Chapter 26 Magnolia
MAGNOLIA
The next day, while Ellery was out getting groceries, I dropped Hazel off at the day care.
When Ellery came home, I was waiting for her.
“Hey, Tulip.” She put the milk and fruit away, then wrapped her arms around my waist. I turned away before she could kiss me, and her smile faded. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
I kept my gaze on my feet and stepped away from her.
“Hey, what is it?” she said softly, taking my hand.
Everything inside me screamed not to do this.
There must be another way. Something I’d missed, a last-minute solution that would save the day.
But there was none. There was just this horrible thing I had to make myself do.
To end the one true relationship I’d ever had in my life.
I made a mistake then. I glanced up and caught her eye, and immediately got lost in the endless ocean of her eyes.
I knew then that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave the love of my life. So I did the only thing I could.
“I want you to leave me,” I said.
“What? Tulip, what are you talking about?”
“If I want to have a fighting chance at keeping Hazel from that—that horrible man, I need to stay with Parker. I can’t be a divorced woman with no income and no house trying to win a custody battle.”
“Oh, Tulip—”
“I’ve done all my research. Spoken to all the lawyers I can speak to, and they all agree on this. I mustn’t leave Parker. I need to move back to Indonesia with him.”
Ellery’s face crumpled. She was so tall, so strong, and yet that day, she looked like a lost kid. “We can work something out. I’ll come with you to Indonesia. We can arrange something with Parker, something discreet, something—”
“He’ll never agree to anything like that. He’s too traditional. I won’t risk it. If he gets upset, he might leave me, and then Erik will get Hazel.”
“Baby, slow down,” she said.
“There’s no other way. And I can’t leave you, Ellery. Not you. Never you. You saw my letters. You have always had a piece of my heart with you.”
“Tulip.”
“So you have to do it. You have to leave me.”
“No.”
“You did it before. You can do it again.”
“I won’t.”
I imagined my heart, soft and fleshy and vulnerable. I imagined it turning into steel, cold and hard. “You left me! You left me. I was in love with you, and you left. Just like that.”
“Don’t do this, Magnolia, I swear to god.”
“You’re good at leaving. So leave me again. Don’t DM me, don’t email me, don’t Like any of my social media posts. Just do what you’re good at doing and leave me.”
“Jesus,” she whispered. “You’re totally serious.”
“I am.”
“Look at me, Magnolia.”
I turned away, but she caught my chin between her thumb and index finger and turned me to face her.
“I love you,” she said. “Let’s work this out together.”
“There’s nothing to work out.” I was shaking with futile rage at the world. I let it lash out against her, knowing she would catch me. “I won’t risk losing Hazel.”
Ellery’s face was a picture of anguish. “Please, Magnolia, don’t do this.
” She lowered her forehead to mine, our breath hot against each other’s cheeks.
“Please don’t.” Her lips brushed against mine, soft at first. I kissed her back, long and deep, wanting to taste every bit of her.
To sear every part of this into my memory.
We clutched at each other, yanking our clothes off with reckless abandon.
I wanted to inhale all of her, consume her, become one with her, and I sensed the same desperate need from her.
I wanted to imprint the feel of her skin on mine.
I wanted to memorize every second as we moved together, until we both reached that moment of impossible perfection.
When it was over, I made myself turn away from her instead of falling into her arms as usual. She reached out for me, but I shrugged off her hand. I stared at the wall and said, “Please leave now.”
“Tulip.”
I didn’t bother answering her. I kept my gaze trained on the wall. A tear slipped down the side of my face. I heard her choke back a sob. I heard her sit up, then stand up. The rustle of her clothes as she put them back on. Her receding footsteps. And still I didn’t turn around.
“Tulip,” she said again, soft and tired. “I will wait for you. Always.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth so I wouldn’t be tempted to answer. Only after the door opened and closed did I curl up into the fetal position and burst into hot, ugly, stomach-shaking tears.
· · ·
There was an envelope slipped under the door the morning we were due to leave for Jakarta.
On it, my name. I locked myself in the bathroom to have a bit of privacy before opening it.
I raised it to my nose and inhaled. It smelled of the ocean and rosemary.
