Perfectly Undone

by Jamie Raintree

  I let myself into the lobby and out of the cool, misty morning. It’s Sunday, and though I’ve made it a habit of hiding in charts on the weekends, seeing Megan made me feel like it’s time to finally start accepting the fact that I’m going to have to move on with my life and without Cooper. I can’t keep living in a bubble.

  The receptionist isn’t here, and it feels like a ghost town without her and her constant barrage of phone calls. The sound of my heels on the ceramic floors echoes as I cross the room to the elevators. But I know Dad will be here. Sunday morning has been his favorite time to catch up at work, even when he owned the pizza parlor. He says the quiet allows him to concentrate. It’s a strategy I often use myself.

  Once the doors slide shut in front of me, I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes. I know talking to my dad will help. I’m his baby girl. But I’m also his only girl now, and that makes him more protective of me.

  I knock lightly on his office door, then crack it open and peek my head in. My dad turns to face me from where he’s standing in front of the windows overlooking downtown.

  “Dylan?”

  “Hi, Dad,” I say. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course. Of course.” He lets his arms fall to his sides and motions toward the chairs in front of his desk. Instead I find a spot beside him near the window. We stand next to each other for a few minutes, watching the foot traffic below. It is relaxing, watching some people scurry by in business suits, even on the weekend, while others laugh and talk, window shop. I see a woman smiling and talking sweetly to the man who’s holding her hand, and I try to imagine what her life must be like. What would be different? What has she figured out that I haven’t?

  “How’s work?” I ask Dad.

  “Same old, same old,” he says.

  As much as Dad has encouraged me to share my frustrations and setbacks, he’s never been particularly forthcoming with his. Some parents become friends to their adult children and share the secrets that were once withheld to protect them, but mine have always just been my parents.

  We stand there for another minute before I feel my dad’s arm snake around my shoulders. He pulls me into the nook under his arm. I don’t fit there as well as I used to.

  “What’s going on, baby girl? I can tell something is up.”

  I press a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s sit down.”

  “Okay.”

  I take one of the chairs, and he takes the other. We face them toward each other, and he crosses his ankle over his knee. My stomach is alive with anxiety. I finally have to say the words aloud, and I can feel them there, lodged in my throat, fighting their way out.

  “Okay.” I exhale forcefully. “Cooper has moved out. He...cheated on me.”

  I have a hard time looking at him, as if it’s my own shame. His face has gone stony. I swallow hard.

  “I would never have expected this of him either but...” I go on, feeling the need to defend Cooper, or maybe my decision in choosing him. “I don’t know what to do. My life is completely tied to his. The house, the cars, our finances. You know more about money and assets than anyone I know. I figured if anyone could give me some advice on how to make a clean break, it would be you.” My voice gains strength as I go on, growing more sure with every word.

  Dad turns away, thinking, and rubs his forefinger over his chin and the day-off stubble there.

  He finally nods. “And you’re sure you want to leave him?”

  I furrow my brow. His question is so shocking, it takes me a moment to respond.

  “He cheated on me,” I say. “There’s nothing else to do.”

  My dad stands, catching me off guard. I push myself back in my chair to give him room. He crosses the floor and resumes the position I found him in when I first walked in. He paces along the window, his lips working, not quite forming the shape of words but as if he’s having a conversation with himself in his mind. I stand, but stay rooted in my spot. I prepared myself to hear him threaten to kill Cooper or to hold me in his arms. I didn’t prepare for him to say nothing.

  “Will you help me figure out how to get out of the mortgage and separate our bank accounts?” I finally ask, trying to pull him back in.

  Dad analyzes me for a moment, then comes over to take my hands. “You know I will. I’m always here for you. But will you do me a favor? Will you think about this for a few more days? A week?”

  “I...I don’t know, Dad. It’s been weeks already. Nothing is going to change.”

  The words come out shaky. Dad pulls me into his chest and holds me there, the way I wanted him to—the reason I came here. Tears leak from my eyes onto the palm trees on his Hawaiian shirt. He rubs his hand over my hair and shushes me. When I was a girl and we first moved, I often came home upset about things the girls at school said about me. I had spent the first years of my life at public schools in lower middle-class Portland, and while I was never popular, I had a few close friends. We didn’t have much, but we were happy with just enough. It never occurred to me to want nicer clothes, more expensive haircuts or designer backpacks. I was thrown into a world—private school—that didn’t understand me, and when people don’t understand something, they shun it. The only thing that got me through those days was that my dad would hug me each night after he got home from work, and when I told him about my day, he would say, “Give your hurts to me, and I’ll keep them safe until you need them.” I would laugh because I could never imagine a time when I would need to hurt.

  Now, I mumble, “Will you take my hurts?” Dad laughs his deep, throaty chuckle, and a smile tugs at the corner of my lips.

  “Give ’em here,” he says. He holds out his hand, but instead of pretending to place my invisible pain there, I push the real pain to the back of my mind where it will be safe, no longer roiling and swollen.

