"Hi," I said to him, drawing the word out into eight syllables as I planned my next move. I'd greeted the guy at least forty times now but what else was I supposed to do here? I exchanged a glance with Ash and Linden as I sat down beside Troy. They offered little more than innocent shrugs and shit-eating smirks in response. "How's it going?"
My date shifted toward me, smiling, and made a reasonable attempt at giving me a once-over without leering. Ten points to Gryffindor.
"Great, great," he breathed. "Sorry about the confusion. I thought—I guess, I didn't know—"
I held up both hands. "It's fine. Not your fault. Not at all. You have no reason to apologize." I pinned my mother with a harsh glare. "She knows what she did."
"Hush, you," my mother chided. "If nothing else, Trevor—"
"Troy," we chorused.
"—will get a home-cooked supper tonight. Young people don't get enough stick-to-your-ribs meals anymore. Not with all the delivery food and celery juice and chia seeds."
"Okay. Yeah. That's great," Troy said. "Great."
"Everything is great," Ash added from across the table. If the evening continued at this pace, I was going to strain my eyes with all this glaring. "Really great. The greatest."
I shot him a stare before turning back to Troy. "So, Troy," I started, "thank you for joining us today. I hope your family doesn't mind that we've stolen you from them for the evening."
"No worries," he said, laughing. "My parents live in Montana."
"That must make the Sunday dinner commute a lot longer," Linden said.
"Assuming you're beholden to a Sunday dinner routine," Ash added. "Clearly, we are, but we realize this might not be your way of life."
"What with the twenty-five-hundred-mile commute and all," Linden said.
Troy nodded as he considered this. "Yeah, we've never maintained that kind of tradition. I guess—"
"Because ranch life didn't allow it?" Ash asked.
Troy let out a startled laugh. "Oh, that's funny. No, I didn't grow up on a ranch. I'm actually from one of the biggest cities in Montana."
"Is that so?" Linden asked.
"No ranching, then?" Ash asked.
"The man said no ranching," Linden replied.
God help me. There was a reason first dates didn't take place at the family table.
"Common misunderstanding," Ash said. "Not all Montanans are ranchers. Some are city dwellers."
"Very common," Linden agreed.
"Perhaps the most common," Ash said.
"It happens," Troy said, laughing. Somehow, he was grinning. He hadn't bristled under a single moment of this ambush and I had to hand it to him. Putting up with this set of circumstances and smiling through it took a mile-wide sense of humor. He pointed at my brothers. "Excuse me for asking but—"
"No. We're not twins," Ash said.
"We're triplets," Linden announced. He patted his chest then pointed to me and Ash. "The three of us."
"Oh, great," Troy said. "That's so great."
"Really great," Ash added.
"The greatest," Linden said with a snicker.
My mother bustled into the room with my father in tow and set several platters on the table. My father glanced at the four of us, shook his head, and dropped into his usual seat. He motioned for Linden to pass the sausage. If I knew anything, it was that he'd eat, exit, and avoid the shit out of these hijinks for the rest of the evening.
"Dig in, everyone. I'll be back with the rice," my mother called.
We weren't horrible offspring for staying put. This was how my mother preferred it. She insisted on cooking and serving and she did it without any misplaced sense of duty. No, it was pure ego. She simply believed her food was better than that prepared by anyone else and she refused to eat—as she put it—"under-seasoned garbage." We didn't bother arguing over the matter anymore and we didn't dare insert ourselves into the preparations.
She'd stab any of us for doing it wrong.
The meal passed quickly, and I was damn thankful for that. We were too busy eating and praising my mother's food to engage in any common first date rituals. That, and my mother gave up liquor for Lent. She wasn't a practicing Catholic by most standards but she observed certain traditions to the letter. Giving up something for Lent, Advent candles in December, bringing my dog to church for a blessing on the Feast of Saint Roch. It seemed like a small connection to a faith she barely kept but couldn't do without, and I wasn't about to challenge that.
But a glass of wine would've helped a bitch out tonight, especially after my mother asked Troy how many children he wanted and what he thought of short engagements.
