Chapter 16 Magnolia
MAGNOLIA
Of course I knew, going into the marriage, that we both had to make a ton of concessions.
Especially me. It was all part of being a good Chindo wife.
I knew, for example, to expect all of the typical toilet stuff—the toilet seat being up, the toilet paper facing the wrong way, short fuzz all over the sink after he shaved.
But because we had helpers, none of these were ever actual problems. In fact, what was a rude surprise was the dawning realization that at the end of each day, I wouldn’t have a space of my own to return to.
No closing the bedroom door behind me and leaning against it with relief, knowing that I’d placed a barrier between myself and the rest of the world, at least for the night.
Because there he would be. My husband. In our bedroom.
Not mine, not his, but ours, a shared space.
In Indonesia, where women are expected to remain virgins up until their wedding night, moving in before marriage was unheard of.
So it was a new experience for Parker as well, and I could sense that I wasn’t the only one craving my own space.
We never showed it to each other, of course.
At the end of the day, when we both trudged up the stairs to retire in the bedroom, we’d summon a smile and pretend that this was exactly what we wanted.
Oh, I’m making it sound awful, aren’t I?
It wasn’t always like that. We were young newlyweds, after all.
Of course there were plenty of nights where Parker and I couldn’t wait to run up to the bedroom.
Where we pounced on each other and explored each other’s bodies and learned how to pleasure each—what?
You don’t want to know that stuff? Really, Izzy, you’re sixteen, not six.
Okay, fine. We can gloss over the details.
All I’m saying is, on the whole, the first few months of marriage, while tough, were also really good.
It was an adjustment, for sure, but there was also a lot I would definitely not complain about.
Heh, heh. Okay, okay. Goodness me, how did my grandkid turn out to be such a prude?
For a while, I luxuriated in my role as a good wife.
There is a sense of relief that comes from finally occupying a role you’ve prepared for your whole life.
I’d been raised for this, had consumed all sorts of media on how to be a good Chindo wife, and because I did love Parker, in my own way, I wanted to make him happy.
I enjoyed certain aspects of it. I liked spoiling him, for example, though I think I like spoiling people I love in general.
I liked knowing how he took his coffee and making sure I had it ready for him every morning.
I prepared his vitamins for him, and when we were out, I held his hand and relished the act of calling him my husband.
At the clinic, I watched as he was given access to things I never was privy to, not in all that time I spent working there.
He was included in all of the meetings, his input taken seriously, heads nodding solemnly whenever he spoke.
I was only invited to these meetings after I suggested to Parker that I could help him take notes.
Afterward, I would gently, subtly, make little suggestions, all of them wrapped up with meticulous care to sound like offhand comments.
So subtle that Parker never realized that all of his ideas for improvement came from me.
Was it frustrating? Sure, it could be, but I didn’t dwell on it. That way lies madness.
So for a few months, things chugged along, if not blissfully, then smoothly enough.
Then one night, as Parker and I slept, the phone rang.
God, it was so shrill in the silence of the night.
I can still remember the way the sound sliced through the air.
We both leaped up, wrenched so abruptly from sleep.
My heart was already racing. Parker picked up the phone and said a hushed hello, like he was scared of who might be on the other end.
I was scared too. Part of me wanted to make him slam down the phone so we could pretend all was fine.
Nobody calls in the middle of the night with good news.
Already I was thinking of our parents having heart attacks or strokes or otherwise dying in horrific ways.
“Wha? Who? Oh. Hang on.” Parker handed the phone to me. “It’s your sister.”
My brain was still so fogged with interrupted sleep and so preoccupied with anxiety for our parents that it took a second for me to register who my sister was. “Iris?”
“Unless you have another sister I don’t know about,” Parker muttered before flopping back into bed.
He’d met Iris only twice—once at the Sangjit and the other time at our wedding—and though he didn’t say a single bad word about her, I knew he’d taken one look at her and thought she was way too Americanized.
I put the phone to my ear and said, “Iris?” my voice full of uncertainty.
