I’m in the shower when she wanders into my bathroom. She stands at the sink, fishes her toothbrush out of the toothbrush holder — gives me a new feeling.
Never had anyone here long enough for them to put their toothbrush in there with mine.
It’s been almost a week now.
I was in my head about it before, how much Magnolia was in my head.
She’s barely left my sight so I’ll give myself that one. But also, it’s not true that I don’t get like this with other girls. I do. They’re just usually on a canvas. Or wood, or paper — whatever, I’m not particular.
No need to get weird about it — I find Magnolia Parks fascinating the same way I found Klimt’s Judith fascinating. For weeks after I got her I’d just stare at her on my wall, wonder a bunch of things about her, what she thought, how she felt, if she was real. Pretty much the same shit I wonder about Parks. It’s no different. Beautiful things keep me up at night, what can I say?
That’s all she is, just another beautiful thing — won’t tell her that though because she doesn’t seem to think that’s a compliment — but it’s what she is. I don’t usually go out for a week after I take a painting. Just sort of stay home and stare up at it, proud of the thing I acquired. And all that is a welcome revelation of self because before I was feeling weird and shit, like maybe I — nothing. It was nothing. Stupid. But I realise now that there’s nothing special about Magnolia except that she’s something I’ve wanted for a long time. And I’ve had her now, so if I just lean into the post-had infatuation in a few days I’ll be done with her; I’ll be the thing she tells her ex about to make him squirm and she’ll be another thing I look at on my walls that once I was fixated on and now I look at with an occasional fondness.
Bit of a relief, if I’m honest — because I haven’t wanted her to leave. Played on my mind a bit, all the reasons why, but now I understand and it’s fine. She doesn’t have to leave and I don’t need to feel like I should want her to.
“What are you doing today?” I ask, wrapping a towel around my waist.
“It’s the Fuck Off Brunch,” she tells me, mouth full of toothpaste.
“The what?” I frown.
“It’s this thing we do every year. It’s actually technically called The Fuck Off New Year’s Brunch,”
I squint at her, waiting for more.
“Well, so—” She rolls her eyes, impatient. “New Year’s Day brunch, everyone’s hungover and gross and nowhere good is open to eat anyway. Plus, you sort of need the 2nd to recover from how terrible the first day of the year usually is, but by January 3rd—” She gives me a look, nose in the air — I brush my mouth up against hers quickly just because I feel like it and because it’s not weird now in light of her just being a collection piece to me and nothing else. “—everything’s open, no one’s hung, everyone’s fresh.”
“That’s cute. Annual brunch…” I give her a look, make it look like I think it’s sort of dumb but I kind of like the stupid traditions they all do.
I keep watching her — bit hard not to. She steals your focus, even first thing in the morning. Art does that to you, so does her face.
Best way I can describe it is the first time I saw The Ninth Wave — you know the one? By Ivan Aivazovsky, the one in St Petersburg.
First time I saw that, I kind of just stood there, taken aback. How he paints the light, how it breaks through on the horizon and over the water, how it makes the dark darker, how it gives you a visceral feeling in your chest when you see it and the light hits you how it hits the people in the wreck. It’s bigger than you think it is, too: 221 cm × 332 cm. It kind of swallows you whole.
So does she, I guess.
She runs her fingers under her eyes, staring at herself, and sighs quietly.
“Nervous?”
“No,” she says quickly, standing up straighter. So, yes. “Why would I be nervous?” she asks because she’s proud.
“Because you’ll be by yourself and he’ll be there with her.” I tell her and she frowns a bit.
“You’ll be the fittest one there.” I nudge her with my shoulder from behind.
“Yes.” She nods once, pushing some hair behind her ear, doesn’t look away from her reflection, doesn’t smile at the compliment either. Don’t know if it is a compliment for a girl like her anyway as much as it’s just fact—
She blinks a couple of time. Breathes out her nose then turns to me.
“And then what?” She gives me a shrug that’s meant to be light but it’s not. It’s the shrug of a girl who’s spent her whole life being the most beautiful person in every room just to have woken up one day to discover that ultimately, it means fuck all.