My brothers always came equipped with beer but they weren't sharing tonight.
Sometimes, they really were a-holes.
When we finished eating, my mother gestured to my brothers. "You're big, strong men. You can handle the dishes without your sister tonight."
Linden blinked at my mother before turning his gaze toward me. "We will collect on this debt at a later date," he said, pushing away from the table.
"Don't worry," I replied. "You will get your turn and I will cackle with glee as I wash those dishes and drink your beer."
Ash pressed his fist to his mouth as he snorted with laughter.
"I don't know what you think is so entertaining," I said, tossing a balled napkin in his direction. "You'll get your turn too."
"I will not," he replied. "Thanks, but I have no room for this bullshit in my life."
It was Linden's turn to throw a napkin at Ash. "Shut up," he barked. "You're on drying duty."
My siblings took their sweet time clearing the table while Troy and I traded uncomfortable smiles. They weren't smiles so much as eye crinkles and stiff lips, a tight, twisted expression that only certified the awkwardness of this setup.
When we were alone and I heard the sink water running in the kitchen, I shifted toward Troy. "I am so sorry about this," I said, my palms held out in apology. "My mom, sometimes she gets carried away and, like, loses her damn mind."
He drew a finger over his brows as he chuckled. "It's all good. It's great. This was great."
"You're lying," I blurted out with a choked laugh. "This was not great. It's all right to acknowledge that."
He shot a baleful glance at the empty table, tracing his brows again. "It wasn't as bad as you think. I haven't had a home-cooked meal like that in some time."
I blinked, looking him over and taking him in without the haze of surprise setup fury clouding my view. He was handsome. Easy on the eyes, if not a bit uptight. Maybe he wasn't truly uptight but his dress-shirt-tie-pullover-sweater combo read that way to me. And maybe I was judging this book by his cover but what was wrong about that? If the cover didn't accurately summarize the vibe of the book, it was the wrong cover.
"That—that's great." I cringed as Troy's favorite word passed my lips. "Mom's cooking is legendary. You know, she'd invite you back even if we aren't"—I pointed at the air between us, twining my fingers together as if that made sense—"if we don't. Because, you know. This isn't—"
"I get it. You seem great—"
"And so do you," I jumped in.
"But we don't have to—"
"Oh, god, no. No." I was agreeing too heartily but I couldn't stop myself. Under different circumstances, Troy and I might've shared an evening together but that would've been the beginning and end for us. We weren't it. Whatever it was, we weren't. We didn't have it. "But I'm serious when I say my mother would be thrilled to have you back for dinner."
He shot another glance at the empty table, the only evidence of the modest feast coming from stray bits of tomato rice, a chickpea on the loose, some chouriço grease stains on the tablecloth.
Troy was a nice guy. Sweet, kind. Better than many others would've been in the same situation. But being a nice guy wasn't the checkbox for me. Yeah, I wanted nice but I also wanted someone who'd take one look at this shitshow setup, grab me by the hand, and get the fuck out of here. Someone who put u
p with no more than two minutes of my brothers and their a-hole routine before giving it right back to them. Someone who recognized my family was important to me but knew when I required—deserved—breathing room from them.
Troy wasn't that guy. If he had any of those inklings, he hadn't acted on them. I could've grabbed him and made a run for it. But I hadn't. I'd waited for him to do it and it wasn't happening now. Nothing was happening now.
I couldn't help but see the lesson embedded in these events. If I wanted something, it was on me to take it. Waiting for a dude to read my mind was getting nowhere fast. I couldn't expect someone to show up for my unspoken needs. I needed to show up for myself.
"I might like that. Coming for dinner," Troy added, his words bashful. "We didn't have routines like this when I lived at home and"—he glanced down, away—"and this was great. Looking back, I realize now that your mom's messages were extremely focused on whether I was eating and sleeping well. I guess I liked that. It felt good." He laughed to himself. "Hell. I just made it sound like I was into your mom."