“Hey, Sis.” She sounded chirpy, her usual self, but I detected a tremor under the words. A shakiness that made my spine tingle. I got out of bed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing’s wrong,” she chirped once more in that awful, cheery, brittle way. “Just—I was wondering, could I maybe—” Her voice broke then, and she covered it with a laugh.
“Iris, come to my house.”
“What?” Parker said, raising himself up on his elbow. I ignored him.
“Oh,” Iris said, “I don’t think—”
“Now. I’ll wait up.”
There was a thick silence. I didn’t breathe. I had a feeling Iris and Parker didn’t either. Then she said, “Okay,” and hung up the phone.
“What was that all about?” Parker said. I ignored the undercurrent of displeasure in his voice and made my way to the bedroom door.
“Something’s wrong. She needs me.” But once I heard the words coming out of my mouth, I felt ridiculous.
Since when did Iris need me? Since when did she need anybody?
But I couldn’t shake off the tension in my shoulders, the way my scalp had crawled at that strange note in Iris’s voice.
I went downstairs and turned on the lights, blinking at the sudden brightness, unsure what to do.
It wouldn’t take her too long to get here since there was no traffic.
I made my way into the kitchen and started boiling some water.
She’d probably want a hot drink. Chamomile tea. Yes, that would be good.
“What are you doing?” Parker appeared at the doorway, scratching his head and yawning.
“I’m making some tea for Iris.”
He shook his head. “Does this—is this something she does often?”
I bristled but did my best to hide my annoyance. “No. She’s never asked me for help before. Which is how I know she really needs me now.”
Parker’s expression turned soft, and he walked toward me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Oh, geez. I’m sorry, Maggie. Are you okay?”
All traces of my irritation at him melted away and I sank against his reassuring form. “I’m worried.”
“Don’t be. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it together. There’s nothing Iris can do or say that’ll—”
The anger flared up again, hot and fast as lightning, and I pulled away from him. “Why do you assume it’s something she’s doing or saying? Something could’ve happened to her.”
Parker raised his hands in a nonthreatening manner, which only made me feel like a crazy bitch. “That wasn’t what I meant at all. Sorry, I phrased it badly, I know.”
“It’s fine. I’m just anxious.” I turned back to the pan, watching the water come to a boil and breathing deeply, willing myself to calm down.
The doorbell rang then. I quickly turned off the stove and rushed to the front door, grabbing the front gate remote to open it.
Instead of waiting at the porch, I walked briskly to the front gate as it slid open, revealing Iris’s silhouette, limned in moonlight.
Despite the big pregnant belly, she looked so tiny.
I couldn’t see her face in the dark, but something told me that things were seriously, irreparably wrong.
Maybe it was the way she was breathing—short, shaky breaths.
Or maybe it was the way she stood, like it hurt to be on her feet.
Or maybe it was the fact that she carried nothing with her, no handbag or anything.
I took her arm and led her to the house without another word.
It was only once we were inside that I could actually see my sister’s features, and the sight of them made me freeze.
Even Parker, who’d been waiting in the doorway, looked shocked.
I thought of a beautiful blank canvas filled with possibility.
Then I thought of a careless hand splashing that white space with ugly, angry colors—dark eggplant, aging green, suppurating yellow.
That was Iris’s face, covered all over with furious bruises.
Her mouth was swollen, her left eye could barely open, and there was a trickle of dried blood under her nose.
“Iris—” The word was a choked prayer. What could I have said in that moment that might make anything even the slightest bit better for her?
“What happened?” Parker said.
Iris shrugged. When she finally met my eye, she looked nothing like the Iris I knew. Gone was the defiance and the fire. All I saw was exhaustion, defeat. “Erik happened,” she said, and I’d never hated anyone as much as I hated Erik in that moment.
“Do you want us to take you to the hospital?” Parker said.
Iris shook her head. “I don’t think anything’s broken.”
“But the baby—should we make sure it’s okay?” Parker said.
“He made sure to only hit me from the shoulders up, so I think the baby’s probably fine.” Iris laughed weakly, and my heart broke for her. It snapped me out of my shock. I put an arm around my sister’s shoulders and pulled her close.