“Do you want me to come to this?”
“No—” She shakes her head quickly.
I pull back. “No?”
She shakes her head more. “Well, I know we’re not — I know that you’re not like… that.”
I tilt my head. “Like what?”
“Like, the sort of boy you bring to brunch.” She shrugs, gives me a quick smile.
“First up—” I tap my own chest. “Not a boy. And then, yeah—” I shrug. “I’m not the sort of man—” Flick her a look for that misnomer “—that you bring to brunch.”
On principal. Have I been to brunch with girls before? Yes. Have I slept with them after that brunch? Yep. Have I ever been to brunch with a girl who I slept with the night before? Nope.
Oh, except for maybe Josette, if she counts, except it’s different because we’re mates.
But in general, no. It’s too messy.
Brunch after sex is committal. Makes a girl get attached, but now this one — she didn’t even ask me. That bodes well. No feelings on her end, which is good. I don’t want them there.
Wouldn’t mind going to brunch though.
“It’s fine—” She gives me a brave smile. “I can go by myself. I’ll just drink a lot, it’ll be fine.”
“I’ll come,” I tell her.
And then her eyes go bright. “Really?”
“Yeah. I don’t have much on today—” That’s a lie, but I shrug anyway. “Pretty slow around these parts at the minute.” Also a lie.
Why am I lying to spend time with her?
She spins around, facing me, and my eye snags on my favourite freckle she has on her nose and I don’t like that I have one.
“Thank you.” She gives me a little smile.
I bite down on my bottom lip and grin up at her. “As far as thanks go, Tiges, I’m not really a big words guy…”
She tilts her head. “Is that right?”
I boost her up onto the vanity. “That’s right.”
“Why do your friends go everywhere with you?” she whispers to me quietly, eyeing Declan and Kekoa over her shoulder.
“Security,” I tell her.
“Rubbish—” She gives me a little shove as she stares up at me. “Who could hurt you?”
There is something about walking into a room with her — all the eyes that go on you, the heads that turn, how every other male looks instantly fucked off with you — it’s a bit addictive.
When we get to the restaurant, the whisper ripple that follows her everywhere happens and I catch myself touching her and I don’t know why I do it— to protect her or to just be closer to the shiny thing, let everyone know that she’s with me— I can’t tell, but Jo spots us first and gets on his feet.
“Oi—” He opens up his arms to hug me. “Brunch?” he says under his breath and I shoot him a dark look.
“Shut it.”
He flicks his eyebrows amused.
“We’re going to need an extra seat—” BJ tells the waiter as I ruffle his brother’s hair.
“Nah—” I wave off the waiter and the chair, pulling Parks down into my lap, pulling her back into me and staring down Ballentine as I do. “We’re good.”
Magnolia looks back at me, eyes all amused because she knows I’m being antagonistic, so I nudge her with my nose.
Hope no one sees it because it probably looks cuter than I meant it to.
Magnolia leans over the table and grabs Taura Sax’s hand. “Miss you.”
“Same,” she sighs.
Ballentine’s girlfriend looks over at her. “Where’ve you been?”
Parks flicks her eyes over at her, opens her mouth but says nothing—
“With me,” I say for her, then look over at Taura, flicking her a look. “I’d tell you to come join us, Tausie, but it sounds like you’ve got your hands full already—”
Magnolia lets out this little gasp and turns around in my lap, smacking me both accidentally with her hair and also on purpose with her hand.
“So rude—“ she scowls. “Say you’re sorry.”
My mouth falls open a bit, because I’ve never been scolded in my whole fucking life by anyone before besides my sister.
It’s not my favourite thing, but also, I have about fourteen thoughts running through my mind of what I’d like to do with her and I know I won’t get to do one of them if she’s shitty at me, so I give her a glare then look over at her best friend.
“I’m joking, Taurs. I’m sorry.”
Then follows a silence. Christian cocks an eyebrow, Jonah smiles confused and Taura sits back in her chair, arms crossed over her staring at Magnolia.
