Perfectly Undone

by Jamie Raintree

“You do?” I ask skeptically. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “No,” he says. “But I have a dog.”

  I burst into laughter. Reese smiles coyly, the butt of the joke for once.

  “Not exactly the same,” I say.

  “I respectfully disagree,” he argues, pleased as ever to play devil’s advocate with me. “Charlie depends on me for her health and happiness—”

  “Charlie?”

  “She’s a fox red Lab. And I love her as much as I love any human in my life. I would be heartbroken if she was hurt or sick or if I lost her. Tell me what’s different.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, pondering it. “A human’s life is more valuable.”

  “Is it?” he asks. “Why?”

  I shake my head, mouth agape, my arguments so many that I’m rendered speechless. The corner of Reese’s mouth lifts in a crooked smile, and I realize it’s pointless to argue with him anyway. Nothing I say will change his mind. Instead of speaking, I grab a clump of dirt and throw it at him. He dodges it and chuckles.

  Spotting the puppy a few feet away, Reese nods toward him. “You’ll see.”

  I glance at the puppy, who is chewing on a flower petal he stole from a plant he decimated a few minutes ago.

  “He’s not mine.”

  As if he senses we’re talking about him, the puppy comes over and drops the flower petal in my lap proudly.

  “Tell him that.”

  I roll my eyes. “So you live alone?”

  “With Charlie.” He nods. “Why do you ask?”

  “I guess I’m trying to picture your life outside of digging holes and dealing with neurotic strangers.”

  He barks a laugh. “You’re not neurotic.”

  I gasp and place a hand to my chest. “Who said I was talking about me?”

  He kicks dirt in my direction, but it doesn’t come close to me.

  “Yep,” he says. “In a house on the north side of town.”

  “A house? For some reason I always pictured you living in an apartment using pizza boxes to hold up your twelve-inch TV set.”

  “I’m single, not a frat boy.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  “You might be surprised,” he says.

  I look him over, study his face. “Maybe not. You’re an artist by nature. I’m sure your house reflects that in the best way.”

  “What does your house say about you?” he asks.

  “That I’m never in it.”

  He returns to digging.

  “Family?” I ask.

  “I have a brother. And our mom.”

  “No father?”

  “Not in the picture. Not for a long time.”

  “I’m sorry.” Reese shrugs it off, so I don’t push him for more information. “What does your brother do?”

  “He owns a tech company. They design software.”

  “Wow. That’s impressive.”

  “He’s a very smart man. Very creative.”

  “Runs in the family,” I say.

  “No,” he says. “I just see things in my head, and I have to get them out. It’s like therapy. So at best I’m on the verge of madness.”

  “You’re the sanest person I’ve ever met,” I say.

  He laughs. “Then you need to run. Now.”

  I laugh until my eyes fill with tears, and I have to wipe them away. When the chirping of the birds in the trees is once again the only sound, I ask him about his mom. I realize that after all the conversations with Reese, this is the first time he’s told me anything about his family. I realize just as quickly that it’s the first time I’ve asked. Why is it that I can find out so much about my patients during their short visits, but when it comes to personal relationships, I don’t know the first thing about opening up to people?

  “She’s an incredible woman,” Reese says. “Hard-working. Smart. Beautiful. I wish I knew her better.”

  “What do you mean?” I dig my toes farther into the moist dirt.

  “She had to raise my brother and me by herself, so it was hard on her. When we were young, she got a job as a hotel maid and worked her way up the ladder. Now she works at the corporate office and is really successful. That didn’t leave her a lot of time for us. She did what she had to, so I’ll never hold a grudge against her for that. But it would be nice to see her more, now that she doesn’t have to take care of us anymore.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. I know what it feels like to be alone—emotionally, if not physically—at a young age, and how it affects me even now.

  “It makes her happy. I’ll always be supportive of someone doing what makes them happy.”

  “Are you happy...doing this?”

