Page 17 of Endless Southern Love

“Of course,” Maye and Lacie push aside, letting Marigold sit in between them. Right away, the two girls start chatting with her. I walk back to the front, where I can see the room, but barely take my eyes off Marigold even though the knife in my heart tells me to look away.

seven

wade

At six, I call it quits and head to my parents’ house without digging up the garden for the elementary school. Ever since Goldie came to live with me, I’ve had to find some work-life balance and put her first. Life was definitely easier when she lived with her mom. I could work until the sun set and never had to worry about things like homework and bathtime. Now, my priorities are different. While I love my job and customers, my daughter needs me, and honestly, I need her. And if it wasn’t for my parents, I’m not sure how I’d be able to do this. On nights like this, they feed her dinner and pack leftovers for me to take home.

After picking Goldie up from my parents’, we head home. She seems much happier now than when I dropped her off at school. She skips along the paved path and bounds up the stairs to our porch. Goldie holds the screen door open for me while I slip the key into the lock and turn the handle.

“Can we get a dog?”

“No,” I tell her automatically. I’m not home enough to care for a dog and it wouldn’t be fair to him or her to spend all day in a crate. “How about a cat?”

Goldie’s eyes widen. “For reals?”

I nod and set her bag down. “I think they’re self-sufficient.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means they can take care of themselves. For example, if I put a bunch of food out for it in the morning, the cat will probably eat a little bit here and there, saving some for dinner. Plus, they have a litter box, so we don’t have to let them out all the time,” I tell her as she follows me into the kitchen and heads right to the refrigerator. I’m about to ask her why when she pulls out the pitcher of sweet tea. “Can I have some?”

Nodding, I head to the cabinet and pull two glasses out, and then reach over her head to open the freezer. After dropping some ice cubes into the glasses, I steady the pitcher while she pours. Letting her grow up is hard. I want to give her some independence but I’m afraid of losing my little girl. She’s been the best part of my life since the day she was born.

“Cats poo and pee in the house?”

“In a litter box,” I say again. “And we clean it, but it’ll be your chore.”

Her nose scrunches and she shakes her head. “I’ll take a dog instead.”

“Right.” I sigh and put the empty pitcher into the sink. “What do you say we take these to the porch?”

Goldie beams. She hands a glass to me and then leads us back to the front porch where two white rocking chairs wait. She takes the one on the far end, sitting down and sighing as if she had a hard day and busted her back in the blazing sun all day.

My yellow and white trimmed home with its wide porch sits along the Magnolia river. Ever since growing up on the river, it’s where I always wanted to live. It’s where I said I’d buy a house and remodel it to be perfect. The buying part was easy, but the remolding part is slow moving. Once winter hits, not that Alabama has a true winter, I’ll pick a room and get something done. So far, I’ve done Goldie’s room, mine, and the upstairs bathroom. It’s just the two of us, and usually it’s just me. I’m in no rush.

My parents live down the river from me and not far from the Sweet Magnolia B & B, which is owned by Ina Meyers whose granddaughter, Wren, recently moved to town to help run the establishment. According to my mother, Wren has been a game changer when it comes to business and has brought tourism back to Magnolia Grove.

“Grandma says you’re going to take a fancy class at the B & B in a few weeks?”

Goldie nods. “It’s going to teach me to be real southern,” she says in thick drawl which will undoubtedly irk her mother.

I have no idea who is going to teach the class, but I can’t imagine it’ll be Ina or even Wren. Maybe they’ve tapped Ms. Linda to teach the youngsters, or my mother. Thoughts on the class give me pause. I remember going through cotillion classes when I was twelve. That was nothing short of a nightmare, made more so by my gushing mom when I had to wear a tux to the ball. The highlight of my pain and torture and the only saving grace of the night was my date—Lemon—who wore the most beautiful blue dress I had ever seen. Now that I’m an adult, I realize it wasn’t the dress that was beautiful, it was her.

“You can be whatever you want to be, Goldie. No need to define yourself as a southern girl. Your mom isn’t.”

“I know,” she says as her legs swing back and forth. “Grandma says all girls my age need etiquette.”

My mom’s right, but that can be taught at home.

“What else does Grandma say when you’re with her?”

Goldie shrugs. “Not much unless she’s on the phone and then she tells all her friends how you need a wife.”

If I had sweet tea in my mouth I would’ve spat it across the porch. The last thing I need right now is a wife.

“I tell Grandma you don’t need a wife because you have lots of lawn to mow.”

“You’re right,” I say, laughing.

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