Wincing, I said, "No, I get what you're saying. I'm also working hard at not thinking about my mom messaging you and pretending to be me. If I think about it, I'll have to burn things down and scrub myself with bleach."
He shook his head. "I should thank her. I've uncovered a whole new segment of mommy issues to deal with."
I wasn't sure how I maintained an easy smile after that comment but I did. I managed to keep a calm, open expression while I sent Troy on his way with a loose hug and no promise of seeing him again.
But I was going to have some words with my mother.
Chapter Seven
Dating App Guy 8: Good morning.
Magnolia: Hi! Happy Monday!
Dating App Guy 8: How was your weekend?
Magnolia: Fine. I'm glad it's a new week. Looking for a fresh start on many things.
Dating App Guy 8: Same. Yeah, I'm in the exact same boat with you.
Magnolia: Awesome.
Dating App Guy 8: Let me be blunt. I just got out of a long relationship and I'm fucked up in the head right now but I'm 6'3, 210, and my dick is a solid 9 inches.
Magnolia: I'm sorry about your breakup.
Dating App Guy 8: Thank you.
Dating App Guy 8: You want to help me fuck away the memories of my ex? No strings, no expectations, no emotional baggage?
Magnolia: I understand what you're going through, I truly do, but I don't see how this could be free of emotional baggage.
Magnolia: And I don't really want expectation-less sex.
Magnolia: I'm into strings and expectations and emotions. I want all of those things.
Dating App Guy 8: I can stay hard for a full 30 minutes. No lie.
Magnolia: How old are you?
Dating App Guy 8: I turned 38 last month.
Magnolia: 30 minutes at 38? Now that's a résumé builder.
Dating App Guy 8: Damn straight.
Magnolia: Not a little to the left?
Dating App Guy 8: I can say I honestly laughed out loud just now.
Magnolia: You're welcome.
Dating App Guy 8: I appreciate it. I needed that laugh.
Dating App Guy 8: I also need to get over my ex so…what do you say?
Magnolia: Look, you seem like the most normal person on here…if that's even possible…but I'm not in the market for a fuck buddy or friend with bennies.
Dating App Guy 8: I get it. I can't talk about anything more serious than that but you're beautiful and seem cool.
Magnolia: Am I cool because I didn't block you? You went to the dick size within 3 or 4 messages and that's block-worthy behavior in my book.
Dating App Guy 8: And yet you did not block me.
Magnolia: No. I didn't.
Dating App Guy 8: Why not?
Magnolia: Not sure. Maybe because you led with being fucked up and closed with the measurements. You could've skipped the personal horror story.
Dating App Guy 8: I guess so, yeah, but I only need to fuck away my issues because of my ex. This is too time-consuming to be my normal mode of operation.
Magnolia: This being the online match-up part? Or the sex as bloodletting?
Dating App Guy 8: Goddamn, stop making me like you.
Magnolia: What?
Dating App Guy 8: Don't say sarcastic, insightful things. It makes me want to talk to you.
Magnolia: And that's bad?
Dating App Guy 8: Yes. Talking isn't part of my offer.
Magnolia: Maybe you need to talk. I'm pretty sure you could've found someone else for the hate fucking.
Dating App Guy 8: Why can't you let me self-medicate in peace?
Magnolia: (glancing around) dude, you messaged me.
Dating App Guy 8: You got me there.
Magnolia: What happened?
Dating App Guy 8: I don't want to talk about it.
Magnolia: Okay. You don't have to.
Magnolia: You don't have to tell me anything. But I don't want to have anonymous sex. If that's what you're trying to find, I don't think I'm the right person for you.
Magnolia: I don't think anonymous sex is right for you either but don't let me stop you from the self-medication.
Dating App Guy 8: You're a little rude.
Dating App Guy 8: I think I like it.
Magnolia: Okay.
Dating App Guy 8: I know this sounds like bullshit since you just asked me to explain myself and then told me to piss off when I wouldn't but I have a meeting in 10 minutes and I have to prep for it unless I want my career to go the way of my last relationship.
Magnolia: No worries. I need to get some work done too.
