Perfectly Adequate

by Jewel Ann

  “More direct.” I glance at my watch.

  He sighs. “I love you.”

  “I know.”

  “And I choose you.”

  “Okay.”

  He grimaces. “But if six months from now, you don’t feel like I’m the one for you anymore, I’m going to look back and wonder if I blew my last chance to have my family together again.”

  “Is there a question? If so, you should ask it now.”

  “Am I it for you? Could you see yourself with me twenty … thirty years from now?”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “We’ve known each other for less than two months, and you’re asking me about twenty-thirty years from now? I’ve changed professions three times in eight years, but after six … seven weeks of knowing you, I’m supposed to make a twenty … thirty-year projection?”

  “No,” he whispers, staring blankly at the middle of the table.

  “That’s a relief. I’m going back to school. I have a test this afternoon. And now I have a headache, so I’m going to go take something for it so I can focus on my exam.”

  “I’m sorry.” His gaze lifts to meet mine. “Your headache is my fault.”

  “Probably.” I shrug. “It’s fine. Nothing a couple of ibuprofen won’t handle. Need help back to the sofa? Or do you want Dr. Hathaway to help you?”

  “I just need you to come here.” He holds out his hand.

  I rest my hand in his.

  “Come here.” He tugs my hand.

  I unfold from my chair and take the two steps to stand next to his chair.

  He releases my hand, reaches up to fist the top of my shirt, and pulls me to his mouth. It’s a slow kiss, but I tell myself I can spare an extra minute or two for a slow kiss.

  “Uh-hem …”

  I pull away and rub my lips together while embarrassment crawls up my neck.

  Dr. Hathaway stands in the doorway, holding a plant in one hand while covering Roman’s eyes with her other hand. “Delivery. From one of your patients.”

  “Mommy, move your hand!” Roman pushes her away.

  “So …” I work my way toward the nearest exit. “I have to go. Bye.”

  “Bye, Dorfee!” Roman is the only one to tell me goodbye.

  Eli and Dr. Hathaway are too busy having a stare-off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It’s Still You

  Elijah

  “Roman, nap time,” Julie says while glaring at me.

  “I don’t want a nap!”

  “Then go have some quiet time with your toys in your room, otherwise … it’s nap time.”

  “I go to my room.” He pouts, dragging his feet up the stairs.

  She knows he’ll go to his room and play if nap is the alternative.

  “Really, Elijah? In front of our son?”

  I wet my lips, still tasting Dorothy on them. “I thought you were outside.”

  “Well, we weren’t. And if you’re not ready to explain to Roman why you’re kissing Dorothy, then I suggest you not kiss her if there’s even a remote chance he could catch you.”

  Julie definitely wouldn’t want to know that I went down on Dorothy in her bedroom while Roman played Xbox within hearing distance of Dorothy’s moans—things that wouldn’t get me nominated for Father of the Year.

  “Understood. Maybe this weekend you can take Roman to your house Friday and Saturday night, and I’ll get someone else to stay with me.”

  “And by someone else, you mean Dorothy?”

  “I mean my mom and dad can come over during the day.”

  “And at night?”

  I shrug.

  “You’d rather make out with your new girlfriend than have your son here?”

  “Oh, Jules … you do not want to go there with me.”

  “Go where?”

  She is here.

  At my house.

  Helping me do things like take a piss and brush my teeth.

  I could slay her with a brutal dose of reality. But I don’t. For once, possibly the first time since she left me, I take the high road.

  “Could you please help me to the sofa? I’m a little exhausted from … everything.”

  “Yeah,” she says. Her expression falls into one of resignation.

  After she helps me get situated on the sofa, she checks on Roman.

  “He fell asleep on the floor.” She grins, coming down the stairs. “Like literally in the middle of his Legos. So I covered him with a blanket. I knew if I tried to move him into bed, he’d wake up.” Julie picks up the dishes from lunch and brings me my medications with a glass of water.

  “She calls you Boss Bitch.”

  Julie pauses for a second. After a few blinks, she hands me my pills. “Who?”

  “Dorothy. I’m pretty sure it’s a good thing.”

  “Mmm …” She nods. “Usually.”

  “You’re smirking. You know it’s good. You know it’s a compliment.”

  “It’s … a nice compliment. Yeah.”

  “She knows your stats. Listened to you give talks. She pretty much idolizes you as a doctor. How does that feel?”

  “How does it feel to know your girlfriend looks up to me—at least professionally?” She sits on the sofa, angling her body to face me. “It feels good. And a little weird.”

  “Does it make it harder for you to dislike her?”

  “I don’t dislike her.”

  “You dislike her with me.”