“Holy shit. How good in bed are you?”
I’ve had better, is the honest to God answer — and still, she’s probably my favourite. I catch myself frowning as I think that, turn it into a smile, remind myself she’s just Judith on the wall a week after I stole her, that’s all. That’s all, I tell myself, and I don’t think anymore into it, not even when she takes my hand to cover her face when it goes embarrassed.
Magnolia and Ballentine have a passive-aggressive conversation over the table and Christian leans over towards me and mouths, ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
I nod my head subtly towards Parks but that clarifies nothing, he just shakes his head, as though that’s not an answer in and of itself.
He tips his head towards her. “What are you doing?”
I toss him a look. “Just having a bit of fun, Dad.”
“Yeah, Dad—” Magnolia chimes in. “We’re just having a bit of fun.”
Christian rolls his eyes and Parks reaches out to poke him in the shoulder.
“I’m glad you didn’t bring Vanna here today—”
“Why’s that?” Christian asks, even though he knows.
Magnolia looks at him like he’s an idiot. He is an idiot. “Because she’s very awful.”
Such a fucking understatement. Absolute pain in the arse.
“Is she?” Christian says, just to rile her.
“Yes.” Parks nods.
“How?”
“She’s rude, she’s spoilt, she’s entitled, she’s—”
Christian gives me a goading smile. “If you think she’s entitled, Parks — God help us.”
Magnolia’s chin drops to her chest and she glares up at her friend.
“I’m not entitled,” she says and across the table BJ snorts.
I snap my head in his direction, eyebrows up.
“That was a sneeze, yeah?” I stare him down and he says nothing, just glares at me. “Gesundheit.” I tell him without looking away, and he doesn’t flinch, reaches for his drink, takes a drawn out sip, doesn’t look threatened how you’d think he might — don’t know who’s going to look away first — won’t be me.
Then my phone rings and I look down at it. Fuck. He’ll take that like he won it, but he didn’t.
I dig my chin into Parks’ shoulder.
“I gotta take this—“ I tell her. “Order me a drink.”
She nods brightly. “What do you fancy?”
“Just whatever you’re having.” I shrug.
She sits up straighter, looking pleased. “Do you like French 75’s too!”
“No— Fuck—“ I scowl, annoyed. “Jo, can you—”
Jo nods, rolls his eyes and waves me on.
I take a few steps towards Koa and Declan seated at a nearby table — make sure I’m out of earshot from Magnolia when I answer it.
“What?”
It’s TK.
“Hello to you too—” he says from the other end.
“I’m at breakfast.”
“With Magnolia?” TK asks, merrily.
“Yeah?” I frown.
“Woah! You never get breakfast with girls, this is—”
“We’re not having a fucking gab, Teeks. What do you want?”
“Oh — right.” He clears his throat. “Don’t freak out—”
“Right.” I pinch the bridge of my nose in anticipation. “Not my preferred introduction to news, but go on—”
There’s a bit of a pause.
“We lost him.”
“Which him?” I ask loudly and clearly even though I know which him.
“Brown,” TK says. “He was in—”
“Valletta,” I interrupt. “I know. And then?”
“And then we tracked him onto a flight to Marrakesh. He boarded the flight — he never got off it.”
“Bullshit.”
“He’s been flying commercial—”
“Why the fuck would he fly commercial?” I respond, annoyed.
“Sloppy, maybe? I don’t know. Anyway — I’ve been watching customs at all the Morrocan airports: Rabat, Fes, Casablanca — nothing so far.”
“Fuck!” I say loud enough for Parks to look over with a little, curious frown. Nod my chin at her, mouth to her I’ll be one more second.
“I don’t like this—” I tell TK.
“I know.”
“Fix it.”
“Yeah.” I can hear him typing away in the background. “I’m on it.”
I hang up and Koa stands up, wordlessly asks me about the call with a look.
“We’ve lost Brown.”
Declan crosses his arms over his chest and stares between us. “Well shit.”