  He gives me a lopsided grin, never stopping his rhythmic dance with the shovel.

  “Do you think for a second I would be here if I wasn’t?”

  I smile, shake my head.

  “My brother has offered me a position at his company a dozen times. But I would go out of my mind sitting in an office all day. It’s just not me.”

  I sigh. How much I wish I could make decisions based solely on what I wanted. What would my life look like? Would Cooper still be here? Would we have ever met in the first place?

  “I bet you would look good in a suit,” I say before I realize the way he might perceive my words. I bite my bottom lip as I wait for his response, but he just smiles at me.

  “The flowers came in,” he says, changing the subject. “Can you get off early tomorrow?”

  I nod. “I’ll be here.”

  * * *

  The next day, I check the clock every five minutes until my last appointment. I saw the columbines in Reese’s truck this morning and packed my gardening clothes before work—the first pair of jeans I’ve owned since I started my residency and a sleeveless T-shirt. I left them in my locker to change into as soon as the clock strikes four, prepared to leave my charting duties for another day. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt these butterflies in my stomach, and I relish them without thinking too much about what they mean. I love the easy feeling of a breeze on my neck and someone to talk to. Nothing more.

  “Dylan,” Vanessa calls from down the hall after my final appointment. “Are you finished for the day?” she asks. She stops in front of me, and I focus on her face so I don’t look past her toward the locker room.

  “Yeah.”

  “Come with me,” she says.

  My heart sinks when she turns toward her office. I follow her. We haven’t talked much since she shot down my application. I worry belatedly that her suggestion to wait until the next grant became available was a test, and I’ve failed it. It’s not that I haven’t been working on revising it, but without a benefactor to submit it to, there’s been no reason to rush.

  Vanessa closes the door behind me and motions for me to sit. I swallow hard. She doesn’t speak until she’s comfortable in her own seat and has looked me over, her eyes narrowed to slits.

  “What’s going on with you, Dylan?” she asks.

  “G-going on?” I stammer. I take a deep breath and remind myself that I’m not a resident anymore. I’ve done my job very well for the last year. There’s a reason Vanessa picked me to lead the research trial. “Nothing. Nothing’s going on.”

  Except everything is going on. I can’t seem to think about anything but Cooper, I barely make it through the day without tearing up in front of a patient and I’ve been stumbling through my work like a first year. For the first couple of weeks after Cooper left, I spent every waking minute at the hospital and many nights sleeping in my office. But after my most recent appointment with Erika and Andrew and witnessing their affectionate banter again, work seemed like another reminder that life was moving forward all around me. I
n the garden, time stands still, and for the last couple of weeks, I’ve retreated to it more than I should.

  “I’m not blind, Dylan. Sure, you’re spending more time here, but you aren’t really here, are you? I’m starting to get complaints.”

  My heart stops. Complaints?

  Vanessa leans forward and rests her chin on her hands, her fingers steepled in front of her mouth. I haven’t seen this side of her since I was a first year, and it jars me out of my self-pity. It took me so long to build that ground with her, and now I’ve lost that, too.

  “From...my patients?” I ask. The idea of letting any one of them down, of all people, paralyzes me.

  “From the nurses,” she says, softer. “They’re worried about you, Dylan. Frankly, I’m more concerned about the morale here, but if whatever is going on does start to affect your patients, we’re going to have a problem.”

  My body relaxes with a small amount of relief. I nod.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Lu. I’ve been distracted.”

  “Is something happening at home?” she asks, which surprises me. Vanessa is so dedicated to the hospital, she assumes everyone else is, too. Or that they should be.

  “I...” My voice trails off. To admit my personal struggles would be a sign of weakness.

  Vanessa sighs and leans back in her chair. “Dylan, are you still working on your grant application?”

  There’s no use lying to her. It doesn’t help either one of us. “Not as much as I should be.”