Dating App Guy 8: Would it be okay if I messaged you later tonight?
Magnolia: Sure.
Magnolia: Protip: keep talking about your dick. It's good to be proud of something.
Dating App Guy 8: What did I say about making me like you?
Magnolia: I believe it is not advised.
Dating App Guy 8: It's not.
Dating App Guy 8: Keep doing it.
Chapter Eight
My date had a food baby.
"I could be four, maybe five months pregnant."
I glanced at the nonexistent bump with a shrug, then turned my attention back to my phone. Mr. Nine Inches had been messaging me for two weeks now. This morning he mentioned his niece's upcoming Moana-themed birthday party. It was cute, and I did smile and sigh when he said she'd strong-armed him into dressing up as Maui.
But believe me, I knew what he was doing. Bring up the kid, talk about princess movies, prove you're a big cock with a heart of gold.
It was like he was writing the Playbook for Irresistible Men.
Magnolia: Sounds like a good time.
Mr. Nine: It will be. My sister goes all out on these things.
Mr. Nine: Before you congratulate me on being a fully acceptable uncle, can we talk about something less…PG?
Mr. Nine: I mean, we haven't talked about my cock in at least 4 hours.
Magnolia: Your cock requires a lot of attention, my dude. Super high-maintenance.
Mr. Nine: It would like to fill more than your attention.
Magnolia: That one was not your best work.
Mr. Nine: Don't worry. I'm a constant learner. Always improving.
Magnolia: Good for you!
Mr. Nine: I've never been so aware of sarcasm as I am right now.
Mr. Nine: We still haven't exchanged more than handles.
Magnolia: Are we talking about your dick again? AGAIN?
Mr. Nine: I meant screen names.
Mr. Nine: Perv.
Magnolia: Right. I'm the one preoccupied with your dick. Sure. Okay.
Mr. Nine: I'm just wondering whether that's an indication you're not into this.
He was right about the handles. We hadn't shared more than the goofy little identifiers associated with our online profiles. I was MizMaggie19 and he was RRRooster441. And I was into t
his. I wanted to continue talking to him despite the mismatch in our objectives.
Magnolia: Don't think that.
Mr. Nine: All right then, lady. You've had your time to think. What's the verdict?
Magnolia: No verdict yet.
Mr. Nine: Hung jury?
Magnolia: Oh my god STOP.
Magnolia: You're not helping your case.
Magnolia: You know, I'm not sure I believe your case. Anyone who talks this much about his dick is (cough, cough) compensating for something.
Was it wrong that I wanted to fact-check his cock claims? No. It couldn't be. He kept putting it out there, and there was nothing wrong with gathering more information before making decisions.
Maybe it wasn't entirely right but I wasn't ready to call it wrong.
Although I didn't actually want a dick pic. Those things were worse than opening the camera app and finding it in selfie mode. Even the most beautiful people in the world looked like triple-chinned potatoes at that angle.
The truth about dick pics was that they served the dick and not the recipient. The guy was proud of his goods—and why shouldn't he be? It did all sorts of magical things and that finicky, fragile length of skin blessed him with an awful lot of power in the world as we knew it. Of course, he'd want to show it off.
"Solidly second trimester with a large gyro bowl."
I slipped my phone into my back pocket and turned my attention to Andy Asani. She was an architect at one of the top boutique firms in the area and we often found ourselves working on the same properties. After I recovered from some self-inflicted weirdness with one of her partners once upon a time, we started meeting up for lunch every few weeks. It'd been three years now and we kept finding new reasons to eat together.
The best thing about Andy was that she was unflinchingly honest. She'd tell you if the jeans weren't right for your ass, if the lipstick was a crime against your skin, if you were making drama where none was necessary, if you were dying on the wrong hill. She was direct and sometimes that was tough, but it was the good kind of tough.
She was staring at her profile in a full-length mirror, running her hand over her perfectly flat belly. "Would you stop it? You're the size of a popsicle stick," I snapped, my tone loaded with faux exasperation. "Really, Andrea. You're a string bean."
The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating Page 4
