Her eyes crinkled as she laughed. "A string bean?"
"Yes." I shoved a section of the hangers to the side on the rack in front of me. "A really fucking skinny string bean with no ass. You could be actually pregnant and eat a large gyro bowl, and still look like Audrey Hepburn with big, kinky hair. You're going to be slender and glowing and beautiful when you're pregnant. Like Kate Middleton or Amal Clooney. Please. I eat a bag of peanuts and I look like I'm full term with twins."
"No, you don't," she said, laughing. "And my name isn't Andrea."
I pulled a dress off the rack and held it out to her. "When I'm giving you a talking-to, you're Andrea. Be careful or I'll invent a middle name for you while I'm at it." I wagged the dress. "Go try this on."
She shook her head, sending her long, dark curls swaying over her shoulders. "I can't squeeze myself into that right now. Why did we eat lunch before dress shopping?"
"We think with our stomachs." I tipped my chin toward the other side of the shop. "Let's look at flowy sundresses."
"Perfect." She plucked the dress from my hands and returned it to the rack. "Flowy is good. That's going to be my summer style this year. Loose and flowy."
"Says the new wifey with baby fever," I said under my breath. After a years-long engagement, Andy finally walked down the aisle last month.
She shot me a pointed glare. "We're not talking about that right now. I am not interested in getting pregnant for at least two or three years. Maybe longer."
She made it too easy to poke at her on this topic. Even when I knew she was dead serious about waiting. Even when I shared her sentiments about wanting a baby but also waiting a couple years to meet that baby. Then again, Andy and I were in different boats when it came to starting families.
For starters, I had to meet a man I tolerated for more than a single evening.
"Baby fever," I repeated, smirking.
"So, Magnolia, are you seeing anyone special? Let's talk about you."
My back pocket vibrated. I glanced to the side before responding. "You don't want to know."
She handed me a pink and green sundress. "You called me a skinny string bean. If you're going to call out my ass or lack thereof, you can entertain me with your adventures in dating."
"Adventures." I snorted, pushed a black dress toward her. She didn't believe in wearing color. "That's an interesting way to look at it."
"Any second dates? Or promising leads?"
I snorted again. "No second dates."
We exchanged several more dresses. "But some promising leads?"
Another vibration from my back pocket. Was it wrong that I wanted it to be Mr. Nine Inches? Maybe it was. Maybe the past few months had ground my expectations down to the point that I was optimistic about a guy who seemed kind and genuine, even if he only wanted to bury his dick in someone as a means of exorcism.
"Let's try these on." I nudged Andy toward the dressing rooms. "Enough of this city has witnessed and live-tweeted my shitty dates. I don't need the shopgirls tuning in too."
We dropped onto the bench in the dressing room but made no move to change into the items hanging from the rail in front of us.
"Do you ever have days," I started, staring at the garments, "when you don't want to be a girl boss?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. It's complicated," I admitted. "I love my work. I love being my own boss. I love relying on myself and not answering to anyone else. I love it. I really do. But…but there are days when I want to give it all away and be a bad feminist. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I wasn't a goal digger. If I was married to a man who wanted me to be a stay-at-home wife—"
"You would never go for that. Never in a million years."
"I know, I know." As she started to protest, I continued, "But what if it wasn't him telling me what to do? What if it was him offering it to me? Or us arriving at the conclusion together like a good progressive couple should. Would I still want to conquer the world one roof garden at a time? To prove myself every damn day?"
"Yes. Maybe you'd worry less about proving yourself but you'd want all those roof gardens. And you wouldn't stop there. You've been renovating your aunt's house in your spare time and that's on top of working a ton of projects in the past year. And you read books and go to tons of ball games too. You don't know how to do nothing."
That wasn't the complete truth, but I wasn't going to educate Andy on my history of slovenly ways today. The drive to prove myself came from wasting so much time when I was younger. From flunking out of college—twice. Getting fired from no fewer than five waitressing jobs because I forgot to show up. Struggling to find anything that interested me for years.