  Julie presses her lips together and flips her long, red hair over her shoulder. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to say it. I can see it. Why? Is it Dorothy in particular, or would it matter who kissed me?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispers, averting her gaze. “I don’t know about anything anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The definition of Hell: Having everything you should ever want and still wanting more.” She runs her fingers through her hair, drawing in a shaky breath then blowing it out slowly as emotion turns red in her eyes. “I wasn’t happy and I didn’t know why.” She quickly wipes away a tear. “We had a baby. A baby, Eli. And it wasn’t enough. Wh…” she clears thick anguish from her throat “…what kind of person throws away everything because it’s not enough? I actually had tests done—hormone tests, brain scans—I honestly thought something was physically wrong with me to feel so incredibly dissatisfied. So … angry.”

  Still, after all the pain and anger, I still break inside watching Julie grasp for that invisible thing that tortures her.

  “Everything irritated me. I constantly felt on the verge of either starting a fight or having a complete breakdown. And you were the recipient of all of it. Even when you didn’t realize it. For two years before we separated, I resented the way you combed your hair, the way you laughed, the childish voice you used when talking to Roman, the scent of your cologne, the rhythm of your words, that stupid pause you take before answering a question, like your mind is always on a two-second delay, the way you slurp your smoothies and stir your coffee, just … every damn thing about you drove me to the verge of insanity. And without one single shred of reason.”

  I think regaining my memories from falling into the ravine would hurt less than her words. And yet, I know she isn’t saying them to hurt me. Still … they rip open old wounds, ones that can’t be repaired by the expert hands of surgeons. I hold onto my words and mask my reaction.

  “I hated myself. I just … hated myself for hating you. I hated myself for wanting out. I felt like the worst mother, the worst wife and daughter, the worst friend … I felt like the worst h-human.” Her words fall apart. “And I just needed out, but I didn’t know how to tell you that. You were perfect. And I wanted nothing to do with you. What does that say about me? There were times I actually hoped you’d cheat on me so I could have an out. But not Elijah … nope. You would never do that. And even that irritated me. Who thinks that? What sane human being hopes their spouse will cheat on them?”

  I
don’t know. Maybe that means I’m sane. But I refuse to make that wager. After all … I’ve done some mildly insane things with Dorothy in the past few weeks.

  “So I pulled the plug on our marriage. And I changed everything I hated about myself on the outside, but it didn’t change how I felt on the inside. I signed up for classes like pole fitness, and I tried speed dating. Then I went through three different psychiatrists, tried healing touch and meditation. When that didn’t work, I downloaded an app for hooking up and I fucked ten strangers in less than two weeks.”

  I flinch. Even with the rumors, it still knocks the air from my lungs hearing her confess everything to me. I much prefer the I-was-a-butterfly-you-were-my-cocoon analogy.

  “Still …” Her blank, glassy-eyed gaze remains affixed to the window or maybe the wall. I can’t tell. “I didn’t feel better. I just simply felt alone. But alone felt numbing. And that lack of feeling was better than hating myself. And then one day, I met Nick at a yoga class. I didn’t care for the class, but I liked his smile and the way he looked at me when he didn’t know I was watching him.”

  Julie chuckles. “So we started dating. The good kind of dating where you leave all your baggage behind. We didn’t ask each other about our jobs or siblings. I didn’t tell him about Roman or my failed marriage. He didn’t tell me about his three daughters and his ex-wife who was diagnosed with cancer two months after he asked her for a divorce. You see, we lived in the moment. Moments filled with questions like, ‘What do you think of that waitress’s purple eyeshadow or where should we go for ice cream? Should we get a tattoo? Do you think anyone could hear us if we fucked in that bathroom?’”

  “Christ, Jules …” I close my eyes.

  “I never smoked a joint or shot up or even got a prescription for an antidepressant. Yet, I felt high all the time with Nick. He gave me what I needed before I even knew myself what that was. And I gave him a life without questions or guilt. We didn’t have to fit because we weren’t trying to be anything more than a moment.”

  When I open my eyes, Julie blinks and the tears break free. This time, she makes no effort to stop them or bat them away.

  “Sometimes we would meet for coffee and just sit in the back corner of a cafe and drink in complete silence until one or the other stood from our chair and walked out. That’s messed up, right? Meeting up with someone just so you don’t have to sit alone and drink coffee. But it was perfect—a time and place to just be without feeling alone. Without feeling the need to pollute the air with words.”

  “What happened, Jules?”

  She pulls the sleeve of her long-sleeved T-shirt over her hand and uses it to wipe her cheeks. “Three weeks ago, we were sitting in our usual cafe, in our usual spot, drinking our usual drinks. He got up to leave first. But instead of brushing his fingertips along my arm, his unspoken ‘goodbye, see you tomorrow,’ he instead stopped just inches behind me so our backs were to each other. And he told me.” She wipes more tears.

  “Told you what?”

  “My ex-wife’s name is Jennifer. She has her first chemo treatment today. My girls are Elisha, Kylee, and Becca. It’s time for me to go home. Thank you for this. I will never forget it.” She sniffles, shaking her head, eyes rolling to the ceiling. “He went from a beautiful mystery to an ugly reality. But I need reality. For the first time in three years, I’m ready for reality. It finally fits. The switch flipped. And everything that tore me apart before Nick, feels like the only thing that can put me back together. Like the poison is the cure. Like it’s time for me to go home too. Only … mine is no longer waiting for me.”

