Magnolia Read Online Free PDF Page B

Patrick? He took that class with you, didn’t he?”
    I can’t help but roll my eyes. “This has nothing to do with him. We’ve never even talked about it. This is just something that I really, really want to do.”
    Daddy rakes a hand through his hair. “Look, Jemma, if you’re serious about this, then let me and your mom look over the application materials, okay?”
    Mama shoots him a glare, and a little breath of triumph makes me sit up straight in my seat. I nod, barely able to believe what I’m hearing.
    â€œLet’s give her a chance to make her case, Shelby,” he tells her. “If she’s really interested in film—”
    â€œThis is New York City we’re talking about, Brad,” Mama shoots back. “I mean, maybe Atlanta or even Houston . . .” She trails off, shaking her head. “But I am not sending my baby girl off to New York, away from everyone and everything she knows.”
    Daddy lays a gentle hand on her wrist and then looks back at me, his green gaze steady and serious. “Your mom and I willdiscuss it more later, okay, hon? In private. I don’t want you to get your hopes up, though,” he warns. “NYU is a private university. I’m not even sure we could afford it.” He glances over at my mom apologetically, but she remains silent, her mouth set in a hard line. “Now, how ’bout some lunch? You hungry?”
    As if on cue, my stomach growls. “Starved,” I say, suppressing a grin. Because, okay, I know he warned me not to get my hopes up and all, but that went better than I expected. Way better.
    Maybe there’s a chance I’ll get that other life I imagined, after all.

ACT I
Scene 4
    T he roast is delicious, Laura Grace,” Daddy says as he sets down his silver— real silver—and reaches for his crystal water goblet.
    Laura Grace beams at him, her pale blond hair perfectly coiffed, not a strand out of place. “Why, thank you, Bradley. I wish I could take credit for the meal, but it all belongs to Lou. I don’t know what I’d do without that woman. We might just starve to death.”
    â€œAmen,” Mr. Marsden mutters, and Laura Grace shoots him a sidelong glare.
    It’s true, though. Laura Grace can’t boil a pot of water without burning it, much less manage an actual meal. If not for Lou, who’s been working for the Marsdens for as long as I can remember, they probably would starve to death.
    Laura Grace does, however, set a beautiful table. Everything, from the starched linen tablecloth to the Blue Willow china, the perfectly polished silver to the delicate crystal, is absolutely perfect and set just so for her dinner guests. An embroidered linen napkin is laid across my lap—a far cry from the supermarket-brand paper napkins we use at home.
    Two colorful floral arrangements complement the decor, one set in the middle of the long mahogany table and another on the matching sideboard near the swinging door that leads toward the kitchen. Candles in elaborate silver candelabras cast a soft, flickering glow across it all, creating a warm, inviting palette.
    Sunday dinner at the Marsdens’ is more than a meal—it’s an occasion. I’m dressed accordingly, wearing a pale green sundress with a sweater to ward off the chill of the air-conditioning.
    â€œWell, I blame my mama, God rest her soul,” Laura Grace says with a sigh. “She never taught me how to cook. You have no idea how lucky you are, Jemma—you and Nan both. Your mama’s a great cook, and she made sure to teach you. You girls’ husbands are surely going to thank her one day.”
    It’s impossible to miss the pointed look she gives Ryder.
    He ignores her and continues to attack his own roast. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt, but his tie is neat and his khakis perfectly pressed. He cuts off a slice of rare meat and