"I love what I do, but there are days when I wish I didn't have to do it," I admitted. "It's crazy but I wonder what my life would be like if I didn't have to do everything by myself all the time." I glanced at her. "Do you ever feel like that? Like you'd take the throwback housewife gig if it was offered to you?"
Andy regarded me for a moment, her eyes narrowed. "It's worth noting that it's two o'clock on a Tuesday and we drank wine with lunch. We have the cake, we're eating it, and we have the ice cream and sprinkles too."
I gnawed on my lip before glancing at Andy. "I know and I know I wouldn't trade my life for anything. There are just days when I want to turn off my phone and let a man take care of me."
"Now that's something I understand," she said, shaking her head as a smile tugged at her lips. "I understand that and I crave it too. Believe me, I turn off my phone and let Patrick take care of me every single weekend. Most weeknights too."
"Your clients don't call you in the evenings? Or contractors?"
"They do. Doesn't mean they can't wait for me to call them back in the morning," she said, chuckling. "Honestly, yeah. There are days when I fantasize about setting aside all my work and worries and spending my time on posting cute food pics on Instagram."
"What stops you?" I wanted to know because there were moments when the only thing holding me back was a fear of running out of money to feed my dog.
"A few things. First, Patrick and I share a brain at work so I can't abandon him. He'd have a mental breakdown and no one needs that. Second, restoring and renovating houses is my favorite thing. I like it more than anything, even posting food pics. If I didn't have this career, I wouldn't know what else to do with myself. And third, I know that I can lean on Patrick. If I wanted to pull back or change my focus or spend some time tinkering with something new, I know he'd rearrange the firm to make that happen."
Everything inside me lurched. I wanted a partner who'd rearrange the world for me. That was what I wanted. That was it. That was my thing. Right there.
I couldn't put it in my dating profiles, but goddamn, that was what I wanted.
Andy peered at me, her arms folded over her chest. "What's the deal? What's going on with you? Spill your dirty stories, Santillian."
I leaned back against the wall and crossed my legs. "Dating is draining my soul. That, and the house across the street from me is being renovated after hours. I hear nail guns in my dreams."
"You're too damn nice," she muttered. "I would've introduced myself to those fools and made sure the city inspector tagged along." She rolled her hand at me, urging me to continue. "What else is going on with you? It's not just nail guns."
"There's a guy, but he only wants a fuck buddy situation. He's getting over a breakup."
"Explain to me why you're even entertaining this," Andy said, her eyebrow arched high. The woman could form right angles with her brows when she worked at it.
I started to respond but then hesitated. Why was I entertaining this? It wasn't the dick. It couldn't be the dick. There was more to life than dick just as there was more to life than coffee and baseball and dogs.
Somewhat.
"I like his vibe," I said eventually. "He's different from other guys I've met online. He's not like the rest of the assholes out there. I mean, he's not an ass
hole at all. He tried to be one for a hot minute but couldn't keep up the act."
"Well, that is to be applauded," Andy replied. "You said there was a breakup?"
I nodded, murmuring in agreement. "A bad one. He's admittedly fucked up."
"And you want to fix him."
"I don't want to fix him," I whisper-yelled.
"You want to fix all the boys," Andy replied.
"In the past, I've tried to fix a boy or two, yes," I conceded. "But I don't want to fix this boy."
"You want to fix his broken heart," she sang, "with your vagina."
I sniffed, playing hard at the indignation. "I have no desire to do that nor has he given me the impression he wants me to do any fixing."
Andy laughed. "No, honey. He wants you for the fucking."
"That's accurate, yes. Like any good man would, he's suggested he's quite talented at it. The fucking."
"Oh, is he now?" she cooed.
I decided to confess everything. "He says he's working with nine inches and he can work with it for at least half an hour."
She bobbed her head. "You have my attention."
"I don't want to get involved in a dead-end situation," I said. "But…I don't know."
