Dedicated to all people pleasers.

You are enough. You are lovely. You are more than a duty.

2 Corinthians 12: 9 - 10

Magnolia Simmons forced herself to sit outside on the porch, cold breeze made the tip of her nose scarlet and snot ran down her face. Brown and black evergreen trucks, branches, and plants were bare and vulnerable to the season. She needed quiet. A chance for her thoughts to be louder than conversations. Mother's prodding sentences, "How's school going? Got graduation gowns for next semester? Oh, where's Peyton? His family should be on their way over. I hope he arrives soon. And nothing comes up like last year." Robert – Mom's second chance at love – wore silly bright green elf hat, including the fake fabric pointy ears. Television turned on in the background, turkey cooked in the crock pot, cranberry sauce sliced on the crystal glass, discolored sparkly Christmas tree as tall as a toddler – presents, overwhelmed and created a disproportion – family members clung on, wanting to know answers.

Magnolia let out a sigh.

Her breath visible.

How did it come to this, she thought.

Her ruby coat wrapped her torso, velvet belt held the material together. She glanced up. The dainty star lights hung up underneath the gutter.

Peyton.

' ' ' ' '

"I'm dropping out of college."

His lopsided smile makes me pause. His reaction. Brown eyes almost as if irises are oozing caramels that then freeze the color. To keep it in one phase. His chin has stubbles all over, dark brown close to a midnight black.

The pre-thanksgiving lights give an after-shadow appearance; they're hung up all over the sonority's house. Crystal, Sarah, and I stay up past midnight, in our silly holiday pajamas – rectangular presents, elves, Santa's reindeer, all the while blasting "All I Want For Christmas" by Mariah Carey.

I blink.

"Wait, what-" I sit down on a tall stool. "What about our plan?"

The one where we've been working our butts to survive junior year at Lloyd University to leap into senior, then graduate. Where my mom has a wedding arrangement, the boat house venue where Grandma Piper and Grandpa John threw rice on the emerald hill and water in the lake, what utensils to use and rearrange, once we've graduate and got a job. What about –

"We still have our plan. It's just in a different direction."

Breathe Magnolia. I need to breathe.

"Okay," I respond, "What's this new direction?"

He pushes his circular tan glasses up. Nose is a bit of a hook. It helps keep his glasses from moving much. His brown eyes always calm me. . . it's just not at this moment.

"Electrician."

He adds jazz hands. To assistance with the announcement.

I soak in his statement.

"Uncle Rick has shown me – taught me these past several years as a summer job. And I really enjoy it. He told me, I can apply for a Trade's school, and he's willing to pay for the time since I'm already his employee."

I nod.

Though.

I have other thoughts. What's mom going to say? She'll tell me – oh wait – dad – he won't like if we can't "survive" – I know they both like Peyton – which is rare for any incident since all my life I've stepped in the middle to keep mittens, apples, glass cups, wooden chairs being thrown at each other –

"Maggie."

I look at him. "I'm sorry. I'm here."

' ' ' ' '

Maggie slumped over, her elbows rested on top of her knees. Fingers laced in her chestnut hair. She began to rub in the same spot. Over and over. Circle after circle. Her brain ran through memories, throughout the time she spent with Peyton. When they've met each other, it was through their parents' (of course) since both sides desired an equal "well-endowed" partner for their child. Mom was head CEO of a makeup and cleanser company, True Beauty, and Dad was head CEO and editor and chief of Sports and Medicine Magazine, Rough and Tough. One additional thing they agreed on was their daughter's future. Especially in the romantic department.

Just. The constant questions in what she looked for. Either male or female. She told them male.

But the fact, they kept searching. They organized packets as if the guy had a resume. Like a job.

Sixteen-year-old, Maggie had to not only juggle her parent's finalizing their divorce, swept her seven-year-old sister, Lily, under her protection from the yelling and fast pace event, and made sure not to drop all her textbooks in the high school hallways; she had to answer all their meticulous questions. She nodded. Gave short simple statements. Just to witness their smiles as they wrote down what she wanted. A nod. They sometimes would even talk to each other. Crazy. Maybe they would get back together.  

Wishful thinking.

