Page 43 of The Cutting Edge
“Hey Rosie, how did everything go today? “
“She did very well on her spelling test, but she’ll want to tell you herself. She spent a good chunk of the afternoon makingget-well-sooncards for Coco.? and you have new refrigerator art,” she says as she points to the refrigerator door.
There’s a new drawing, showing me, Coco, and Poppy holding hands in front of the hospital. There is a bouquet of pink roses between my hand and Coco’s in the picture. Guilt hits my chest like an electrical shock.
Poppy loves Coco. In Poppy’s mind, Coco is a cross somewhere between Alysa Liu and Princess Anna from Frozen.
“Isn’t that a sweet drawing? “Nanny asks.
“It is.” How am I ever going to solve this?
“Do you need me for anything else before I go?”
“No, thank you, Rosie, I think I can manage it from here.”
Rosie gathers her things to go as Poppy and Rufus arrive in the kitchen with a sparkly purple tote that Poppy refers to as “the Beauty Shop.”
“What color do you want, Daddy?” asks Poppy. “I’m open to any color you pick.”
Her eyes light up, as she digs through the tote.
“How about this one, Daddy?” She asks, pulling out a bottle of bluish-purple nail polish with large, sparkly flecks of silver. “It’s called Lilac Princess.”
“Oh, that’s perfect, Poppycakes,” I say, as she stands on her tiptoes to get the paper towels off the countertop.
Itisperfect, actually, because it’s just given me an idea for how to win Coco back.
Chapter seventeen
Coco
Loganhasmadeitclear that he will not disappear quietly into the night. Over the last few days, while I've been stuck in the hospital, he’s sent gifts multiple times per day.
A few hours after I sent him away, Nurse Steven brought in Poppy’s drawing and the Twinkie bouquet. As much as I wanted to make a statement by sending Steven away with it, I have to confess, I'm actually pretty glad Logan left it at the nurses' station. Because, you know, Twinkies are delicious. Plus, it’s not Poppy’s fault I’m mad at her Dad. She’s just an innocent. And her drawing is adorable.
That evening, a massage therapist named Monnie arrives at the hospital. She's in her mid-70s, I would guess, with curly gray hair cut short, and some of the kindest blue-gray eyes I have ever seen. She brought her massage table with her, but also let me know that she would be happy to give me a massage while I was in the hospital bed if I preferred. At first, I considered sending her away, but I really appreciated the fact that Logan apparently paid attention to what I said yesterday about feeling achy and stiff after being stuck in a hospital bed for three days. This turned out to be the right decision because Monnie is some kind of magical massage therapist.
Besides, how do you send back a gift that’s a human? You don’t.
She set up her massage table on the opposite side of the hospital bed from the door, dimmed the lights, and gave me the single best massage I've ever had in my life. What was truly delightful was that usually when I have a massage it's because I'm trying to recover from some injury or loosen up before a competition, but this massage was purely for relaxation purposes. I have to confess, after everything that's happened over the last several days, I had no idea how much I needed this.
That night, I slept better than I have in a week, maybe better than I have all year. I was so incredibly relaxed. My head hardly bothered me at all, and I didn’t even notice the comings and goings of the night nurses that had woken me up constantly from the evening I arrived.
The next morning around 9 AM the parade of gifts began.
First, the flowers arrive – this time a striking display of all-white roses with a card that reads simply,
I’m so sorry for hurting you, and all the trouble I’ve caused you. I hope you’ll accept this small peace offering.
–Logan
Soon after, an aesthetician called the Fairy Skin Mother appears to give me a facial, right there in my hospital bed. She puts a soft sheet across the top of the hospital bed to protect against any type of splatters, sets up a steam machine and a ring light, and takes over a small space on the bedside table for her various tools, creams, and perhaps just the tiniest bit of fairy dust. It’s the first time I've ever had a professional facial, and believe me, it’s quite an upgrade from the sheet masks and muddy goop that Marissa and I sometimes buy from the drugstore for a girls’ night in.
Katie (the Fairy Skin Mother’s real name) cleans my skin, steams open my pores, and then massages, pampers, and plies them with an extensive variety of cleansers, creams, peels, aromatherapy oils, and magical salves. It’s the most relaxing, extravagant, luxurious experience I've ever had in my life. She leaves me with a giant gift bag that includes all the wonderful, and clearly expensive products she'd used on me during my facial, as well as a gift card for $500 so I can treat myself to another facial at her day spa anytime I wanted.
Best gift ever.
Just as the Fairy Skin Mother heads back to her shop of wonders, probably in a silvery carriage drawn by four white horses, a delivery of dozens of packages arrives, all gorgeously wrapped in expensive lavender paper and elegant white satin bows from an upscale shop downtown called La Nuit.
