The Southern Side of Paradise

by Kristy Woodson Harvey

  Mom took a deep breath, and we all leaned in, somehow sensing that what she was about to say was going to be important.

  But before she could speak, Caroline interjected, “I’m packing up, Mom. The guesthouse is officially all yours again.”

  The way she said it felt abrupt, even for Caroline. I got the distinct impression that she was trying to change the subject, despite the fact that a subject hadn’t even been broached.

  “No!” Mom said. “I don’t want the guesthouse to be all mine again. You can’t leave!”

  “Mom!” Caroline was incredulous. “Surely you didn’t think we were going to stay here forever?”

  “No. Not forever. But it’s still summer. There’s still a wedding to plan.”

  “I’m only going back for two weeks. Then I’ll be back here for a bit. But the last time I came, I moved. I have parkas crammed in the closet. It’s time to get out of here and reboot.”

  Now Mom was crying in earnest. “But when you come back, you’ll be staying at your house, and it won’t be the same.”

  I think we were all a bit surprised by the display of emotion. You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that Mom had been thrown by the idea that we would all be coming home to live with her, all at once. I didn’t blame her, really. When you were by yourself, it was easy to get into your routine, become set in your ways. Seven of us suddenly living under her roof and James down the street had to have come as quite the shock. I’d assumed she would be relieved to see that her nest was shrinking.

  I was crying now, too, because if anyone cries, I cry with them. That had been a big hurdle for me to overcome as an actress, because I even responded compassionately to fellow actors’ fake tears.

  “This really has been the best few months,” I said, sobbing, which was totally ridiculous, because Adam had been missing and James had cheated and Grammy had died and I had been sick that whole time.

  I looked over and was surprised to see that Sloane was crying now, too.

  “Here’s the deal, though. I have a surprise for all of you, and I need you to come to Manhattan on July 29 to get it.”

  “What kind of surprise?” Sloane asked warily, drying her tears with her napkin.

  “It’s a good one, I promise,” Caroline said. “I’ve been working really hard on it, and I think you’re all going to love it.”

  Sloane crossed her arms, and I expected an argument from her, but none came. It had taken everything we had to get her to New York a few months ago. Before that trip, she hadn’t been on a plane or in the city since Dad was killed in the 9/11 attacks. But now she seemed resigned. With Caroline, it was just easier that way.

  I was excited about going to New York and excited about a surprise of any kind. But I was not excited about my sister leaving. I started sobbing again.

  “You guys,” Caroline said, “I’m not dying. Let’s get it together.”

  More sobbing.

  We heard heavy footsteps on the front stairs. James appeared in the doorway, in a suit as always, looking—I had to admit—irresistibly handsome. He looked at Caroline, then me, then Sloane, then Mom. He inhaled as though he were going to say something and then turned and bolted back down the steps.

  It was the best thing that could have possibly happened, because just like that, we all burst out laughing.

  Mom stood up and motioned for us all to come to her. I wrapped one arm around her and one around Caroline, resting my head on my mom’s shoulder. Even though I hadn’t told her about any of the things that were bothering me, still, at twenty-six years old, there was nothing more soothing than my mother’s hug.

  There we were: one mother, three daughters, a lot of tears, a lot of laughter. I knew then that no matter where life took us next, no matter what the future held, these women and this hug would always, always be worth coming home to.

  ELEVEN

  ansley: forever and always

  I try not to consciously think about that night. So maybe that’s why I dreamed of it so often, why I woke up in a cold sweat that I did the wrong thing, made the wrong decision, picked the life behind door number two instead of door number one.

  Carter and I married in late December, after Christmas and before New Year’s, giving everyone something to look forward to during that dark and gloomy time when it feels like there’s really nothing to celebrate. It would have made sense for us to marry in Peachtree Bluff, the place we had met. It would have made sense for us to get married in Athens, in my home church, and have the reception in my own backyard. But Carter and I decided to get married in Manhattan, at a chapel we had stumbled upon while we were spending a lazy afternoon meandering through the city.