"There's nothing wrong with wanting to get laid. Especially when high-quality equipment is involved." She shrugged. "If you want someone to give you permission to get laid, enjoy it, and not worry about fixing him—I'm giving it to you. It's okay to have a dead-end relationship even when you're trying to find The One. Sometimes, dead-ends turn into cul-de-sacs and everyone loves a cul-de-sac. They're reliable real estate."
"That's some reliable wisdom." I jerked my chin toward the dresses hanging from the rail. "Should we even bother trying on clothes?"
She shook her head. "I want to see this guy's profile. Let's stalk him before you get him naked."
"I'm getting him naked now," I muttered. "Okay. That progressed rapidly."
"Don't play coy and virginal with me," she chided.
I pulled my phone from my back pocket and swiped it to life. My messenger app flashed with several unread messages from RRRooster441. "Looks like he's in a talkative mood today."
"Hm," she murmured, glancing down at the screen.
* * *
Mr. Nine: Are you…MizMaggie, are you holding out for proof?
Mr. Nine: My god. You are. You want to know if the juice is worth the squeeze.
Mr. Nine: OK. Not gonna hold that against you since I made it all about the D.
Mr. Nine: Fuck. I admire it.
Mr. Nine: Here you go.
Mr. Nine: (IMAGE ATTACHED)
* * *
We leaned closer and simultaneously gasped when a photo filled the screen. As far as dick pics went, it was beautifully done. Clothed, trapped behind trousers, but undeniably hard. Circumcised too. No harsh lighting or awkward grip on the base. No ugly feet or ball hair to take away from the heart of the matter.
"I do enjoy when I can identify a man's belief system before he gets his pants off," I said.
"Yeah, you need to get that," she said, pinching her fingers on the screen to zoom in. "That's a good one. It's halfway to his knee."
"Mhmm." Nodding, I toggled back to his message.
* * *
Mr. Nine: See? No exaggeration.
Magnolia: Thanks for keeping it classy.
Mr. Nine: That's how I roll, lady.
Magnolia: I like how you roll.
Mr. Nine: Yeah?
Magnolia: Yeah…maybe we could get coffee or something.
Mr. Nine: Come on. Come on!
Magnolia: What? Isn't that what you want?
Mr. Nine: Coffee? No, lady. I don't want coffee.
Magnolia: Oh. Okay.
Magnolia: Listen, I'm not down for a hookup. Sorry, no. I want to have a clothed conversation out in public, preferably with food and drink as a means of distraction and self-defense.
Mr. Nine: Oh my god. You thought I was asking to skip the coffee and go straight to sex.
Mr. Nine: Facepalm.
Mr. Nine: No. I meant I'm good for more than a beverage. Let me buy you a meal. Food on a real plate and a beverage or two. Real knives to stab me with, should it come to that.
Mr. Nine: It won't come to that, I swear.
Mr. Nine: I'm good for a lot more than a dinner and drinks but let's start with the real plates.
* * *
"Do it," Andy ordered. "Say yes and tell him you're free on Thursday."
"Why Thursday?"
"Thursday because it gives you two days to prepare and him two days of anticipation, and if it goes well, you can make weekend plans. Friday is too much pressure, Wednesday is tomorrow and that's just too quick, and any other option is too distant. You'll lose momentum if you wait until next week."
"Goddamn," I muttered. "You are gifted."
She shook her head. "Exceedingly strategic." She glanced at my phone. "Thursday. Book it."
* * *
Magnolia: How does Thursday sound?
Mr. Nine: Like I'll be seeing you.
Magnolia: Yeah. You will.
Magnolia: For coffee.
Magnolia: Or something like that.
Mr. Nine: Oh, really?
Mr. Nine: You're back on that bullshit?
Magnolia: That's noble of you.
Mr. Nine: I'm walking into a meeting but you can believe we're not finished with this topic.
* * *
"Oh, look," Andy cooed. "He gets fired up when you're bratty."
"I'm not bratty," I murmured. "I simply believe coffee is the safer route than a full dinner date setup."
