The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (carter reed TXT) 📗

"Okay, first, how do you know this job will be the same? How do you know it won't relieve that one pain point that made things insufferable in the past?"

"I don't," I admitted, "but—"

"No, you can't argue that. Small changes can make all the difference in the world. You don't know that she needs a completely different career—"

"I do," I said under my breath.

"—and you don't know this situation won't be a dramatic improvement for her."

"Maybe not but I still think she's making a big mistake by—"

"By what?" Magnolia interrupted. "By interviewing? By considering the terms? By checking it out and getting a feel for the role? No, that's not a mistake. That's a smart girl keeping her options open."

"It's still in California," I replied.

"Which requires her to leave," Magnolia said. "Did you ask her to stay?"

I shook my head.

"Why not?"

I didn't answer for a minute. Then, "If she wants to go, I won't hold her back."

"Even if she's going to a job she will hate and moving to California of all the damned places."

I shrugged. "It's her choice."

"But you tried to talk her out of the job, no? Did I misunderstand?"

"I shared my concerns."

"Right, so, you told her it was a disaster in the making but did you tell her you wanted her to stay? That you cared about her and you wanted her in your life on a daily, in-person basis?"

It felt like I was stepping on a land mine when I replied, "No."

"Let me ask you again: Why not? And you can't say anything about holding her back because you negated all that by trying to sink the job from the start."

"Because—because I don't know. All right? I don't know. And I meant it about holding her back. I don't want her staying here for me."

Magnolia shook a few tablets from the antacid bottle. "Why not?"

"Because that's not a good enough reason to make anyone stay."

"Isn't it though?"

I stared at her, confused. "How can you even say that? I can't ask her to give up everything just because I want her with me."

"Didn't she give up everything before she met you?"

Given up or taken away, the difference was all in perspective and perspective was the only thing that mattered. "I can't ask her to stay for me," I repeated.

"I can tell you believe that but I don't think it's true. I think she needs to hear that you want her to stay. You can't leave it up to inference." Magnolia shifted and winced again. "You are a lot of great things but expressive and communicative are not among them. Tell her that you want her here and you also want to make it work with her career."

I shook my head because it wasn't that simple, it was never that simple, but my mother bustled in through the back door before I could respond. It was a good thing. I didn't want to talk about this anymore.

"Let me take those," I said to Mom, relieving her of the heavy grocery totes. "What is in here? A twenty-pound turkey?"

"A fifteen-pound chicken," she replied. "Your sister asked for my lemon roasted chicken with orzo and—"

"And she needs fifteen pounds of it?" I asked with a laugh.

"For the record, I did not ask for lemon roasted chicken with orzo. I mentioned that I'd been in the mood for orzo but I only liked it with Mom's chicken."

I gave Magnolia a smirk. "Close enough, don't you think?"

"Linden, put those cartons of milk in the fridge for me while I check your sister's blood pressure."

"Your sister's blood pressure is fine and doesn't need hourly monitoring, thank you greatly," Magnolia said. "But her foot is asleep and she could use a hand getting up so she can visit the bathroom for the second time in an hour."

Mom rushed over to help Magnolia gain her feet while I filed away the groceries. They went back and forth about how my sister was feeling, who my mother ran into at the market, what we'd do about Thanksgiving dinner, seeing as the babies would arrive by then and they, of course, changed everything.

That seemed so strange to me. I didn't know what it would be like for everything to change. As far as my life went, there wasn't much variation. Trees and forests, my family, ball games. Sex when I felt like it, adventure when I was bored. That was enough for me. It was all I needed. All I wanted.

I didn't want the most stubborn, independent woman in the world. No. Not at all.

Except I did, I wanted her very much and I wanted her to abandon her fake smiles and the affected voice and all the things that drained the range and raw beauty out of her.

I wanted her to change everything for me because of course she would, and someday, I wanted my mother to hover over her and roast a chicken simply because she mentioned it. I wanted to burn with fury because she created another hazard for herself without realizing any of it. I wanted to be driven to distraction by her inability to manage simple things like rotaries and wall paint and her simultaneous ability to pull off the impossible with little effort. I wanted to wonder what we'd do about the holidays because everything had changed, everything.

But I hadn't asked her to stay—didn't even think I could—and I was too busy scowling to go home and see about salvaging this wreck before it was too late.

I was allowed my scowl, dammit. I was allowed some bitterness, some resentment. She crashed into my world, all crowbars and chaos and that peach-sweet charm, and I was damn well entitled to snarl over the fact she picked up the mess she made of me and left.

This was her fault. She was responsible for this, for my scowling. I didn't ask for any of it. The last thing I needed