me to press on.

  “I’m plannin’ to take my uncle’s apprenticeship offer.” I shrug. “It’s the one thing I’ve always loved.”

  Her eyes regard me before she carefully asks, “So, you won’t be goin’ back to school?”

  I shake my head slowly. “No.”

  “And…” She hesitates, lowering her eyes. “What about us?”

  Two invisible fists reach inside me to clench my lungs, ridding me of the ability to breathe. When I don’t answer, her eyes lift to mine, and it’s an instant punch to the solar plexus. I hate the pain etched on her features—it’s fucking torture knowing I’m hurting her—but after her mom’s words settled in my brain, I feel like this is the only way.

  Hell, both our moms have always said I’m not good enough for her.

  I don’t realize I’ve spoken the thought out loud until she sets her coffee down and jumps up from the mattress. “I don’t care what they say! I can transfer where you are and—”

  “No.” I shake my head. “There’s no way you can throw away Auburn for another school. That’d be a huge mistake, and we both know it.”

  She reaches for me. “Please don’t do this. We can make it work.”

  “How?” I explode so suddenly she rears back in shock. “How can we do that? We’ve always been together, every step of the way. How do we know we’re not better off apart?”

  Her mouth flattens in a thin line. She holds my gaze, her chin lifting stubbornly. “Because I love you, Hollis. That’s how I know.”

  My eyes close briefly on a painful wince, her words stabbing me clean through. Fuck, how I wish she meant those words. That there wasn’t the silent But not like that tacked on the end.

  I let out a defeated sigh. “I don’t know what I want to do with my life, Shortcake. I can’t hold on to you while I’m like this. You need to find someone who’s…better for you. Who your family approves of.” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard past the tightness in my throat. “We both know that’ll never be me.”

  “But, Hollis…” The way her voice wobbles on my name drives that invisible knife deeper into the center of my chest. “We can—”

  “No.” My tone is firm. Final. I refuse to let her throw her life away for me.

  Her brows clash, the fine lines between them more pronounced. The longest beat of silence hangs between us, the air vibrating with tension.

  Finally, she lets out a shaky breath and I can practically feel the instant she gives in to defeat. “Are we still friends?” Her voice catches on the last word, the sheen of tears brimming in her eyes.

  “Always.”

  I barely get the word out before she launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist so tight I can barely breathe. Holding her close, I press my lips to her hair and close my eyes to savor the moment.

  I reckon it may be the last time I get to hold her like this.

  “I’m sorry. I literally just got the message about Jay,” Uncle Johnny apologizes.

  I immediately called him after Magnolia left to head home.

  “My secretary’s on maternity leave, and the temp sucks, for lack of a better way of sayin’ it. I’m lookin’ up flights as we speak.”

  “No, don’t bother. Honestly, there’s no reason for you to head here.”

  Silence greets me on the other end. Finally, my uncle says, “I don’t like the idea of you there with her.” His voice is low, and the concern is obvious.

  “Actually, I wasn’t plannin’ on hangin’ around. I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

  “Anythin’.”

  “That apprenticeship you mentioned a while back? I wondered if—”

  “It’s yours.” Then he hesitates, making me nervous. “But I’m in the UK right now, and it would mean travelin’. Things are pretty busy.”

  I exhale with relief. “I’m good with that.”

  His tone softens. “You sure?”

  I close my eyes and run a hand down the back of my neck, gripping the tense muscles. This is my chance. To prove that I can make something of myself.

  “Yes, sir. Never been surer.”

  M
agnolia

  SOPHOMORE YEAR

  NOVEMBER

  AUBURN UNIVERSITY

  “We are not watching The Lake House again.” My roommate stamps a hand on her hip, pursing her lips in irritation. “I’m officially staging an intervention.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s just a movie.”

  Stephanie stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. Which I haven’t.

  The only thing I’ve lost is my heart.

  “You sob every time you watch it. Like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen it.”

  I lie back on my bed. “Fine. I won’t watch it when you’re around from now on.”

