"Move, you over-priced seamstress," Catherine snaps. "I need to see the suits! I need to approve the break! I need to ensure they are not wearingnavy! Navy is for banking clerks!"
"They are Midnight Blue," Enzo hisses, insulted. "It is the colour of kings."
"Mother," Max says. He steps down from the podium. He looks tall, regal, and utterly calm. "You are leaving."
"I am not leaving!" Catherine cries, her voice cracking. "I have gifts! I have the cufflinks! Your grandfather’s cufflinks! The sapphire ones! You have to wear them, Maxwell! They are tradition!"
She holds out the garment bag. She looks desperate. Her eyesare rimmed with red. She isn't the General anymore. She’s a panic attack in heels.
"I don't want the cufflinks," Max says.
"But they match the eyes!" Catherine pleads. "Maxwell, please. Just let me... just let me fix the tie. Let me dosomething. You’ve cut me out of the flowers. You’ve cut me out of the music. You’ve cut me out of theboat. Let me fix the tie."
She reaches for him.
I step in.
I don't shove her. I just move. One second I’m on the podium, the next I am a solid wall of muscle between Max and his mother.
"No touching," I say. My voice is low. It’s the voice I use when a patient is trying to rip out their IV. "Back up, Catherine."
"Jackson," she gasps. "I am his mother!"
"And I am his husband," I say. "Well, almost. And right now, the patient is stable. You are the stressor. You are increasing his cortisol levels. And I don't allow stressors in my OR."
"This is a tailor shop!"
"It’s a sterile field now," I say. "Preston. Escort."
Preston stands up. He puts down his espresso. He walks over and takes Catherine’s arm.
"Come along, Mother," Preston says gently but firmly. "Enzo has a very sharp pair of scissors, and I would hate for this to turn into a slasher film."
"Maxwell!" Catherine wails as Preston drags her toward the door. "I just wanted to help! I just wanted it to be perfect!"
"It is perfect," Max says quietly. "Because you aren't running it."
The door closes. The silence returns.
Enzo looks at the door. He looks at me. He looks at Max.
"She is... intense," Enzo decides. "I will add a reinforcement stitch to the seams. In case she attacks again."
"Thank you, Enzo," Max says.
He looks at me. He takes my hand.
"That was the Bargaining phase," Max says. "She is running out of options."
"What’s next?" I ask.
"Depression," Max says. "And then... Acceptance. Or capitulation."
Jax
It is 16:00. The rehearsal (therealone, without the pretzels) is over. The wedding party has left for the hotel.
Max wanted a moment alone. He said he needed to "calibrate the acoustics" of the venue, but I know he just needed to sit in the quiet.