  “There will be other grants, Dylan. I need you to get focused. Don’t throw everything away now. Do you know how many doctors ask me to mentor them each year?”

  I don’t know the exact number, but I get her point.

  “I get it,” I say.

  “Good. Don’t make me wrong about you, Dylan.”

  When she picks up her phone, I rise and leave her office, shaken.

  Afterward, I return to my office to finish my charts because I can’t very well leave them undone now. I sit down at my desk with the intention of finishing the few that can’t wait, but several phone calls and questions from the nurses later, and the colors in the sky have melted from light blue into a bright orange. I no longer have time to change clothes, so I run to the locker room, grab my bag and bolt out the door.

  My heart sinks when I turn onto my driveway and see that Reese’s truck isn’t there. The clock says it’s after eight. I’ve missed him.

  I walk around the garage to the backyard, and when the scene comes into view, my chest deflates. The flowers Reese had promised to let me help with are already planted, and I find myself irrationally angry at him for doing it without me. I take off my shoes and pace across the grass, burning off my emotions. At the top of the stepping-stones, I sink to the ground, breathless. I feel nature against my skin and the longing to control one small part of this world. And as much as I hate to admit it, I understand my mom a little more in this moment.

  10

  By the end of June, Reese has planted flowers in the front beds and around the entry door. He’s finished the back half of the moat, and is moving on to the side of the house. I’ve avoided seeing him for the last week, but I spend plenty of time in the backyard alone, running my fingers over the fresh blooms and the thick grass. It’s only those things I can touch that feel real to me now.

  Cooper flits in and out of my life unexpectedly to pick up mail or drop off more food for the puppy. He asks how I’m doing and nods when I tell him I’m fine, both of us knowing the truth—that none of this is fine. Those moments, no matter how confusing and tense, feel almost normal. But then, just as quickly, he’s gone again. I thought having him out of the house would make getting on with my life easier, but the memories of him have an even stronger presence in the house than he did. Cooper could only be in one place at a time—the memories are everywhere.

  On Saturday morning, I wake up facing my first weekend off alone. I roll away from the sun streaming in through the bedroom windows, wondering if today might be the first day in years my body will let me sleep in. If I could sleep the entire weekend away, it would be a welcome break. But my movement wakes up the puppy who, by some act of cunning, has worked his way into my bed. His tail thumps against the comforter, and he licks my face.

  I sigh. “Okay, Spencer,” I say, trying out his new name. Coming up with a name myself felt like too much pressure, but he seems to like Reese’s choice. His tail wags faster, and he licks my nose with more enthusiasm. “What do you say we go for a walk this morning?” He clearly has no idea what I’m saying, but just the sound of my voice is enough to convince him to do anything. I roll myself out of bed and get dressed.

  After untangling a leash and collar from the pile of things Cooper has dropped off for him during his visits and getting it on Spencer’s wriggling body, I lead the puppy out into the dry heat of the morning. Spencer doesn’t know what to make of his trappings and seems to have declared war on them, contorting his body into increasingly alarming shapes in an attempt to free himself from them. I watch him with amusement. I’ve never walked a dog before, but I have a feeling we aren’t going to make it very far.

  “Dude, you have got to chill out,” I tell him, pulling my sunglasses down over my face. Spencer looks up at me innocently with the bottom part of his jaw wedged underneath his collar.

  I hear the sound of a car approaching as I maneuver Spencer’s collar around his teeth, his body pinned between my legs to keep him still. My heart flutters, expecting Cooper or Reese, but when I look up, I see Megan’s car approaching. Spencer bolts toward her and, with his leash still wrapped around my legs, sweeps my feet out from underneath me. I land splayed out on the ground with a groan. I don’t move for a minute, still in shock, until Spencer bolts back in my direction and covers me with his wet tongue until I’m laughing and pushing him away.

  “Are you okay?” Megan calls out as she gets out of the car. Spencer disappears for a moment, and I sit up.

