The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating(76)

That climb, it never ended. Not really. There was no singular point of getting it or being all the way there. But there was a big difference between taking the first step and having the summit in sight.

And I could see it now. I didn't know everything and I was certain I'd get lost again but the air was thinner up here and my bags were lighter and now I knew there was more ahead of me than behind.

I nodded, brushed away a tear. "I feel like it's everything."





Chapter Thirty-Two





I didn't have a date today. Not tonight, tomorrow, or the day after. My week was wide open, and for the first time in months it belonged to me.

I needed it to be this way. I needed to get a few things straight with myself before seeing Rob or Ben again.

Two days ago at Matt and Lauren's new house was the last I'd seen my boys. My boys. Ha. That was such an oversimplification of the matter. They were good men. Good to me and good for me.

A handful of months ago, my only wish in this romantic life of mine was being wanted. To be someone's first and best choice. Back then, I'd thought there was nothing better than belonging to someone, fully and irrevocably.

But it took a shove from my mother, a hot, hot summer, and the affections of two very different, very precious men to realize I belonged to myself. I didn't need Ben. I didn't need Rob. I needed me and nothing more. And that was the ah-ha moment of all this—the delicate space between needs and wants. I needed to know and love myself and I wanted a man who knew and loved me as I was.

After two decades' worth of rejection, it was difficult to take up that mindset. Part of me was compelled to binge on the affection Ben and Rob offered. Take it all and squirrel it away because they'd snatch it back soon. But the other part knew that wasn't necessary. It wasn't going anywhere and even if it did, I loved myself.

The best part—and yeah, there was a best part of dating—was I had a man who knew and loved me in all my part-time hot mess ways.

And I was enough.





Chapter Thirty-Three





I had a date with an overgrown mess.

I stood in my kitchen early on Saturday morning, cold brew coffee in one hand and my phone in the other, and stared out at my backyard.

The phone vibrated in my hand but I set it down without glancing at the screen. The messages would keep.

I wasn't avoiding anything. I was spending time with myself and my thoughts. This past week, I'd worked, walked Gronk, and slept alone. It wasn't entirely fair to disappear but I needed this. I needed to be certain.

With certainty came a shiver of dread. That certainty meant saying goodbye to someone, to altering our relationship forever. I'd never been the one to initiate the goodbye. I'd always been on the receiving end of those goodbyes and I didn't enjoy this side of the exchange any better.

But just as my mother had predicted I would, I knew. I knew, I'd known for longer than I cared to admit, and I was ready to take the next step. But first, I had a date with my garden.

It was hot today, just as the tail-end of summer was meant to be. Hot, hazy, humid. Unpleasant, uncomfortable air, the kind that swaddled your skin and brought sweat to the strangest of places. Behind the ears, the backs of the knees, the crease of the elbow.

Rather than taking refuge from this heat, I pulled on my gloves. Gronk was sprawled on the floor, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. He didn't react when I opened the back door.

"Are you coming?" I called to him. He lifted his head, stared at me for a moment, and returned to his sprawl. "Don't you dare scratch on this door to come out in five minutes. And don't think about barking at me from the bedroom window. I'm not having it."

He replied with a single tail wag and a lengthy snore-sigh.

I stepped out into the morning sun and assessed the condition of the yard. It was a strange parcel of land, jagged and asymmetrical, the kind deeded in the time of farmlands and horse-drawn carriages. It was a rarity in this area. An old rock ledge marked the property lines on either side and a pocket-sized forest formed the back boundary. The neighborhood surrounding my aunt's land was nothing like this, each plot carved up into orderly rectangular boxes, symbols of postwar prosperity and order.

My aunt's aesthetic veered toward flowering wild and it showed. When she'd purchased this home forty-odd years ago, the yard had been a failed experiment in English rose gardening. She'd hacked it all back and replaced the roses with every colorful bloom she could find. But after a few years of careful tending, the roses pushed past the new plantings, edging themselves back into prominence.

Now, the garden lived on like an old memory book. English roses from a time before any Santillian women lived here. Lilacs, irises, gladiolus, zinnias, dahlias, hydrangeas from my aunt. Ferns and creeping rosemary from me. There was a magnolia tree out front, one planted the year I was born. There was an ash and linden too but the pink flowering magnolia was Aunt Francesca's favorite.

It took me all of my thirty-four years to figure it out but now I knew I'd always been wanted. My parents, my brothers, my friends, my aunt—they'd circled around me right from the start. It wasn't the same as wanting to be loved and desired but I'd learned being the object of desire wasn't the great accomplishment of my life.

Sharing love with someone who'd earned a spot in my life, that was an accomplishment. That was worth working for. Being desired was the first step in a miles-long hike.