They lived next door to us for a couple of years. Bash, Maggie, and I spent long summers trampling through the tall grass, catching frogs, and building forts. Those were some of the best summers of my life.
I rub my chest. Sometimes I get a weird ache when I think back to those days.
On the way back to Charming where I attend Lone Star State, I stare out the window and watch grove after grove of mesquite and cedar and oak trees roll on by. Unfortunately, now that my sister has been in my ear, I can’t stop thinking about Maggie.
Even though she annoys the hell out of me, if Magnolia wasn’t so dang mouthy, she’d be a stunner with her thick black hair, dark brown eyes, and that adorable sprinkle of freckles across her nose. And when she glares at me over the rim of her glasses, well, sometimes I forget what my name is.
She might’ve been scrawny when we were kids, but she’s one hundred percent woman now with curves upon mouthwatering curves. I saw her working out at the gym last semester and nearly swallowed my tongue. She was wearing a sports bra and these little gym shorts that…
Mentally, I come to a screeching halt and remind myself she’s firmly in the no-fly zone. Her brother Sebastian made sure of it. In fact, Bash took each of his friends aside senior year and told us he’d lop off our balls with a rusty razor if we got near Magnolia. At the time, I’d already vowed to myself I wouldn’t check her out. Bash trusted me around her, and I’d never do anything to jeopardize that.
As someone with a sister, I get it. No one wants their horny friends making eyes at their sibling.
So I make a point to not look at Maggie Morales.
Even if I sometimes want to.
2
MAGGIE
Stretching as far as I can go, I reach for the last box of discounted macaroni on the top shelf as I calculate what’s in my cart already and how much more I can afford before I get paid on Friday.
My cracked phone blares my mom’s ringtone, and I scramble to answer it. “Mom, what’s wrong?”
Her warm laughter immediately puts me at ease. “Why do you always think something’s wrong when I call?”
I can think of a number of reasons, but listing them off in the middle of the grocery store isn’t going to help my mood. “Y’all are okay, though? Frannie’s good?”
My little sister is autistic, and my mom sometimes has a hard time juggling everything at home.
“Francesca had a great day.” Thank God. At least someone did. “She’s doing so much better now that we got her off processed foods. But that keto stuff means she loses weight too easily, so she needs to eat more.”
The diet isn’t keto, but it cuts out certain carbs, so I get what she means. I eye my grocery basket and put back a few things. “I can send you more money if you need it.”
Frannie’s diet is expensive. Why is it that healthy food costs a small fortune? I’d ask my brother to pitch in, but he’s had some major car repairs lately, and he’s still trying to pay that off. Plus, he’s starting law school soon and needs the cash as much as I do. I figure someday when he’s a hotshot attorney, it’ll be his turn. I’m just holding down the fort in the meanwhile.
“No, Magnolia. You need that money. I just wanted to let you know we got invited to Kayla’s wedding. I can’t go, of course, because who’s going to watch the kiddo? But it was so thoughtful of her to invite us.”
Single moms have it so hard. They’re the unsung heroes of our society. “You’re awesome, Mom. I love you.”
“Love you too, mija.” She always rolls with my non sequiturs. Finally, she asks, “Did you mail the property tax check?”
Today it really hit. How hard it’s going to be to afford the utilities and my textbooks after I sent that check. And this was only the first half. I owe the other half come summer.
My eyes sting. “I’m sorry. You can say it. Tell me it was a mistake.”
“I’d never do that, honey. You did what you thought was right. Your daddy would be so happy to know you’re taking good care of that house.”
Hearing this makes me more upset. My father was born in that house. His older brother Hidalgo inherited it, and when he passed recently, he left it and a few assets to me for some reason. That old Victorian is huge and decrepit. I love it with my whole heart and soul because it’s a link to my father, but it’s bleeding me dry. It’s sucking out the money I should be using to buy my sister her special food and help my mom with her rent.
“I’m so stupid,” I whisper. “Why didn’t you knock some sense into me?”
Genius that I am, I thought I could renovate it and make it nice for my mom and sister to move into. Since the house was paid off, I thought I could afford everything, but I’m slowly realizing I’m not so great at flipping houses.
Plus, it’s more expensive than I thought to repair, and the property taxes are ridiculous for something that looks straight out of a horror movie. I’ve had to hustle all year with side jobs just to write that check I sent last week. I’m a junior in college. Why didn’t any class ever teach us about property taxes?
I hate to say it, but Sebastian was right. I should’ve sold my uncle’s house when I had that offer last year. It would’ve broken my heart to let it go, but I wouldn’t be struggling right now.