Maggie leaned back against the chair. Her legs stretched out now. Then she bent, she created a rocking sensation; the cool breeze picked up as she continued the pattern. Forward and backward. A quick swipe on her nose, a burning sensation occurred, too much material on her nostrils.

The first time I met Peyton was . . .

' ' ' ' '

"Magnolia?"

I shut my locker door. Lunch period just ends. I'm in no rush to run off to World Geography class. When will high school be over? Two more months. I'm almost there. A wild violet sticker glue on the tan locker door, I need the calmness and reminder; the saying 'I am enough' in calligraphy etch underneath the wild flower.

"Yes."

There he is.

Hands clutch three textbooks: Wuthering Heights, Physics, and Music Theory. He grins.

I look him up and down. His height a little taller than me; the top of my head reaches his neck, close to his chin.

"Hi! I've heard so much about you."

He holds out his left hand to me. His thin circular glasses press up against his face, the frame's top part hits his forehead.

I return the gesture.

"It's incredible what you've been doing with the National Honor Society, encouraging others to go above and beyond the service hour requirements – you're leading by example. And you being first chair for Symphonic Band. I was always too nervous to try out for band . . . I'm more of an acoustic guitar kind of guy. But no singing. I can't carry a tone for nothing."

I give a half smile. We both let go once he realizes how long he has been shaking my hand.

It's kind of creepy. Especially hearing it from someone I've never met before.

"Um, thanks," I scratch the top of my head, "And you are?"

"Oh yes," he pauses, "I'm sorry. I thought – I shouldn't assume. I'm Peyton Lewis. My Dad owns an app company call, ClickBlink, games to keep our brain active. Your mom and dad reached out to me."

Oh. My!

"T-They did?"

He slips his hands into his jean pocket; no wrinkles along the pants' legs.

"Yeah."

I can't talk.

What am I suppose to say?

I just stare at him. His caramelize eyes. Freckles on his cheeks . . . one, no wait, three freckles find their way up his neck. As if they were small steps leading somewhere.

"I'm sorry about that," I finally say. I lick my lips. "Must be annoying. I'm really, really sorry. My family reaching out to your family and you. You probably went through an awful process."

He shakes his head. "No. Not at all."

His lopsided grin appears. Pink under tones on his bottom lip.

I find that hard to believe. "I'm sorry."

"No reason to be sorry, if anything. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he declares. "It's just crazy."

"What is?" I whisper.

"How we attend the same school . . . I've never seen you before."

I touch my book bag strap. "I agree."

' ' ' ' '

Maggie winced. The first time they met was in the high school corridor by her locker. It was truly silly . . . and yet so authentic. She rubbed her hands together. Muffled voices came from behind her.

They'll probably wonder where I went off to, she thought.

The dead grass was short, darker color . . . closer to brown than green. Snow would've enhanced the scene . . . covering up the blemishes and dull boring lawn. However, not for this Christmas.

The door opened.

Maggie flinched.

Anticipating her mother's speech: "What are you doing out here? Your Aunt and Uncle arrived from Canada and you haven't spoken to them. Come – Come, I need you dear. You always put the presents out. In an organized formation. Oh – please, please, put out the turkey, make sure there's a spoon."

Instead, Maggie was greeted with a dimple smile.

"Lily," Maggie breathed. "What are you doing out there?"

Lily walked up to her sister; the palm of her hands pressed against Maggie's knees, pushing down as she came closer to her face.

"Checking on you." Lily rubbed her nose on Maggie's.

Maggie smiled.

The neighbors said the phrase miracle baby about Lily. Others with no filter called – an "oops." Maggie was supposed to be an only child. Thank God, He had a different plan.

"You should go back inside," she wiped her eyes on her sleeve, getting teary eye from Lily's action. "Where it's warm."

"I'm good," Lily shrugged her shoulders, "I have enough clothes. I came out to see . . . well, Mom kept asking about you. I told her you were upstairs finishing up the last touches on her Christmas present."

Maggie tickled Lily. "You silly."

Lily sauntered away, trying to escape Maggie's touches. Her blonde hair curled on the ends, wisps touched her forehead with her bang length came down to her eyebrows. Her dark brown eyes similar to dark chocolates, the warmth behind them reached out to Maggie.

Lily's laughter was similar to a flute. High in pitch and almost like an air element to it.

"You would've done the same for me."