  Our wedding was an affair to remember, to be sure. But in a lot of ways, that day was tainted for me. I spent years lamenting how unfair that was. I spent years lamenting it, that is, until I went to Jack to ask him for the most unthinkable thing I could imagine. Then I realized that life happens as it should, always, even the less desirable parts. Once I asked Jack to father not one but two of my children, the fact that he had almost broken up my wedding was put very much into perspective. And I knew for sure that had he not come to me that night, had we not made the promises we made, I never would have gone to him when it seemed like I was running out of options.

  I was staying at the Plaza that night, a wedding gift from Carter. We had lied to our parents that my apartment had been sublet quickly, so it wouldn’t appear that Carter and I had been living together for months. They would have had a stroke.

  The night before the wedding, everyone was already asleep, and I felt anxious. I was thrilled to marry Carter. I knew we loved each other. I knew the life we would have together would be as perfect as a life could be. But I had so much nervous energy all the same. It was a cold night in New York, and I watched the snow falling from my window, congregating in slow circles around the streetlights and melting as it hit the sidewalk. Suddenly, I had the strongest urge to be outside in it. So I bundled myself up in my grandmother’s fur, the one she had loaned me for my wedding day, and made my way down to the now-quiet lobby. The street outside, which was normally bustling, was calm. No well-heeled women rushing in and out of Bergdorf Goodman. No tired parents corralling screaming children out of FAO Schwarz. No cabs honking and screeching their way down the street.

  It was an enchanted night, one from a fairy tale, so much so that when I looked down the street and saw him, I wasn’t even surprised. Head down, hands in his pockets, Jack looked at me. When my eyes met his, he lit up like the tree in Rockefeller Center. I didn’t bother to move, just stood there in front of the steps, the revolving doors with the P on them quiet for the moment, taking time off from the relentless swish-swish-swish they made all day long.

  I should have put my hands up to stop him, because I knew what was coming. I could tell by the look in his eyes, by the way he walked toward me steadily, with such intention. Maybe it was that I wasn’t prepared. Maybe it was that I didn’t want to stop him. Maybe it was that I wanted to pretend, at least to myself, that what was happening wasn’t something of my doing.

  He looked so handsome that night, the way the streetlights cast a glow on his face, the snowflakes collecting in his eyelashes. When he scooped me up in his arms and kissed me, I didn’t pull away from him. I relished the way his hands felt on top of the fur of my coat, the way his mouth was so warm in contrast to the freezing air. I memorized how the snow fell around us, how, to the few passersby, we must have looked like reunited lovers in a romantic film.

  And in some ways, we were. Only, this was a tale bound to end tragically, star-crossed lovers, missed fates, bad timing. Yes, when it came to timing, this was quite possibly the worst. It was hard for me not to take it as a sign when I asked, “How did you know I would be here?” and he replied, “I didn’t.”

  I laughed then. “You didn’t know I was here?”

  He brushed the snow off my hair. “No, I had no idea. I’m here for work.”


  “You’re not serious?”

  I remember then how he leaned forward, how he kissed the space under my eyes, first on the right side and then on the left. “How I have missed you, Ansley. I think of you every single day.”

  I smiled sadly. I’d never worked up the courage to pick up the phone to call Jack and tell him I was getting married. I knew I needed to tell him now, but the words wouldn’t come.

  “Walk with me?” he asked.

  I nodded. I remember how warm I felt inside that mink, how I knew I shouldn’t let Jack hold my hand inside his coat pocket, but I did anyway. The entire night was alive. I was swept away by its magic. It felt like a wonderful dream.

  We walked for blocks and blocks before stepping inside a bar. We talked that night about politics and love, about work and family, about where life had taken us and where life would lead. And it wasn’t until Jack said, “Come home with me, Ansley. Come back to Georgia,” that I said, “I can’t, Jack.”