  Dad holds me away from him and cups my chin in his hand. “You know Cooper loves you, baby.”

  I sigh, giving up hope that Dad is going to let me off the hook easily. I should have known he’d react this way. He’s been trying to hold his marriage to my mom together for half my life.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, because I sense more is riding on the promise than just my relationship.

  * * *

  On the way home that night, I stop by the farmer’s market to pick up some fresh produce and wine, then the grocery store for Asian noodles and spices to make my favorite stir-fry. It’s one of the dishes Mom made growing up—one I adopted when I moved out—but Cooper never liked it much. I also grab the first purple comforter set I see at Bed Bath & Beyond. It’s time to get used to being single again.

  To my surprise, Reese’s truck is in the driveway when I get home. Before I’ve even put my key into the front door lock, I hear Spencer whining from his crate. I announce my presence, and his whining stops, immediately replaced by the thumping of his tail on each side of the kennel.

  “Yes, I’m home,” I say to him and open the kennel door. As soon as I open the back door and set him down, he bolts out into the grass, right past the newest mound of earth—next to a large hollow at the end of the trench—and a pair of muddy work boots with Reese inside them.

  Reese greets the puppy first. He leans down to rub Spencer’s head, and I watch from the threshold. He has smudges of dirt on his bronzed arms in places that don’t make sense, like on the back of his bicep and the inside of his elbow. Spencer finds interest in his friend for only a minute before he’s off to the first bush. Reese stands up again.

  “You know,” Reese says, “if you want, you can leave him with me in the mornings. I don’t mind if he hangs out with me while I work.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I don’t want to impose.”

  “It wouldn’t be an imposition. I like his company. Almost as much as yours,” he adds. My cheeks flush with anger or embarrassment, I’m
not sure. We haven’t spoken since he planted the flowers without me, and some of the uneasiness between us has crept back in.

  “Thanks. I’ll think about it,” I say. “Working on a Sunday?”

  “Yeah. I tried to call Dr. Caldwell today to let him know I’ll be out of town next week. I’m trying to finish up this section before I go, if that’s okay.”

  “Oh. Sure,” I say, as I back into the house. “His name is Spencer, by the way.” I nod toward the puppy.

  Reese beams in a way I haven’t seen before. “I like it.”

  “Well,” I say, and motion over my shoulder. “Better get dinner started.” Reese tilts his head and picks up his shovel as I call Spencer. I retreat into the house.

  To unwind, I turn on some music and take a shower. I dress in knit pants and a loose white blouse—comfortable but cute. It’s been a while since I’ve dressed for myself, not for my clients or the operating room. Or, on date nights, Cooper. In the kitchen, I purposefully put everything out of my mind but chopping onion and bell peppers, and I let a lightness seep into my heart and outward into my limbs. Maybe starting over won’t be the worst thing. Maybe I could even leave Oregon, try someplace new. When thoughts of Cooper’s retreating figure loom in the darkness of my mind, I hum to the music, forcing all my energy into my senses, the way I do at the clinic. If my hands are busy and my mind is focused, nothing else can reach me.

  By the time I start to heat the oil in a pan on the stove, an hour has passed, and the sun has almost set. Dark clouds hang heavily in the sky, but Spencer nips at my ankles anyway, whining to be let out again. With one eye on the stove, I open the door for him. Reese is in the cavity he’s been digging in sight of the kitchen window, something that isn’t a moat. I turn on the outside light for him.

  “You’re still here,” I say, though I’m not as surprised as I sound. I saw him working from inside, showing no signs of stopping or slowing. “Can you even see anything?”

  “The light helps,” he says with a smile.

  I look pointedly up at the sky. “It might rain. Are you sure you don’t want to head out now? It’s not a problem if you put it off until next week.” My reasons aren’t completely unselfish. It’s hard to find my center with him on the other side of the window.

  “I’d like to stay on track. I gave you a completion date, and I intend to stick to it. Again, if it’s okay with you. If you need me to go, I’ll go.” Seeing my hesitation, he adds, “I like to be a man of my word.”

  “Is that why you planted the flowers without me?” I haven’t been able to let it go—another disappointment by someone I was surprised to realize meant something to me. Another broken promise.

  “So that’s why you went missing.”

  Now that the words are out of my mouth, I feel silly for bringing it up. Reese doesn’t owe me anything.

  “I don’t want to be an imposition,” I repeat.

  “You never are, Dylan. But life keeps moving. Every moment is another opportunity to choose how you want to spend it.”

  I smile ruefully. “Right.”

  I want for him to apologize, but, of course, he doesn’t. I’m actually glad. I admire his ability to stand behind his decisions.

  A light rain begins, but it’s the kind of rain that alludes to worse yet to come. There’s a hum of electricity in my limbs at being alone on an ominous night, but I ignore it and go inside.

  Distracting myself from Reese’s words, I throw all the freshly chopped ingredients into the pan, contented by the sizzle each one makes, the scent of garlic filling the house. I set a place for one at the table—place mat and a cloth napkin, a wineglass and the nice china. I go all out, proving to myself I can let go and live in the moment. I just need to do it in my own time.