Would I have done the same? I know I need to do more – I have so much to learn, and to help with Lily. Mom said she needed someone to pick her up from school once the holidays were over. I could do that. It'll fine and fun, get to spend more time with Lily.

Maggie ran her fingers through her hair once more.

"Maggie."

"What?"

"You're doing it again."

"What am I doing?"

Lily walked over to the other rocking chair, a small coffee table sat in between the two chairs.

"You're overthinking." Lily used her heels to create the rocking motion, "Worrying if you've done a good enough job."

"How do you know if I am doing that?"

"Your nose begins to twitch. Your eyes appear smaller, as if you're squinting so much to overcompensate 'active' thinking."

She sees through me.

The fact a twelve-year-old witnessed Maggie's behavior and mannerisms . . . spoke more volume than even a single sentence.

She's not the only one who saw me . . .

' ' ' ' '

"Better?"

I nod. "Much."

Franklin Beerse's house parties are the main event, especially after a homecoming game against the rival team. I just know . . . the timing was late. Early December, the school reschedule it for that time. Week before Winter Formal Dance. I can't remember the score. That's the least of my worries. I've never attended his house parties, rumors and stories were born the following Monday mornings; his high ceiling, endless pop, alcoholic beverages, no parents, and the beautiful Ohio River right next to the house.

I knew my parents wouldn't allow any association.

So I was surprise when Peyton came up to me to ask, "Want to go to Franklin's party?"

Apparently, they are close friends. Childhood.

Out of shock and the fact . . . I wouldn't hear the end of, "He asked you out. Go!"

I agreed.

When we arrived, I felt sick. I would rub my arms up and down. The music's loud, I could feel the vibrations in my chest. Bright neon lights dance all around the walls and shined in people's eyes. My classmates would bump against me, a few would stop and say, "Magnolia. Oh my gosh! I wouldn't've thought you'd be here even if your parents paid you to attend."

I smell a bitter aroma.

I wave it off.

"We can go."

"No, I'm fine."

"Not with your body language."

We are standing in the corner. My arms across my chest. Scrunch up away from the noise.

How does he know?

"You promised your friend-"

"I told Franklin 'hi.' I won't be seeing him the rest of the night." Peyton says, "Trust me."

"Are you sure? I'm sorry I'm not partying like everyone else –"

"Let's go somewhere quiet."

Red alarms go off in my mind. I hesitate.

"Okay."

And now, here we are. In his car.

Actually, Franklin's car. Peyton borrow it for the night because . . . his parents haven't bought him a car. Not until he applies for college and gets an acceptance letter.

The old Toyato has cotton fabric seats. The car is turned off. My black leggings are keeping my legs warm . . . for the moment. Fluffy scarlet jacket wraps around my torso, I bring my legs up on the chair; the bottom of my shoes hit the car's arm rest where the door opener is.

"Yes, this is a lot better," I say.

It's quiet.

I hear screams and laughter in the distance towards the house. On the left, there is bed of rocks, leading towards the Ohio River; the water runs down the current. Logs stick out of the liquid, causes me to hear the rushing, tranquil sound.

"Next date," Peyton starts to talk, "we'll go somewhere less stressful. I mean – i-if there is another date."

The middle console where hidden treasures are stored, wadded up gum wrappers, cd cases, pencils, and other small items, creates a distance between us.

Peyton sits in the driver side. Steering wheel in his lap.

The red alarms are gone.

"Let's go on a coffee date. Oh wait, no! Breakfast. I enjoy a delicious pancake."

He grins.

"That sounds great."

Silence happens.

I lean against the window, the heat from our bodies start to fog up the windows. On the outside, I can see frost beginning to form; crystalize, small designs all through the temperature changes.

"Are you too warm?"

"A little," I answer.

He turns on the car's engine. He pushes down on the button, rolls down the windows an inch. Then stops. He turns off the car and puts the keys back in his coat pocket.

I stare out the front window.

"I'm sorry," I start, "I've never been on a date. I don't know how this works."

Peyton laughs. A semi-deep noise. Reminds me of a French Horn.

"You're not alone. This is my first date too."

"No."

"No what?"

I couldn't believe it.

"You're lying."

"Why would I be lying?"

"I don't know. I just – but you're so."

I stop myself.