  Then he had winked at me, setting his frosty mug on the table, and said, “Then at least come home with me tonight.”

  I hate to say that I thought about it, that I had a moment where I wondered what harm it would do. No one would know. We could have one last night together. But then I thought of Carter and how I loved him so. I thought of how he had asked me to be his wife and I had said yes, how he had given me this whole life that I never would have dared to dream of, helped me to blossom into a woman who was fearless and forward-thinking. I wouldn’t give that up. I wouldn’t give him up. Not even for Jack.

  That was when I took both of his hands in mine and said, “Jack, I don’t know how to tell you this.” I remember how his face fell even before I said, “I’m getting married tomorrow.”

  I braced myself, prepared for him to ask why I had let him hold my hand, why I hadn’t mentioned a thing until that moment. But I think I had forgotten then how well this man knew me, how close he was to the very core of me. Because, for better or worse, it is those who love us when we’re young who will always understand us best. The ones who remember how carefree we were, how we sang with abandon when we sipped PBR on the beach all day and danced by the light of the moon all night, our feet splashing in the ocean. The ones who knew us before the world got its hands on us and told us who we should be.

  Jack knew the real me. He knew that girl I had been, that girl I had loved being. So he didn’t ask me any of that. Instead, he asked simply, “Do you have to?”

  We both laughed then, because how was I to answer that question? Did I have to? No. Would I? Yes.

  “I’ll be honest,” I said. “I can’t help but ask myself if this means something, if your showing up here isn’t some sort of sign.”

  “It is most definitely a sign,” he had said, taking a sip of his beer. “If you want to know my opinion, it’s a sign that you should call off your wedding, come home with me, and never look back.” When I didn’t say anything, he added, “Or at least a sign that you should have one last night of single, mind-blowing sex before your life is over tomorrow.”

  I laughed so hard that my stomach began to hurt.

  “Hey!” he said, feigning offense. Then he smiled. “Is there anything I could say to make you change your mind?”

  I thought about that for a minute. Sitting across from me was a boy I had loved, one who had taught me what it was to feel happy, to feel that jolt of electricity when his hand touched mine, who was the very first person to ever put his lips on mine. Could I ever replace that? No. Was I sure we could have had a happy life together if I hadn’t found Carter? Yes. But I had found Carter. And loving him had changed everything.

  So I shook my head.

  “Then I won’t ask you.” He smiled sadly. “And I won’t make you think about poor, lonely Jack, who is utterly lost in the world now that his one true love is taken by another.”

  I knew he was partly joking, but that there was also a tinge of truth in those words. We shared another drink, another few moments in time—our last, as we thought then.

  I let Jack put his arms inside my coat, around my waist. I let him pull me to him one last time. I let him kiss me good-bye. But I have to admit that it wasn’t only for him; it was for me, too. I needed to know that I had closed this chapter of my life fully before I opened the next one. I needed to know that I would never look back and think I should have made a different decision.

  Although it changed nothing, I still believed that Jack coming to me that night was a sign. Or maybe it was more like a gift. Because in those moments that we all inevitably have, when we wonder if we made the right choice, I knew, for sure, that I had actually chosen. I had stood on life’s game-show floor, presented with door one and door two, and I had actively, consciously chosen door number two.

  Still, I shed some tears that night as I told Jack good-bye in front of the Plaza. He kissed both of my hands and said, “Ansley, I love you forever and always. Anytime, anyplace, I will do absolutely anything for you. All you have to do is ask.”

  I wonder now if we hadn’t had that last night together if my life would have unfolded differently, if I would have made different choices, if Carter and I would have risked IUI again, if we would have adopted, if we would have waited a few years and tried some of the fertility treatments that were trickling onto the market.

  But the thought Jack had left me with, the one I was confident he wanted me to remember, was that he would do anything for me. All I had to do was ask. And ask I did. Twice.

  And for that, I would never be sorry.

