Chapter Sixteen
▲
Iverson
The stationery store on Fifth Street is four stories tall, a football field long, and blessedly open on Sundays.
“Should I get the baby blue or the robin’s blue?” I ask Malcolm, my official Emotional Support Person for all things self-reflection. “Or the cerulean…”
I hold all three of the faux leather journals in my hands, comparing.
Soft, bright, and in between. They remind me of Maple, which reminds me of my love for her, which reminds me of why I’m going through all of this in the first place.
When on my meditation journey, I lacked the visual reminders of her that I prefer to keep around my person at all times.
This journey will not include that oversight.
She will be there, in front of me, beneath my pen for the fullness of the time I spend on this journaling endeavor.
Blue journal. Blue pens. Blue stickers. Blue, blue, blue, like her eyes and her environments.
But which blue?
“Given your depths, you’ll probably need all three, no?” Malcolm suggests, plucking up a plain white letter opener and touching his finger to the pointed tip.
I am reminded that my brother is an intelligent being above all others and toss the three journals into my basket.
“Pens!” I declare, striding to the shelves an aisle over.
Here, I do not dally. I grab several gel pen packs containing a mixture of regular blues, sparkly blues, and glow in the dark blues.
Highlighters follow, then pencils, just in case.
“Do you think I should get a special eraser?” I ask, eying the line of containers holding cute little rubber animals. “There’s an otter.”
Malcolm rests the blade of the letter opener against his lips as he peruses the pack of erasers I’m considering. At last he says, “Yes, absolutely. You might need this one, too.” He reaches, securing an eraser the size of his hand. “For big mistakes.”
“I don’t think Birch would take kindly to me using that on him,” I note dryly. Still, I toss it in the basket next to the otter before moving this trip to the sticker section.
“Oh my,” I whisper. “It’s like Maple heaven.” The rows are endless and packed, everything from cartoons to florals lining every inch of available space.
“I don’t see any syrup stickers,” Malcolm says. “This is cute, though.” He offers me a stack of pancake stickers.
I take them. A pad of butter lays atop the pancakes, smothered in syrup. The butter has a face. A cute little face with a cute little smile.
“I want one of everything,” I decide. “Two, maybe.” I spin in a circle, eyeing the possibilities. “Do you think I could buy out the business? Maybe George could open a second warehouse for me…”
“The world is your oyster.” Malcolm’s attention drifts down toward a little white bird sticker.
I hum. “I shall take it by force, then,” I agree. “With enough money, it shouldn’t be too hard.”
He plucks the dove and holds it safely with the letter opener in his hand. “Nothing’s too hard with enough money, manipulation, and moral disregard.”
“Hear, hear,” I murmur, wandering away to examine a swath of blue among the hoard of stickers. “I’m going to need another basket.”
Down the aisle, Malcolm positions the handle of his letter opener at the wing of his dove sticker and has the bird swipe it like a sword. “Shnng, shnng.”
“Could you and your deadly dove get me another basket?” I call toward him. “Or a cart, if they have one?”
“Aye, aye.” The dove uses the letter opener to salute before Malcolm turns on his heel and heads up the aisle, toward the front of the store.
I pull out my phone while I wait and take a photo of the abundance around me. I send it to George with a “NEED,” and he replies instantly. “On it.”
George might just get a raise on top of his bonus.
Movement at the end of the row catches my eye, and I see that Malcolm has returned. Dramatically. His gait stutters, and he coughs pathetically, gripping his chest. “Ivy.” The letter opener sticks out from beneath his arm. “She got me.”
“Sad,” I comment. “Before I decide to save you, what have you left me in your will? Or does your spouse lay claim to all now?”
“It’s too late to save me.”
“Crisis averted, then! How wonderful. For a minute there, I thought I would be made to feel guilty about your death.”
He straightens up, retrieving the blade. “Perish the thought. You’re much too busy feeling other things right now to add something as trivial as guilt over my death to the mess.”
“That’s what I love about you,” I tell him. “So thoughtful. An excellent big brother. If you were to die, you would do it as you lived—with deep consideration for my needs.” I wipe a dry tear from my eye. “As you should. King behavior.”
“I think your reflection journal needs glitter.”
“As long as it’s blue.” I shrug.
“As a depiction of your great sorrow?”
“If that makes your eternal rest peaceful,” I allow. “You may believe what you like.”
He exhales the idea of a laugh. “Oh, Ivy, you know me better than that. The last thing I would ever want is peace.”
“No,” I disagree. “The last thing you would ever want is me to experience great sorrow, which is why I thought we were already speaking in the ridiculous. Were we not?”
He stares at me. “The last thing I would ever want is to see how Azalea reacts to the presence of glitter in her vicinity.”
I sniff. “The hierarchy of your affections has shifted most egregiously, and I am in dithers.”
“It sure has. Tell me again, when was the last time we hung out before you required emotional support regarding your wife’s rejection?”
“She hasn’t rejected me,” I disagree. “What a ridiculous notion. She’s merely… postponed the inevitable.”
“Right,” he drones. “And also run away from home.”
“And anyway,” I continue. “We hang out all the time. We hung out just two weeks ago.”
“At the business meeting, in which we discussed business things?” Offensively, Malcolm’s brows crawl up his forehead. “I’ve attained peace where it concerns my position in your world.”
“Oh, great, the thing you hate.” A ping of discomfort taps at my chest. “I… you know I love you, right, Malice?”
He bumps my shoulder with his, and I can’t tell if he meant to knock me off balance, or if he simply wasn’t aware of the breadth of his shoulders and what they might do to a marginally smaller man. “Yes, Ivy. I know that you love me. It’s not hard to tell when you love someone.”
I regain my balance and nod. Yes. Exactly. I’m very affectionate.
“Good,” I say. “Since that’s settled, then I’m sure my assistant can find some time in my busy schedule for us to hang out. Just as soon as my honeymoon is over.”
“When is your honeymoon scheduled to end again?”
I blink. “How should I know? You’re the one who scheduled it.”
“I gave you a month. But… how to say this kindly…” He turns something over in his hand, then puts it back. “Outlook not so good.”
I scowl. “I can’t believe I thought you intelligent.”
“Yes, why would you ever do something silly like that?”
“However,” I huff, lifting my nose in the air, “if you so desired to give me a little bit more time off, I would not complain. A man would never complain about an extended honeymoon for any reason, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Of course. Azalea and I are waiting until September for our honeymoon, so there’s plenty of time.”
“September?”
“Grandparents’ Day. The second most romantic holiday of the year.”
For a moment, I’m speechless. When words return, I can only say in mild horror, “They just let people believe anything these days, don’t they?”
“I haven’t a clue what you mean. So, anyway, glitter?”
I shrug. “Glitter,” I concur. “Would you get me some blue, gold, and white?”
He agrees and walks off wielding his dove with her knife, jauntily stepping around an end cap full of stuffed cube-shaped animals.
I allow myself a moment to feel the weight of the love that he is showing me—to have a few seconds of joy amidst the calamity that is my psyche lately—then I return to my browsing and buying.
In the end, it probably would have been cheaper to buy the business, but I can’t say that I care all that much. In the end, I made out with an afternoon with my brother and a cart full of hope. All in all, worth it.
All in all, I could not possibly ask for better.