He tilts his head.

"Never mind."

"No," he leans over the mid-console, "Please."

"W-Well," I say, "You're pretty. You've been really nice throughout this month since you've passed the weird exam my parents created. You deal with my parents' crazy shenanigans. You're popular – a lot more popular than I am. People know me. But people know me as the nice girl. Nothing more. I'm just surprised no one has asked you out on a date."

"Aww, I think I'm pretty too." He laughs.

I lean over and push his shoulder. "You silly! That took a lot of guts. I-I didn't really want to tell you. Because . . . well."

"You're right. I-I'll tell you something too," he licks his lips, "I was nervous about this date. One. Cause it's my first and you're beautiful. And two, I was afraid . . . I was afraid you're doing this only because your parents approve of me."

I stare.

The way he looks in the moonlight. Partly open mouth, his caramel eyes.

"Me too. I-I was hoping you'd like me . . . or get to know me. I want to forget my parents even made that stupid thing."

A weight lifts off of me.

My shoulders are relax. I smile.

He reaches out his hand.

And I reach out mine.

Our hands on the middle console.

"I would love to that."

' ' ' ' '

"You've changed."

Maggie turned her head towards her little sister. Lily's Santa inspired boots with two white fuzzy balls on the laces and red velvet leather kept her feet warm; Maggie tied them for her since they were running behind their schedule . . . actually, their mom's schedule. Lily had to change her outfit because it wasn't Christmas enough for their mother's taste.

"Why would you say that?"

Lily scratched her nose.

"Because it's true," she replied adding a 'duh' at the end, "And well, overall this past year, you've told mom, 'no' or 'wait' on things now. You aren't at her beck and call. I've noticed that you stopped asking the question, 'is this good?' "

I still feel bad. I still worry if she'll leave me. . . like dad has.

"I hope I've changed."

Lily gave a sideways glance. "The fact you told mom three weeks ago to 'pick up your own daughter from school' has been a huge accomplishment."

Maggie hid her face. "Oh gosh. I did say that."

Lily probably hates me . . . thinks that I'm being an awful sister.

"I'm –"

"Thank you," Lily declared. She grinned. "Don't get me wrong Maggie, I love when you pick me up. It's just – Mom hasn't done it in a while. . . I kind of miss her."

She feels it too.

Even with Maggie attending Lloyd University, her mother expected her to drive and pick up Lily throughout the week. With it being her last year, her fall semester ended; she had enough. She physically and mentally couldn't figure out how and when to pick up her sister. Especially during her finals. She called her mother and left a message.

She would've backed out if she spoke to her in person.

"Thank you, Lily."

I don't have to worry. Lily knows I love her.

"You're welcome," Lily grinned, and then teased, "Although, I did miss the hot chocolates you'd get me for the car ride. When I told mom, she was nearly lost it that you were giving me sugar; acting like I was seven again. Our mom is silly."

Maggie laughed too.

Maybe I have changed . . .

' ' ' ' '

I wrap my arms around his shoulders. His wool knitted sweater keeps his warmth inside, I could feel the fabric on the outside. Placing my forehead against the crook of his neck, I breathe him in.

This is paradise.

Where I have no worries. About other's opinions . . . I let my mind be in the moment.

"What are you doing?" I hear Peyton tease. His voice gruffly; his back against the college dorm lobby chair. I'm sitting on his lap. Our first class ended early, we decided to go on back and just . . . enjoy the quiet moment in the usual crowded area. Half way through our second year of college, we've gotten used to the buildings, secret hide outs away from first years who were loud, which class to take because of the better professor, and other things.

"I'm smelling you."

"That's a weird thing to say."

I giggle. "I know . . . but it's true, I enjoy your scent."

Even after three years of dating, it's still nerve-wrecking to say these things.

The way it seems. Out there in the open for him to respond. State his opinion. Change his mind at any second.

"What do I smell like?"

His fingertips graze my chin.

I tilt my head.

"Sunshine."

"Sunshine?" he takes his hand away. "What does that even smell like?"

"Well, you know when you leave a jacket in the sunshine? Or a blanket lying on the floor . . . and sun rays come through the window? You pick it up and that's the smell."

He chuckled. "I had no idea."