  TWELVE

  emerson: end scene

  I had only assumed that the majority of the activity around the Murphy house would involve my wedding. I was wrong.

  Mom hadn’t been able to bring herself to go to Florida to dismantle Grammy’s house after she lost her battle with breast cancer, and, much to all of our surprise, her brothers, Scott and John, had volunteered to go do it for her. It was only fair, really, since Mom had spent the last months of Grammy’s life taking care of her. But what is fair is seldom what happens, especially when it comes to my uncle John, from whom we had all been estranged for years.

  Before she left, Caroline had locked me in the guesthouse and wouldn’t let me out until I called the doctor to get my test results.

  “Please let me do it when I’m with Mark,” I pleaded, feeling sweat gather on my brow.

  “Nope,” she said. “He’s a bigger chicken than you are.”

  “Maybe I should tell Mom first, prepare her,” I ventured.

  “You can make excuses all day,” Caroline said. “But I’m not letting you out of here under any circumstances until you’ve called.”

  Finally, I sighed and sat down on the bed. As soon as I dialed, Caroline sat down beside me and grabbed my free hand. She should be there for moral support. She was the one who had made me go to this doctor in New York, after all. She was the one who didn’t trust my doctors here.

  When the nurse answered, I hit the speaker button and said, “This is Emerson Murphy. I need to get some test results.”

  There was a long pause followed by some hold music, and a very apologetic nurse came back on the line.

  “Ms. Murphy, I am so sorry. Dr. Thomas’s head nurse is on vacation this week, the results seem to be locked in her computer, and Dr. Thomas is home with a sick child. I will get access and have someone call you back by tomorrow at the latest.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t have to know. Not yet. “I’m actually coming to New York tomorrow with my family, so this can wait until next week.”

  “Oh, you’re coming to the city? That’s even better,” she enthused. “Dr. Thomas always likes to deliver test results in person, so may I put you on his schedule for tomorrow?”

  Before I could protest, Caroline said, “That would be ideal. We’ll be there whenever you tell us to.”

  “Do you think that means it’s bad news?” I asked quickly, my pulse racing. “And that’s why he wants to deliver
it in person?”

  “No, no,” the nurse said. “Just standard protocol.” Then she added, “Good news or bad, you’re in the best hands with Dr. Thomas.”

  Caroline took over the particulars, and as she hung up, I was saying, “Wonder what kind of job his wife has that is less important than an oncologist’s so that he stays home with his sick kid?” I looked up and realized I had made the ultimate mistake, the thing I had been trying to avoid from the moment I first felt dizzy.

  Mom was standing in the doorway, her mouth open, tears streaming down her face. “I knew there was something wrong with you!” she exclaimed. “And you,” she said accusatorily, pointing at Caroline. “You lied to me. You both lied to me. How could you leave me in the dark like this?”

  I put my hands up in the air. “Because of this, Mom. Because we don’t even know if anything is wrong, and now you’re all hysterical and sobbing and freaking out for no reason.”

  She took a deep breath. “You don’t know if anything is wrong?”

  “It could be aplastic anemia,” I said cautiously. “But it isn’t cancer, so that’s good.”

  Mom swallowed. “Aunt Trudy had that.”

  That was when the lump settled in my stomach. I knew there was a good chance that I was absolutely fine, that all of this was just a bad couple of months that would pass. But knowing that there was a genetic component made me all the more sure that this inability to produce red blood cells, this life of uncontrolled bleeding and extreme fatigue, was going to be placed on me.

  Mom sat down on the other side of me. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. It’s going to be fine.”

  I knew logically that it wasn’t her fault. We hadn’t told her I was sick. She hadn’t had the opportunity to be strong yet sympathetic yet. Still, I was annoyed. We had done this part already. Sloane and Caroline had made the offers of bone-marrow and child-carrying services. We were past all that. This was the real part, the part where we had to plunge forward and know the truth.