  “Fine,” I say. “That damn dog is going to be the death of me.”

  I stand and brush my backside off. Megan slams the car door shut, revealing her midsection, but in the loose-fitting shirt she’s wearing, I see no evidence of her pregnancy. Still hiding it, then.

  “Are you sure?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m surprised to see you, though. Everything okay?” I approach cautiously, unsure of how much she knows about me and Cooper. I haven’t spoken to anyone in his family since it happened, avoiding Marilyn’s usual calls. I’m still not ready to say goodbye to them.

  “Everything’s great,” she says. She bends down to pet Spencer, but she hardly touches the top of his head before he’s off again, zigzagging around the yard with the leash tangled between his limbs. “So that’s the dog Cooper brought home, huh?”

  “Suits him, right?”

  Megan laughs and so do I, until I realize that Cooper isn’t mine to make jokes about anymore. My laughter dies off abruptly.

  “May I?” I ask Megan, reaching for her belly. She nods. I take a step closer, and when I smooth her shirt against her skin, the roundness beneath it becomes obvious. She won’t be hiding it for much longer.

  “I feel good,” Megan says, answering my unasked question. “The morning sickness has finally stopped, and I’m getting some of my energy back. Maybe this whole pregnancy won’t be as miserable as I thought.”

  I smile. “They say the second trimester is the best.”

  I drop my hand from her belly, and we stand in awkward silence for a moment. I realize then how infrequently Megan and I have spent time together just the two of us. The guys have always been our glue.

  “So I take it Cooper told you—” I start, but she speaks over me.

  “I’ve been feeling kind of—”

  We both stop and laugh.

  “You
first,” I say.

  “No.” She looks at me with narrowed eyes. “What didn’t Cooper tell me?”

  I search her face for any signs of knowledge. I see none.

  “About the puppy,” I say. She narrows her eyes further, but she doesn’t push me. “You’ve been feeling...?”

  Megan sighs, and her expression turns from skeptical to coy.

  “I’ve been feeling kind of out of the loop,” she admits. “I mean, I know Cooper is my brother, but I guess I don’t know how to invite myself to hang out with you guys without Stephen.”

  I deflate. “Oh, Megan. I’m so sorry.” I place my hand on her shoulder. “I’m an idiot. I should have called you. Things have just been...”

  If Cooper had told his family about our breakup, she would know she wasn’t being left out. I almost tell her out of spite—it’s been weeks, and Cooper is still hiding in denial or shame—but I stop myself. It isn’t fair to drag Megan into the middle of it, especially in her condition. And as angry as I am at Cooper, I don’t want to be the one to change his family’s view of him, as much for their sake as for his. I’m not the only one who has looked to Cooper as a beacon of hope in a world that’s all too devoid of good anymore. Letting them down is something Cooper has to face on his own.

  Besides, in truth, I haven’t told my family yet either. They’ve never been as close to Cooper as I am with the Caldwells. I didn’t realize, though, how much our separation would affect the people we love without them even knowing it.

  “I know,” she says. “It’s not your fault. It’s my own insecurity. I’m still not used to this idea of being...single.” She says the word as if it’s a completely foreign concept, and I turn my face away. You and me both, I want to say.

  “I was going to take Spencer on a walk. Do you want to join me?”

  Megan’s face lights up. “I’d love to.”

  * * *

  The office building my father owns is as old as the dirt it stands on, and it looks it, the brick harboring over a hundred years of soot and money dreams. I park in the garage across the street and jog through the listless one-way traffic to the glass doors only featured in government buildings anymore. The place stands six stories high and is situated near historic Portland, and though when I was younger I urged him to move to a building closer to home, he insisted he loved its history and charm. It’s the same building his father rented when he first opened the doors for business. Dad always told me, “People should never forget where they come from,” as if it’s possible to erase it from memory. Maybe if I could forget my past, I’d finally get a hold on my future.