"Yeah, you," I hesitate, "smell like warmth. I guess – that's the best way to describe it."

His light pink lips twitch. "May I kiss you?"

He always ask . . .especially in public. I told him the first time he kissed me around others, 'I don't want to bother them.' Or 'I don't want them staring at us.' After that, he'd ask.

And I always said yes.

"Yes."

I lean forward and he did as well.

We kiss.

I taste sunshine.

' ' ' ' '

Maggie smiled at the nice memory. Joyful. The moments she wished she could pull out from her brain and repeat; over and over again. Those scenes were a few. Where her mind stayed in the present. Where her focus was on something she truly desired . . . she allowed herself happiness. Questions arose, hearing her mother's and father's voice: "Magnolia, you need to get married soon; we want grandchildren before we are too old," "Magnolia, graduate with honors, I'm sure you'll have a job to start your career right out of college," "Magnolia, what are you doing? Don't do that, others are watching," "Magnolia," "MAGNOLIA!"

Shut up!

"Magnolia?"

Maggie jumped in her seat.

"What on earth are you doing outside?" her mother questioned. Her eyes glanced over to Lily. "You too, Lily. What – I don't want any of you to get a cold. Come inside."             

She turned her back. Her voice was muffled since she stepped inside the house; the front door was wide open.

Lily pulled her heels closer to her body, stopping the rocking chair momentum. "I guess it's time to go on in."

She skipped over to the front door. Her blonde curls bounced.

Maggie's mom's choice of words made her skin have goosebumps. She frowned. Her nose nearly frozen from the cold weather and the time elapse. She allowed those nasty water droplets thoughts that echoed her mother and father's opinion to wash away down a stream.

"Maggie, you coming?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'll be there. Just give me one more minute."

Tears blurred her vision.

Gosh . . . it took so long. So long for me to see. To step out of those thoughts. And see from what Lily and Peyton have seen. I have changed.

The changed happened all throughout her college years. Even in high school. It's just . . . since -

Last year. When he said those words. It solidified.

' ' ' ' '

"I love you, Maggie," Peyton says. He licks his lips. "I-I."

He pauses. Shifting from one foot to the other. We huddle outside my parent's driveway.

Peyton had parked his CRV silver car on the side of the road; the whole car ride was quiet, coming home from college. I played with my fingers. A whole month went by when he decided to drop out of college. It's crazy how much has . . .

There was no music. It's unusual for Peyton to not play music; he enjoys Bing Crosby's "White Christmas."

My shoes leave footprints, snowflakes start to cover the ground. He touches my arm before going up to the front porch.

"I know your mother has been throwing questions at us. And your dad. My parents too. At us. You. Fixing what I have changed in the path. But I don't want you to fix it."

He holds out his hands. Grasping mine, the palm of our hands starts to get sweaty.

"You don't have to fix anything. We've done nothing wrong. You'll continue your degree. I'll begin my Trade School next month. I'll even start saving up to pay back the tuition to my parents. I just."

He looks down.

"I have one question."

His brown eyes stare through me.

"Are you choosing me because your parents approve me?"

The question. Same fear he had down by the river. In Franklin's car with the windows partially down.

I think of my mother. What she has told me, her employees are rooting for us; to graduate, to start a career, and to begin a family. Marriage. My father barely speaks to me anymore. His voice is from the old time . . . old memories of high school. And his same Christmas card every year.

"No."

My voice wavers.

His lip quivers.

"You care so much," Peyton starts, "about what others think. What they want. You go out of your way to achieve it for them. You hand it over like a nice present. However, you . . . I see you being drained. What's left? A depleted Maggie. And . . . I can't see that happen. I don't want that to happen. I want you to take care of yourself."

"I do," I reply, "I will. I love you, Peyton."

Peyton shakes his head.

"This will be my turn to say sorry, Maggie," he declares, "Goodbye."

He moves his hand out of mine. A small smile on his face. He turns around, twisting on his heel.

"Peyton."

I whisper.

Looking down at the palm of my hands.

I know what he means.

He just broke up with me.

I just – I want to yell. Curse. Tell him how much he's wrong.

But he knew me. He knew me better . . . he said something I'm afraid to admit.

I'm miserable.

I don't – I want to make mom and dad happy.

So I stand there.

In the snow. My feet get cold as snow turns into water. Damping.

