“Seriously? That’s shitty. Magnolia loves Christmas.”?
Charlie nodded. “I know, but he’s got a trial that runs until January third or something. We had lunch the other day, but I couldn’t hear her over the size of her Meghan Markle fascinator.”
We both bent over laughing just as Sutton barreled through the front door carrying a couple of pints from Leopold’s.?
“What are you doing here?” She sat next to me and handed Charlie a tub of ice cream, eyeing me suspiciously. Ever since the night she tried to talk me into convincing Magnolia she was still in love with me, she’d been avoiding me. And, of course, I was the only one who knew her secret. I figured she was keeping her distance, so she didn’t have to remember that she told the truth.?
A few weeks after my first gig at O’Malley’s, right after Dane got down on one knee on the second floor of the Olde Pink House and asked Magnolia to be his bride for real this time, Sutton and I had a heated argument about when to tell Maggie the truth about what happened between Sutton and Dane. She kept wavering, not wanting to hurt her friend but still worried about jeopardizing her own career.
So, I tried to come up with ways to tell Magnolia that I was sure he was cheating on her and that I felt like someone was in the background of that damn video call, but with what evidence? A shadow??
I just didn’t have enough solid proof yet. I was relying on rumors and a gut feeling that I wasn’t sure I could trust. And if I went to Maggie with just some half-baked speculation, she’d see right through me and think I was trying to break her and Dane apart because of my lingering feelings for her.?
Honestly, with the scant proof I had, the one thing I was absolutely certain of was that no one wanted to unravel the delicate bond we’d finally managed to rebuild. So, I was doing my best with what I had—desperately trying to untangle the storm of feelings that refused to die, no matter how much time had passed. They weren’t just lingering—they were clawing their way back to the surface, demanding to be felt, to be reckoned with.
“I was just leaving. I’ll see y’all at my momma’s tomorrow.” I hugged Charlie and kissed Sutton on the top of her head, listening to her exhale sadly as I did so.?
I thought about heading back to my apartment, but my feet led me straight to the bar . Every chance I got, I found myself drawn to the old, weathered building. There was something comforting about being there, a sense of coming home that took me back to my teenage years. I loved taking in the little improvements and the renovations I’d been working on, feeling a kind of connection with the place that made it feel like my own.
But mostly, I just liked looking at the girl behind the bar.?
She was busy doing inventory when I opened the door. Boxes lined the bar and the tables, and my heart sank.?
“Moving out already?”?
She turned around, almost letting a bottle of tequila slip through her hands. She had her hair, now slightly longer, in a messy top knot. Black leggings hugged her curves, and she had on my old hoodie again. Black-framed glasses perched on her nose, and she pushed them up a bit before finishing the task of wiping down the bottle.?
This was Magnolia in all her unfiltered glory. If I weren’t here, in her space, I’d miss these fleeting glimpses of her everyday life.
“Christmas decorations,” she said, jutting her chin out toward the boxes. “I wanted to get them up before we opened tonight because we won’t be around tomorrow.” She spun back toward the bar, and her massive emerald-cut ring caught the light, flashing so brightly it nearly blinded me.?
I crossed the room and opened up a box, letting clouds of dust float across the space. It had been years since these decorations had made their way out of the attic.?After delicately unwrapping the tissue from the antique ornaments and carefully placing them on the table, I made my way to a large box in the corner of the room. Inside was a decrepit, old silver tree that was missing half of its limbs. “I don’t remember this mangled thing. Was this your tree?”?
She beamed, coming from behind the bar to stand next to me, handing me a cold beer from the ice chest. “No, actually, it was my momma’s. Or her momma’s. She hated this old thing. She always made my daddy go and get a real one every year. Actually, this will be the first year I don’t get a real tree myself.”?
She poked her head into the box and then shut it, reaching for the roll of packing tape on the bar. “We don’t have to put this up. Something might jump out of the remaining branches and latch onto a customer’s neck,” she declaredbefore walking away.?
“Why aren’t you getting a tree this year?” I called after her. I knew the reason, but I still asked at any rate.?
“Dane hates all the Christmas shit.” She shrugged. “If the trolley wasn’t stopping by, I probably wouldn’t even put any of this up.”?
Her cool tone didn’t catch me off guard. I had grown used to it over the past few months. Yet, Christmas had always been her favorite time of year, a season she cherished deeply, so it surprised me that, especially with Dane out of town, she wasn’t acting more excited.?
When we were kids, Charlie would drag her down to the old lot outside the church, and the two of them would pick out the raggediest tree they could afford with what little money Cole could scrounge up. They’d sit up every Christmas Eve, keeping a years-old tradition alive to see who could stay awake the longest and catch Santa, even though neither of them believed.?
Even when they were in their twenties, Cole would sneak up the back staircase after he’d hear them snoring from down in the bar and sneak presents under the tree.?
She loved everything about Christmas—the baking, the cookies, the music, the lights. Lord, she’d drag me up and down every square in Savannah just to see all the big houses lit up like they were signaling aliens from space. And every year, when we got to my momma’s house, she’d stop, smile, and say, “I’ll have lights like this one day.”
What she loved most, though, was the way Christmas reminded her of her momma, who cherished the holiday more than anything. Every year, she’d place a star made of seashells on top of the tree—a star that had once adorned the tree in the house where she was born on Tybee Island.
We quietly put up the decorations, and when we were done, she paused, taking in the room with a deep breath, her lips curling into a bittersweet smile. “Jordan will come by tomorrow to bring some holiday-inspired floral displays, and we’ll be done.” The half-smile still lingered on her lips, but her voice betrayed a deep weariness. “I’m going to get ready for tonight. Thanks for all your help.”?
She didn’t look back at me as she made her way to the door that led to the staircase leading up to her apartment. I stood frozen in the middle of the room, holding on to a star made of seashells, a single, quiet tear falling down my face.?
***
I opened Momma’s front door, Janelle following close behind me. The house was buzzing with wait staff, florists, and a gaggle of other workers scrambling about as they finished the last minute touches on the engagement party.?