  While the food cooks, I make the bed with my new sheets. As I tuck them in on Cooper’s side, something catches my eye. I reach down into the crevice between the wood and the bed and pull out a book Cooper must have forgotten. I turn the tattered paperback over to see the title, but of course, I already know what it is. The Great Gatsby. It’s his favorite. I can’t count how many times I’ve seen him reading it. He always kept it on his nightstand and always teased—like longtime couples do—that if we ever broke up, he’d fight for me until his dying breath the same way Gatsby did for Daisy. It was one of his cheesy jokes, I thought, but now I wonder if it’s true. And as much as I hoped he wouldn’t make it harder for both us by dredging up the pain all over again, a small part of me hoped he would. I guess Megan was wrong—Cooper gave up the fight for me after all.

  But then again, he didn’t pick up the book the last time he was here. No doubt he’s missing it. Does that mean he still wants it here?

  I don’t realize I’ve curled up on his side of the bed, on top of my new sheets, with the book cradled against my chest, until I hear a knock at the back door. I don’t get up right away, and the knock comes again, more insistent until I finally get up. When I open the door, rain is falling heavily. I hadn’t noticed the pounding of it against the roof, so it’s a shock to my senses. Reese stands in my doorway, drenched. His shirt is stuck to his chest. His eyes are narrowed as he stares at me with that examining gaze. They look almost black in the darkness.

  “I wanted to let you know I’ve finished up. With the yard. I’ll be back next Monday.” When I don’t respond, he adds, “Unless you need anything else.”

  “Okay.” My eyes won’t focus. Sadness has hollowed my chest.

  Reese looks behind me. “Is everything all right in there?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It smells like something is burning.”

  Once he mentions it, I see the thin billows of white smoke overhead. But I can’t seem to react.

  “He left the book on purpose,” I say, as if that explains it.

  Reese stares at me for a few seconds before accepting that I’m not going to move. He steps into the house and walks past me. That jolts me out of my daze.

  “Your shoes,” I say, but he has already kicked them off and disappeared into the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

  Having another man in my house for the first time since Cooper should make me uneasy, but watching him in my kitchen gives me a surprising sense of comfort, the sense of not being alone. I close the door as he pulls the noodles off the burner. He grabs the kitchen towel and fans the smoke detector in the dining room, though it hasn’t gone off yet. I watch him do all of this with an interested detachment, like watching animals at the zoo.

  Once he folds the towel in half and drapes it over the sink, he says, “You’re going to want to soak that before you wash it,” motioning to the noodles.

  I set The Great Gatsby on the counter, then turn my back to him in a vain attempt to pull myself together.

  “Dylan, what’s going on?”

  “Please, don’t ask me that,” I whisper. “I know you know.”

  Reese comes around to stand in front of me. Rain drips from his hair and lands on the hardwood. The intensity of his presence and his gruff charm force me to take a step back. He glances over my shoulder at the single place setting on the table, and his face softens with understanding.

  “Sit down,” he says. When I don’t move, he repeats himself more firmly.

  I glare at him, but he doesn’t back down, so I find my seat at the dining room table. He goes into the kitchen, searching for something.

  “Tongs?” he asks.

  “Drawer to the right of the stove.”

  He finds them and returns to the dining room.

  “I smelled the garlic all the way outside,” he says quietly. “This dinner should not go to waste.”

  He fills my plate with a generous helping of stir-fry, minus the noodles, then places the pan on the stove. I catch him dipping his fingers in and feeding himself a few peppers while I sit with m
y hands in my lap.

  “You can take the rest,” I say.

  He returns to the dining room. “I have to go. But you enjoy.”

  “Thanks.”

  “For what? You made it.”

  He slips his boots on and with a half smile, closes the door behind him. I wait until I hear his truck start up and pull out of the driveway, then I eat my dinner alone.

  11

  Cooper told me he loved me on Thanksgiving Day, three months after we met. It was a cold, dreary day, and his family had rescheduled their celebration so Cooper could meet my family. It was the first time I’d brought someone home since my prom date, and though I worried my mom would scare him away with her dedication to holiday tradition, he assured me he’d love me if I came from a family of circus performers or even Republicans—the latter of which was true. The problem was, I didn’t know if I would still love me, or at least the person I turned into around my mother. I didn’t want Cooper to meet that girl. I worked hard to keep her hidden, especially from him.

  The night started off well enough. Mom greeted Cooper with a kiss on the cheek, a sweeping once-over and a smile. He fell into conversation about golf and business with Dad and Charlie. They sipped bourbon on the back porch. Within the hour, he was in.

  As soon as the boys had slipped out the back door in their hysterically festive sweaters—the Michels boys’ tradition adopted to counter Mom’s Martha Stewart treatment—Mom threw an apron on me and stuck me in front of a bowl of potatoes with a hand mixer. One extra guest meant three more side dishes in addition to the seven she already felt necessary for our family of four.