“Please. You didn’t have to.” She cracked open a beer, giving me a look that said she wasn’t in the mood for brotherly wisdom. “Besides, you’ve got your own mess now. How was the appointment, by the way? Everything okay?”
“I think so, she seemed to relax a little after. I think seeing the baby, and maybe having some support there, really helped ease her anxiety.”
She stared at me. “You could’ve said no to all of this, you know,” she said pointedly, taking a long pull from the bottle, her voice lighter but not without an edge.
“Are you serious?” I asked, flat. “You’ve met Doyle. Imagine if I bailed on his sister today or didn’t provide around-the-clock updates on her vitamin schedule and if she’s doing her prenatal stretches. He’d drown me in a vat of wine in the back of the shop.”
“Unfortunately accurate.” Magnolia leaned over the bar casually, as if she wasn’t about to toss a grenade into the middle of the table.
I grabbed another slice of pizza and focused really hard on the crust.
Magnolia looked wrecked—hair in a messy bun that had lost the battle with gravity hours ago, dark circles blooming under her eyes, and that tight line between her brows that only showed up when the weight of everything got too heavy.
“Never mind me, how are you doing, baby sister?” I asked, softer than I meant to, which always happened with her.
“Don’t change the subject.” Magnolia popped open the top of the pizza box I’d brought—Vinnie Van GoGo’s, of course—and peeled off a slice. “Sutton swears she saw her cuddled up with some guy in front of the fireplace at the coffee shop.”
I clenched my jaw. “So I’ve heard. Sutton needs to mind her damn business.”
“And you,” I said, jabbing a finger in her direction, “Could stop playing matchmaker and maybe focus on the fact that your fiancé skipped town for Christmas and your ex-boyfriend looks five seconds away from throwing you over his shoulder and disappearing into a dark corner every time he sees you.”
“You sure you don’t care? Because I know you. I’ve seen what happens when you try not to catch feelings and fail miserably. You go broody. You get weird.”
“I’m not getting weird.”
“You are deeply weird right now,” she said calmly. “Which is fine. But I think you like her.”
“Again, maybe you should focus on your own drama. And trust me, sis, you have plenty of it.”
Magnolia raised an eyebrow. “I’d love to pass the drama baton, thank you very much. You haven’t dated inyears,and you certainly haven’t been this twitchy since that girl from SCAD ghosted you mid-sculpture.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ve dated, Mags. Don’t be ridiculous.”
She gave me a long, unimpressed look. “Charlie, you and I were two minutes away from becoming the Southern Gothic version ofGrey Gardens—just two emotionally stunted siblings holed up in a crumbling bar, talking to our dead relatives and scaring off tourists.”
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “Oh, please, Magnolia. Really rich coming from someone who finally has a boyfriend after years of swearing off men because her first love broke her heart—and now she’s swatting said first love away like a gnat who won’t leave her alone, but she secretlylovesit.”
Magnolia had the nerve to smirk. “Again, I would love to volley the drama.”
“There’s no drama,” I muttered, reaching for another slice of pizza—my fourth, maybe fifth, I’d lost track. Emotional damage was apparently carb-fueled tonight.
“I don’t even know what it is with her,” I went on, quieter now. “She’s just… whenever she’s around, suddenly my skin feels too tight. Like I’m breaking out in hives, or I can’t breathe right.”
Magnolia narrowed her eyes, catching it before I could stop myself. “Charlie—”
“You’d think I’d be used to that by now,” I added quickly, trying to cover, waving a hand between us. “I’ve spent my entire life sharing oxygen with you.”
From inside the bar, it probably came off as a joke. A sarcastic jab between siblings. But from the open to-go window, where a certain poodle had just barked loud enough to turn heads, it landed like a punch to the gut.
Magnolia turned toward the sound, squinting through the glass. “Oh. Oh, my God. Was that—”
I was already on my feet, barstool screeching backward across the floor as I lunged for the door.
“Tally!”
She was already halfway down the sidewalk, her shoulders rigid, Nancy Reagan trotting furiously beside her like she, too, was deeply offended. A fine mist had started to fall in soft, silvery threads that caught in the streetlights, and by the time I caught sight of her face, she looked washed out. Blank in a way that made my stomach lurch.
She didn’t turn around until I called her name again. When she did, her expression didn’t crack.
