Magnolia: My Wednesday started at 12:45 a.m. when I got up to get a cookie and found a bunch of texts from Rob.
Andy: Is he losing his shit?
Magnolia: Actually, no. He was perfectly charming. But we talked about plants and air conditioning for 20 minutes. Then we made dinner plans for tonight.
Andy: Okay…
Magnolia: But I woke up 4 hours later to a fuckton of texts from Ben and he was losing his shit.
Magnolia: I made an offhand comment to him earlier in the day about how we don't really talk about things. I said something about not knowing anything about his work. Like, I know he's a firefighter and I understand the basics of that but…there's gotta be more, right? Or anything? Or doesn't he want to tell me about his daily life?
Magnolia: He stewed on that for approximately 12 hours and then opened up about losing his grandmother and his regrets and how he's just super fucked up right now.
Andy: Which we knew…
Magnolia: We did.
Andy: Regardless, you had a tough night.
Magnolia: Yeah. A lot of feels.
Andy: So many feels.
Magnolia: Espresso martini lunch?
Andy: Sorry I thought the answer was obvious.
Andy: Yes. We need to sort you out before dinner.
Chapter Thirty
My dates were toomuch of a good thing.
It seemed unlikely. It seemed impossible. How could one person find herself with both cups running over after years with no running, no cups? But here I was, crouched behind a boxwood bush, creeping on Ben and Rob while they argued about sports.
"This is what I've become," I murmured to myself, gripping my trowel tighter. "I'm the crazy lady hiding in bushes."
This hadn't been my intention. I didn't imagine I'd spend Matt and Lauren's move-in day ducked down in the shrubbery but when I pulled up this morning, the boxwoods and the periwinkle beneath them caught my attention. It was nothing major but I couldn't think about unpacking the house until the landscape looked right.
And then Rob and Ben walked up the quiet suburban street together, bullshitting and ball-busting the way men do. I scrambled behind the bush, no longer concerned with the half-exposed root ball, and eavesdropped on their conversation.
Because that was normal. Totally normal.
"None of this is normal," I whispered. "And now I'm talking to myself. Awesome."
"I don't know, man. I don't know about the depth charts. If QB takes a bad hit, we're in survival mode. I hate to say it but this dynasty is winding down," Ben said, shaking his head as he folded his arms over his chest.
He shouldn't be allowed to do that. It should be illegal and there should be a police force tasked with eliminating gratuitous arm crossing. There should be a fine too. A huge fine. Equivalent to the size of those damn forearms.
"I couldn't disagree more," Rob replied, mirroring Ben's stance.
Hipshot, arms crossed. Shorts, t-shirt like a second skin.Fuck me.
"A dynasty isn't built on the back of one coach or one quarterback," Rob continued. "It's a broad, deep foundation with layers of institutional knowledge and leadership. Coaches and defensive coordinators will come and go. QBs and wide receivers too. The dynasty has never been stronger."
"Listen, I want to believe as much as you do," Ben said. "The last thing I want is five months of shitty football but I want to be realistic here. It's better to exceed low expectations than deal with another fucking disappointment in my life."
Rob peered at him. Eventually, he said, "Dude, it's just football. It's gonna be okay."