She dropped her chin onto her fist, asking, "Because you don't like having sex on a full stomach? I mean, I get it, but just order a salad."
"Right," I said, nodding. "Because food babies and fuck buddies don't mix."
Chapter Nine
Mr. Nine: What do you like?
Magnolia: …in terms of what? Are we talking about autumn strolls through pumpkin patches or some light choking during sex?
Mr. Nine: Yes.
Magnolia: That's not an answer.
Mr. Nine: I was asking about food because I still object to this coffee shop plan of yours.
Mr. Nine: But I'll entertain any discussion of your interests.
Magnolia: I rather enjoy pumpkin patches.
Mr. Nine: And light choking?
Magnolia: Let's focus on the pumpkin patches.
Mr. Nine: Hayrides, fresh apple cider, hot cinnamon and sugar donuts?
Magnolia: Add in the World Series and some football and you have my love language right there.
Mr. Nine: Noted.
Mr. Nine: Coffee or tea?
Magnolia: Coffee. You?
Mr. Nine: Same.
Mr. Nine: Sandwich or salad?
Magnolia: Sandwich. Always. I'm willing to bet you're also a sandwicher.
Mr. Nine: Excuse me while I eliminate Sweet Green and Cava from my list of lunch ideas.
Magnolia: Are you saying you'd take a salad over a sandwich? Really?
Mr. Nine: It depends on the salads and sandwiches.
Mr. Nine: I had a sandwich at a little shop on Nantucket about 5 years ago. I haven't stopped thinking about it since.
Magnolia: That's not the first time I've heard that about sandwiches on Nantucket.
Mr. Nine: I also had a salad last month that brought true joy to my life.
Magnolia: It seems to me that any mildly good thing could bring you joy right now.
Mr. Nine: Let's test that theory over sandwiches. Since we both enjoy them.
Mr. Nine: There's a place near my office with amazing turkey sandwiches.
Magnolia: That's wonderful for you.
Mr. Nine: It's from an actual turkey. They smoke it in the shop. That makes all the difference. I hate when it's slimy deli slices.
Magnolia: I think I know that place because my brother shares your devotion to smoked turkey and he goes out of his way to st
op there whenever he's in the city.
Mr. Nine: It's a good spot, right?
Magnolia: Yeah. They make their own flavorings for coffee and seltzer. I'm a fan of their raspberry even though I'm ride-or-die for black cherry.
Mr. Nine: So, your brother. He lives out of town?
Magnolia: Linden lives on the southeast coast, near my parents in New Bedford.
Mr. Nine: Just the one sibling?
Magnolia: No, another brother. Ash.
Mr. Nine: Who is the oldest?
Magnolia: Ash was Baby A, I was Baby B, and Linden was Baby C.
Magnolia: We're triplets.
Mr. Nine: Wow. That's not something you hear every day.
Magnolia: About as often as a dude introduces himself with a baseball card of his dick stats.
Mr. Nine: Got your attention.
Magnolia: And look at all the good it's done me.
Mr. Nine: I've offered to do you all kinds of good.
Magnolia: Yep. That is true.
Mr. Nine: Tell me about landscape architecture.
Magnolia: That's a broad request.
Mr. Nine: What's a typical day look like? Are you out there digging up yards and planting trees?
Magnolia: No.
Magnolia: Okay, yeah, that was how it used to be but now I spend most of my time developing proposals and designs, managing subcontractors, and evaluating progress rather than doing any digging myself.
Magnolia: I've carved out a niche in the roof garden business. That's the bulk of my residential and commercial work.
Mr. Nine: I was way off the mark.
Magnolia: Not too far, no. When I was starting out, I couldn't afford to pay subcontractors so I did all the work. It made for obscenely long days.
Mr. Nine: When does your day start now?
Magnolia: It mostly depends on when and where I have meetings but it's been too fucking early the past few weeks. The house across the street is under construction but they've been working the wildest hours.
The Magnolia Chronicles Page 5