"I'm sorry."

And I meant it.

' ' ' ' '

Maggie walked over to the front door. Tear stains on her sleeves, she remembered that night. It was here. Out on the driveway. The transition made her parents . . . add intense pressure, of which one parent was never here for. Only in their opinion. The other, she might as well never be there.

Maggie could only trust herself. In taking care of her duties. Grades. Her sister. Organizing this annual Christmas party. Doctor appointments. Cooking. Cleaning. Everything.

Anything to please, to one day get praise.

However, she only obtained a long list of "to-do" that never was satisfied.

Leaving on her own. Spending time with Peyton did help, but those thoughts. Those nasty, sluggish thoughts that mirrored her parent's voice. It stayed with her. Night and day.

Peyton was right.

Only she could choose herself. She couldn't make his love complete her.

She had to love . . . she had to . . .

Love myself. Love others more. . . and give grace.

With shaky steps, Maggie strolled through the hallway. Her step father threw his arms in the air, trying to entertain the guests. Mother stood near the Christmas tree, simple silver and gold ornaments decorated the branches; she approached her.

"I have something to say," Maggie said. Her voice small.

"Let's wait, we are about to open the presents-"

"Now."

Her mother's eyes stared. "Okay."

Hesitation in her voice. 

Stay calm. You're okay. You're just going to communicate with her. That's all your doing.

Walking into the front room, where she had a smaller set of Christmas trees; three stood in an arrow design.

"What is it sweetie?"

Maggie licked her lips. "I-I-"

Her mother's eyes never wavered.

"Please respect my boundary," Maggie declared, her breath sounded like a wisp, "When I say 'no' it's because I have a prior commitment or where I need to do something. I love you. I-I don't want to feel like I'm expected to do things. Or duties. I want it to come from my heart and if it starts to become an expectation than I get bitter. Angry. And even resentful because – well – because I don't feel like I have a choice. I feel like I have to do it to make you happy. And I love you more than that. I want it to truly and genuine come from my heart."

"I never expect anything from you."

Maggie ground her teeth. "Yes, you do. What did you think when I wasn't in here a second ago? You expected me to help out with the gifts."

"You do it every year."

"Yes, since I was a little girl. Which I enjoyed because no one made me do it. I wanted to help. However, then it became a must instead of a service. A choice."

Her mom paused. "I never knew. I didn't know -"

She bit her lip, "I can do it this year. I'm sorry, Maggie."

Her mom reached out and wrapped her arms around her. "Thank you for telling me."

The crowded noise of Maggie's thoughts disappeared. She reciprocated. Fingers held onto her mother's torso.

Her mom lightly kissed Maggie's cheek. Wiping away a lonely tear, "Take your time, hon."

She walked in the hallway back into the room, yelling, "Who's ready to open gifts?"

It was a win.

For the upcoming conflicts to occur. . . it'll take time. To change her thinking . . . and washing out those mirrored thoughts. Those lies. Those voices weren't her parents, it had become something else. Self-destruction.

Maggie leaned against the front door.

A weight lifted off her chest. A nice sensation of warmth touched her cheeks, reheated her nose, and her hands. She'll stand her ground. In confidence, not pride.

She had a long way to go. To learn more.

Maggie pulled out her cell phone, pulled up a name that she couldn't make herself delete, and texted: Hi.

She put her phone back into her pocket. Her eyes watched as Lily sat on the ground with her cousins, nieces, and nephews; all waiting for their turn to receive a gift. When a tiny, ruby present got presented to Lily; she held onto the sides, emerald bow wrapped around it, she held it close to her.

I wish I could give her a gift . . . similar to the one she gave me.

Maggie smiled.

Her pocket vibrated. She didn't feel it, but later on that night; she'll read:

From: Peyton

Hi.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading this story! I'm a people pleaser. I overthink what other's opinions and thoughts are. If I bother them, if I need to do more.

This is dedicated to other people pleaser. Through love and learning new ways of thinking, let's make the crowded noise decrease and eventually disappear.

I love you!

Did you see some easter eggs in their from my other writings in here? Hehehe, I enjoyed it! And also with Christmas happening soon, I'm super excited.

I can't wait for you to read the next writing: poem. You'll love it! 💕 😍