  “Not the point!” she says with exasperation. Jabbing an index finger in my direction she commands, “Get up. Shower. Dress in something cute. Slap on some makeup.” With a stern look, she adds, “Now.”

  I stare at her warily, and with a cautious tone, I ask, “Why?”

  “Because we’re getting out of here to go and be social.”

  I wrinkle my nose at the word “social.” “No, thanks.”

  Her eyebrows rise, and that look? Oh, boy. The girl’s got a bee in her bonnet, for sure. “I didn’t ask. I told you.” She gestures to the bathroom. “Go shower. Now.”

  I heave out a breath as I drag myself up off the bed. “Fine.”

  Nearly an hour later, Stephanie’s managed to coerce me into wearing a long-sleeved dress I haven’t put on in months and pair it with an infinity scarf. The weather’s been far cooler than normal, so I pull on a pair of knee-high boots. I manage to apply some light makeup, and it feels odd when I do, considering I’ve lived in yoga pants and gone sans makeup since the summer.

  Since he left.

  The pinch in my chest isn’t quite as fierce, but it still hurts. Like an ache that seeps all the way to the marrow of your bones.

  A part of me wishes he would’ve just left and never stayed in touch. But the other part—the far larger part—lives for the brief and sporadic text messages with a photo from wherever he’s at for work. He never types anything more than, Greetings from [his current city or town], Shortcake.

  Photos of places I’ve never seen.

  Of a life I don’t share with him.

  It doesn’t escape my notice that those photos never include him. Maybe it’s his way of trying to ease my ache of missing him so much.

  When I began receiving mail from him, it was bittersweet. He never writes anything aside from my address on the envelope, but inside, he stuffs a postcard from wherever he’s traveled to for his uncle’s business. But that’s not the only thing he sends me.

  He always remembers to include a pack of cherry Pop Rocks, too.

  “Come on, woman. Hurry it up!” Stephanie demands, tapping the toe of her boot on the floor. I hurriedly brush my hair and leave it in loose waves before rushing over to where she waits at the door.

  She inspects me from head to toe, looking pleased. “Not too shabby.” She links her arm with mine and tugs me out the door, locking up quickly. “Let’s go be social.”

  About an hour later, I start to wonder if an alien source has taken over my roommate.

  Reason number one: She’s chatting with a guy and giggling.

  Reason number two: She’s giggling. Giggling.

  As much as I’d like to leave this party and crawl back into bed and watch The Lake House again, I know she’ll read me the riot act, so I roam through the cute house a few of her classmates rent and find a reasonably quiet spot by the window overlooking the street.

  The leaves have changed colors and fallen onto the lawn. It’s times like this when I find myself wondering what Hollis is up to. If he’s ever at parties or bored to death at one like I am.

  The most painful thought is when I wonder if he’s found a girl—one whose family isn’t judgmental and who would accept him as he is.

  “You look as thrilled to be here as I am.”

  I jerk in surprise at the male voice. When I turn from the window, I discover a guy smiling shyly at me. His hair is a light shade of brown, his mouth holds a hint of a self-deprecating smile, and he has a lean, slightly muscled build.

  When I don’t immediately respond, he winces and quickly rushes out with, “I’m sorry to bother you.” He starts backing away.

  Something makes me stop him. And it’s not because he’s ridiculously attractive. It’s his dark blue eyes. There’s something in them I feel drawn to.

  “No, don’t leave.” I muster up a smile. “You just caught me off guard.”

  He hesitates as if he’s unsure whether I’m simply being polite or not. Finally, he relents and takes a seat in the other chair beside me. He leans to offer his hand.

  “I’m Grant.”

  I accept his hand and give it a brief shake. “I’m Magnolia.”

  “Nice to meet you, Magnolia.” His warm smile puts me at ease. It’s different from the more common I just want to get in your pants smile other guys employ.

  He turns to gaze out the window, and I follow suit. We sit in oddly comfortable silence for a long moment before he finally speaks.

  His voice is low, hushed, and sympathetic. “I have to admit that when I saw you sittin’ here, I felt compelled to come over.”

  I turn to look at him warily, wondering if I read him wrong and this is fixing to be some awful pickup line.

