For the second time this summer, I ask the obvious question. “Then why’d she do it?”
Aunt Meg lets out a deep exhale. “God. We don’t get to know, honey. I’ve been writing out all the advice she gave me over the years, and it is becoming this mammoth list of truths. That’s what I’m going to focus on instead of why she’s gone—who I know she was.”
Aunt Meg agrees to send a copy of the list when she finishes. I wonder how many pages I could fill if I wrote everything my mother ever taught me. It would be longer than the Bible. And just as sacred.
Brady
On my run today even my sweat felt culpable. Right now I’m commemorating Maddy’s life by getting drunk, and I’m doing a stand-up job. I’m at war with her birthday. I cannot remember what I got on her forty-fifth aside from the token flowers I sent every year. I think I had Paula make an appointment for a spa day, unless Meg or Paige had gotten her that. I know for sure Maddy went to the spa. Hell, maybe she booked it herself.
The gift wasn’t the worst of it. We argued that night after dinner. Maddy thanked me again for the flowers, then casually asked what the note in the card said. It was a test I’d fail, so I led with a defense, asking why it mattered. Maddy combed her fingernails over her eyebrows, the way she did before deciding whether something was worth a fight. “It matters because I want to know if you picked up the goddamn phone to order me flowers with a nice note, or if you had Paula do it.”
Like an idiot, I didn’t back down. “What’s the difference if I made the call? I remembered; I wanted you to have flowers.”
“The difference is significant if you’re me, and you might be the boob in that cliché movie scene where the assistant reminds her boss of his wife’s birthday and he says, ‘Send the usual.’”
“That’s ridiculous, Maddy. No one had to remind me it was your birthday. Yes. Fine. I asked Paula to call the florist. So what? I was in meetings all day, trying to get everything done in time to take you and Eve out to dinner. And I was able to do it, with a little help.”
“Well, tell Paula ‘thank you’ for me—”
“For making a phone call?” I interrupted. “I would, but that’s her job. I work my ass off, and she helps me juggle everything. You have no concept of what my day-to-day is like.”
“This isn’t about the phone call,” Maddy said flatly. “Thank Paula because it was the sweetest damn note I’ve gotten from you in a long time. Maybe ever. That’s how I knew you didn’t write it, Brady. Not because you were busy today and not because I’m some bumbling homemaker who has no memory of the working world. I knew you had nothing to do with it because the note was sweet. Too sweet. Sweeter than you actually are.” She handed me the card. “When I blew out the candles tonight, I wished for my next birthday to not feel like such a goddamn chore to my immediate family. I would’ve rather been alone. Again.”
I threw my hands in the air, surrendering. “Maddy, look, I’m sorry you felt that way. I am. I thought we had fun. Jesus Christ, if I knew you wanted a card, I would’ve written a card. Why didn’t you say so?”
She looked right at me and said, “I’d rather slit my wrist than have to tell you I want a card on my birthday.”
She’d rather slit her wrist. That’s what she said. I thought she was being dramatic.
After she left the room, I read the note:
Happy birthday, my Maddy! I look forward to celebrating your life every year because you are the best thing that ever happened to me. You deserve the world for all you do for Eve and me. Cheers to another great year … Yours, Brady
I bowled over. This four-sentence card was the sweetest thing she’d gotten from me in years. But did I learn a lesson from that? No. No, I did not. Not one bit. All it did was leave me ticked at Paula. I didn’t ask for a goddamn love letter, I asked for flowers.
Every year for my birthday Maddy did something special. Sometimes a party, sometimes a surprise weekend guest, twice a little getaway, but always something. She’d pair a beautiful card with a thoughtful gift—the kind you didn’t know you wanted but afterward can’t imagine living without. She had the windows of my car tinted because I always complained of the glare from the sun. She had my favorite leather briefcase repaired because she couldn’t find a new one that had the same depth to the outside pockets. It never crossed my mind these were grievances I could address. Maddy was resourceful in a way that left other people scratching their heads.
I did make it up to her the following Saturday while Eve was overnight at Lindsey’s. I waited until Maddy left for the gym to get everything ready. When she got home, smelling of the coconut soap from the locker room, I was in a tux, pouring champagne. She laughed. “Someone wants to get laid after being a shithead, huh?”
“No,” I said. “I’m hoping to close a deal, but not that one.”
“What then?”
“Well, I believe I’m overdue in getting you to sign my five-year renewal.”
The five-year renewal was a joke from our wedding day. As the story goes, right after Meg reached the altar and the bridal march began to play, Maddy whispered to her dad that she intended to stay committed to the marriage for five years. He broke into a stunned sweat, doing the math on how much the wedding would cost per year the marriage lasted. Then Maddy added that everyone should feel like they come up for renewal and I was on a five-year plan. Her father snorted and asked what plan I put Maddy on. “If he’s as smart as I think he is,” Maddy said, “it’ll be monthly.” They laughed the whole way down the aisle.
“I don’t know if I’d be inquiring about that with your current status,” Maddy warned. “You’re still so far in the doghouse, I should paint your name on it.”
I directed her to the bedroom, where a black cocktail dress from Saks was laid on the bed. It was a sexy, perfect fit. She came out saying, “Just because I look amazing doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.” I laughed, thinking we were making progress. She didn’t join me.
She loosened up a bit when she noticed I not only remembered her favorite entrée but drove thirty minutes to the North End to get it. It was scallop risotto from the place she requested to go to on her birthday, but I failed to get a reservation in time. Just as her anger subsided, she asked whether Paula helped plan the evening. “I intend to live to my next birthday, Maddy, so no, Paula had nothing to do with this.”
“Good,” she said, finally offering a genuine smile. “At least it appears my message was received.”
I raised my glass for a prepared toast. “You are my rock, Madeline Starling. I don’t know what this world would look like without you by my side, and I hope I never find out. I’m sorry I made you feel like a chore. I promise, if you opt to renew for another five years, I will spend every day proving my devotion to you.”
She balanced her hands back and forth like a scale. “Okay, fine,” she conceded, “I’ll keep you. But Brady?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be such a prick ever again.”