Chapter Twenty-One
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Maple
We’re in the middle of watching a riveting rerun of a home renovation show when my phone lets out a muffled ring, interrupting Etta’s hilarious and cutting opinions of the on-screen professional’s decorating prowess.
“Don’t answer that,” Etta orders. “If I have to abide by the sanctity of girls’ day, then so do you.”
I snort, rolling off the bed to grab my phone from… somewhere. “It took half an hour to get you to agree to the sanctity of girls’ day.”
“Yeah, and now I’m agreed, meaning you should be, too.” Her nose wrinkles, at me or at the paisley curtains on the television, I’m unsure. “Oh, come on.”
I follow the ringing to the mini-fridge and find my cell inside, lying balanced atop a can of root beer.
Fascinating.
“It’s Birch!” I say. “A certified girlie pop if ever there was one. Answering this phone call doesn’t break the sanctity of anything, I assure you.”
Etta grumbles, but Mary shrugs. “I think you should answer it. It might be an emergency.”
I point at the astute woman. “Yes, exactly. An emotional emergency, which is peak girls’ day behavior.”
Etta’s eyes roll.
“Hello,” I answer the phone, immediately putting my brother on speaker. “Maple speaking. Might I ask what your emotional needs consist of this evening?”
“I have none,” Birch replies shortly. “Your husband, on the other hand, is a wreck.”
I blink, and my smile drops. “Ivy?”
“Yes, Ivy. Do you have any other husbands?” Birch snaps.
“The man is in my kitchen making an absolute mess of things because you decided to go and make an absolute mess of him. It’s horrendous.
Dinner needs started, but I can’t start because he’s in the freaking way, moaning and groaning about woes that he wouldn’t have if you weren’t off being stupid about the hot, rich man you’re married to. ”
“Iverson Swallow is in your kitchen?” I ask. “With you? On purpose?”
“He’s eating his feelings,” Birch replies, disgusted.
“And my ingredients. I’m going to have to make another trip to the store after this, and it’s no longer the chill time where they don’t play the music so everyone can shop in peace.
It’s just after work time when the speakers are blasting songs children shouldn’t be allowed to listen to and every idiot under the sun thinks they need to pop in for dinner supplies for a dinner they haven’t even planned yet and as such do not know what they need for.
I’m suffering, Maple, and it’s all your fault.
So you need to get over here and fix your husband.
And preferably you’d do your fixing anywhere but in my kitchen. ”
“You’re telling me that Iverson Swallow is in your kitchen having a breakdown right now?
My Iverson Swallow?” It simply does not compute.
Ivy doesn’t have breakdowns. Ivy tackles a problem with determination, and, if it doesn’t go well, he certainly doesn’t look to Birch for comfort.
He comes to me, or he goes to Malcolm. Why in the world would he be with Birch?
“Maple, seriously, I love you, but I need you to lock in right now,” Birch says with all the harshness of snow-white tree bark.
“This man has never failed at anything before, and he has no clue how to handle it, as evidenced by the fact that he wandered into my kitchen, dragged a 5-gallon bucket of ice cream to my counter, and then started in on it with a serving spoon—behavior we all learn is foolhardy in middle school after our first heartbreak followed by our first maybe-I’m-dying stomachache.
Unfortunately for Iverson, and the state of my workspace, he never learned this lesson.
He has no idea how to handle his current emotions, and I’m unwilling to let my kitchen be more of a casualty to his ignorance than it already is.
Get here. Fix him. Put us both out of our misery, or so help me, Maple, I will never make another croquembouche again. ”
I stare at my girls, torn. Ivy’s been trying so hard—so unbelievably hard.
You could never say that he hasn’t put in the effort to do exactly what I’ve asked, at great physical and mental stress to himself.
And while I do believe that it’s his lesson to learn…
I never considered what might happen if he couldn’t learn it on his own.
I didn’t think about the possibility that maybe I can’t trust him to grow by himself, or about what that would mean for him, for me, and for us.
My stomach drops.
What do I do?
Do I listen to Birch? Do I go? Do I take away the chance for Ivy to prove to us both that he can do this?
Do I stay to teach the lesson that he needs to?
Do I even still believe he does need to?
Birch rants as I deliberate until Etta cuts him off.
“Go,” she says to me, rising to silence my brother.
“Go get your husband, Maple. It’s not any sort of weakness to help him figure out his nonsense.
Sometimes tough love just doesn’t work, and you have to try something softer.
There’s no loss in that. Marriage is about growing together, sure, but it’s also about filling in the gaps that the other person is missing.
Help where help is needed. You don’t need to trust that he can always fix himself.
You only need to trust that he’ll always be willing, and I’d say that your boy just might be the most willing man on the planet when it comes to doing anything you want.
I don’t much care for his personality outside of when he’s with you, but that man thinks you hung the moon in the sky and he acts like it.
If he can’t see clearly in the moonlight, it’s okay to shine a little brighter for him. ”
Seriously. Girls’ day is the best, best, best.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She nods, sets a hand on my shoulder, and gives me a reassuring squish. “That’s what friends are for.”
“So you’re coming?” Birch asks, King Impatient. “Quickly?”
“I’m coming,” I assure him. “As quickly as I can.”
He thanks the creators of lemon meringue before threatening me out of any thoughts I may have had about taking my time.
In an effort to follow his instructions for speed, I hang up on him in favor of searching for my purse and shoes.
Eventually Mary finds them under a side table in the suite’s living room, and I’m able to take off.
I waste half a second on a tear-studded goodbye.
Etta pushes me out of the suite. “Go.”
I do.