Ellery. I swallowed the lump in my throat before opening it slowly, carefully, as though I were handling a newborn chick.
Inside was a small piece of paper with a few short lines written on it.
A poem.
Tulip
The only way
for us to be together
is to trundle
slowly
toward old age
and hope that
in the beyond
there is a place
where souls can wait
patiently
for each other.
A place where
we’d be young again
but wiser this time
knowing what it took
to find our way back
to each other.
I read it until the words became too blurry with tears, then I put it back in the envelope and slipped it inside my pocket. I carry that poem with me to this day. See? Beautiful, isn’t it?
· · ·
Parker and I moved back to Jakarta, Hazel in tow.
Erik took us to court, and Andika presented the judge with the photos of Iris’s horrific bruises.
Then she proceeded to paint me and Parker as the ideal couple, a picture of parental and financial stability.
Mama and Papa showed up as well, vouching for us and vowing to help look after their dear granddaughter.
In the end, Erik was only able to get supervised visitations, and when he failed to show up for three visits in a row, I went back to court and got the visitation rights struck down.
I had come back for blood, and I didn’t feel a shred of guilt after taking away his visitation rights.
I still don’t. I never heard from Erik again, and every day I pray that he lived a miserable life and died alone and in pain.
The other thing I was determined not to do was revert back into my role as a trophy wife.
Now that I had Hazel to raise, I was even more conscious of the fact that I didn’t want her to be put in the same box I had inhabited.
I wanted so much more for her. I wanted to punch my way out of that fucking box and rip it to shreds and then burn the shreds to the ground.
I sat Parker down one quiet afternoon. “I have a business proposition for you,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows.
“I would like to start a new division at the clinic. Counseling Services.” I raised my hand before he could protest. “For pregnant women and new mothers who might be struggling with things. The customer base is already there. When the OBGYNs see their patients, all they have to do is give a brochure for the counseling services. No need for more marketing. And this is what will set us apart from all the other OB clinics out there.”
Parker frowned. I could tell that despite his reluctance for anything mental health–related, he could see the point in what I was saying. There were so many OBGYNs in Jakarta. It really was a saturated market, every clinic boasting its fair share of celebrity doctors. All male, of course.
“Many women are uncomfortable talking to a male doctor, especially when it comes to something as intimate as giving birth. And many women suffer from postpartum depression, and even the ones who don’t will typically have increased levels of stress and anxiety following something as major as giving birth.
They will want to talk to a female therapist,” I said.
“And it won’t affect the clinic’s reputation at all. In fact, it’ll enhance it.”
I could tell he was still hesitant, so I added, “This is exactly the kind of thing we need to try if we want to remain relevant. Be a disruptor, Parker. Take calculated risks. Isn’t that what you learned in business school?
We can do a trial period. Three months. And if it doesn’t work, or if it impedes the clinic in any way, then I will stop. ”
“And then we can start trying to have a family?” Parker said.
I stared at him. Was this what he’d been angling for this whole time? I sighed. “Sure.”
“Okay.”
I held out my hand, and he shook it. “We have a deal.”
· · ·
For the first two weeks, Counseling Services didn’t get any clients.
Crickets. Each morning, I’d go to the clinic and check on the brochures at the reception desk and the posters on the bulletin boards.
I’d go around to each doctor’s office to chat with them and gently remind them to please let their patients know about the new services we were providing.
Most of the older doctors were openly resistant, laughing in that indulgent, patronizing way that older men often do and nodding while ushering me out of their offices.
But a couple of the younger doctors were a little bit more open-minded.
One of them had gone to med school at Johns Hopkins, and he thought offering counseling services was a great idea.
Still, those first two weeks were brutal.
Despite the brave front I put up, inside I was withering.
Maybe I’d been wrong all along. Maybe women here didn’t need counseling.
Then one Tuesday morning, when I arrived at the clinic, the receptionist called out to me as I walked past the desk.
“You have an appointment,” she said.
I stopped and looked around to make sure she wasn’t talking to a doctor behind me. I pointed at myself. “Me?”
“Yes. Mrs. Grace Cahyadi at ten a.m.”