  “I recognize the look.” His smile has now vanished, and in its place is a look of understanding. “You…lost someone who meant a lot to you?”

  My breath lodges in my throat and I can only manage to nod.

  He turns his gaze back to the window. “I had that same look for the longest time,” he murmurs softly.

  “How’d you get rid of it?”

  A sad smile plays at his lips, and his eyes appear almost haunted. “It took a while. A friend forced me to get my ass in gear and stop mopin’.”

  A little laugh escapes me. “You just described what happened to me tonight.”

  He turns, and this time, his smile isn’t laced with sadness, eyes clearer. “I reckon we might just be kindred spirits.”

  I match his smile, and it doesn’t feel quite as brittle or as forced as it has these past few months. “I reckon you might be right.”

  Text from Hollis

  Magnolia

  JUNIOR YEAR

  DECEMBER

  AUBURN UNIVERSITY

  “Y’all are crazy!” I laugh, barely staying upright on my ice skates. Stephanie and her boyfriend skate by me so fast, I swear I feel a breeze.

  Grant suggested a trip up to New York City since I’d never been, and we’d asked Stephanie and her boyfriend, Tommy, to join us. We’ve had a blast exploring the sights, and I’m thankful the weather has been far milder than usual this time of year.

  Now, we’re skating in Central Park—or, rather, I’m attempting not to fall flat on my tush. Grant holds my hands, guiding me along the ice. It’s not as crowded, thankfully, since it’s nearing closing time, so my chances of knocking down other innocent skaters is far less.

  He skates backward flawlessly, holding my hands with a bright smile on his face. I can’t help but match it with my own because good Lord, I love this man.

  Sometimes, I think he singlehandedly brought me back to life.

  He’s incredible, and not a day goes by when I have any doubt in my mind that I’m the only woman he has eyes for. His gaze never lingers on anyone else.

  Grant comes from a family of commercial developers, and of course, my family loves him, simply because his family is well-to-do in their business. And even though he comes from wealth, he never acts like it. He’s always incredibly humble and sweet.

  “Ready for a hot chocolate break?”

  I grin up at him. “Absolutely.”

  He guides us out of the rink, helping me step carefully off the ice and over to a bench. “I’ll be right back.”

  I turn and watch Stephanie and Tommy skate hand in hand. She waves when she sees me watching, and I wave back. A moment later,
Grant slides onto the bench beside me and hands me the steaming cup.

  “Thank you.” I lean forward, placing a light kiss on his lips.

  His smile is one I’ve come to know as mine. Strictly reserved for me. I take a small sip of hot chocolate and return my attention to the rink. Grant drapes his arm along the back of the bench, and I settle against him comfortably.

  I let out a content sigh. “I’m havin’ the best time.” I turn to peer up at him. “Thank you.”

  His eyes crinkle at the corners, his affection evident as he studies me for a beat. “You look happy.”

  Caught off guard by his remark, I let out a surprised laugh. “Because I am.”

  Grant’s expression turns tender. “I know.” He presses a kiss to my temple before we turn our attention to the rink. “It makes me happy knowin’ that,” he murmurs.

  I know what he’s referring to. When we first met, I was drowning in pain. Little by little, day by day, the memories began to fade like the color and print on a dollar bill that’s been folded again and again, and handled countless times.

  My hurt is still there, imbedded deeper now, like the minuscule fibers of the paper money, but Grant has helped me create new, happy memories to overshadow the pain.

  That party was pivotal in my life because I met him. We talked through the night and found ourselves confessing what we’d never told another soul.

  He spoke about his girlfriend, who was killed by a drunk driver days before they were due to start at Auburn. She was the girl he always expected he’d marry.

  Though I never specifically mentioned Hollis’ name, I told Grant that I loved someone who left me even after I pleaded with him to stay. We spoke about how devastating the pain can be when someone leaves your life—regardless of the circumstances—whether it’s willingly or if they’re taken from you.

  We formed a bond that night, one unlike any other I’ve had. Even Hollis. Grant has become one of my best friends, my “kindred spirit” as he says.