  We sit in silence for many minutes as her confessions hang in the air with nowhere to go.

  “You’re my reality, Eli. You’re my home. You. Me. And Roman. And I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve a second chance. But I want one. And I have to…” she pulls in a shaky breath to steady her words “…I have to believe that our love that has spanned more than two decades and the creating of another life is greater than my months with Nick and your weeks with Dorothy. I have to believe that these other people came into our lives to bring us perspective and bring us back together.”

  I’m tired. My pain medication has kicked in and done its job. The part of my brain that processes mind-blowing confessions is out of commission. So I lean my head back, close my eyes, and succumb to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I’m Here for You

  Julie and I don’t speak of our conversation for the following two weeks. We fall into a routine of meals, laughter with Roman, television, patient updates from the hospital, and visits from family. The silver lining is my dad’s willingness to help me bathe. He pretty much treats me like a vehicle. I feel thoroughly bruised from the high pressure setting he chooses on the bath hose nozzle. But … I don’t have to deal with the awkwardness of my mom or Julie bathing me.

  Dorothy? Well, she won’t answer my calls, but she offers short one and two-word texts in response to my texts.

  Me: How was your day?

  Dorothy: Fine.

  Me: Can I see you soon?

  Dorothy: Not sure.

  Me: Are you okay?

  Dorothy: Yeah.

  She offers enough emotional reassurance to make any desperate man jump off the side of a tall building. But I’m not that lucky, because I can’t move my fucking body far enough on my own to even get to a tall ledge.

  I feel like she’s running from me, and I can’t chase her. My injuries prevent me from physically going to her. And I fucking hate it. She won’t talk, won’t come see me, won’t offer any reassurance that we’re okay.

  How ignorant of me to think we’re okay. We’re not okay. I grilled her about a stupid imaginary London getaway, and then I pressured her to tell me her plans thirty years into the future. Of course she ran. Any person in their right mind would run and never look back.

  “If you don’t stop frowning, that line on your forehead will only get deeper.” Mom winks, glancing up from her knitting. She’s keeping an eye on me while Julie and my dad take Roman to the park.

  “My fall didn’t take my life, but it feels like it ruined it. I can’t work. I can’t navigate. I can’t bathe on my own. I can’t …” I shake my head. Depression works its way into the fourth week of my healing process.

  “Yesterday, since you haven’t been bringing me Friday lunch,” she smirks, “I walked over to the hospital and left a message for Dorothy. She messaged me back and agreed to have a cup of coffee with me on her break.”

  I’m shocked. And a little pissed off that she waited a full day to tell me this. But mostly I’m painfully envious that she saw Dorothy.

  “How is she?”

  “Better than you.” Mom chuckles. “She’s Dorothy. Focused on school and work. I think that’s a good focus for her right now. Those are things she can control.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? She could come see me. God knows I’ve been trying to get her to commit to even a quick phone conversation.”

  “Maybe now is not the best time to talk with her.”

  “Whose side are you on?” My insides tighten, pulling at healing wounds, making new emotional cuts in my heart. I’m ready to crawl out of my skin. I need out of this cast, out of the house … I need out of my mind.

  “Yours, dear. Always yours. Whose side are you on is the only question that matters.”

  “Side? How do you figure that I have a side to choose?”

  “Because Julie talked with me.”

  Silence steps into the room, surrendering only to the hum of the furnace kicking on. Julie told my mom. Why did she do that when I gave her absolutely no response to her confession? Not a single word.

  “You’ve wanted this since the day she left you. You’ve wanted her back.”

  “Ye—ah … I sure have. Even when I’ve hated her, I’ve still loved her.”

  “That speaks volumes.” She sets her knitting to the side.

  I fiddle with the drawstrings to
my gray hoodie. “It really does. It proves that I’m an expert doormat. A crippled, lovesick man who refused to accept reality and move on.”

  “Well, yes, those would be your sisters’ words. They’d try to disown you if you took Julie back.”

  I nod.

  “I’ve hated the pain you’ve held on to by trying to hold on to her, but it’s one of the most incredible qualities about you. Your love is so unconditional. Your wedding vows meant something to you. And the way you fought for your family broke my heart, but it also gave me unfathomable pride. It’s easy to love someone when they love you back, when they want you, when they need you. It’s not near as easy to have that same deep love when they seem to despise you or when they kick you out of their life.”

  “Do you think it’s Dorothy? Is this jealousy Julie’s feeling?”

  “I don’t think so. I think this was going to happen with or without Dorothy. I’m sure seeing you with Dorothy makes Julie feel anxious, like she needs to do something quickly before she loses you for good.”

  I lean my head back, rubbing my hand down my face on a grumble. “Oh man … fuck my life.”

  “What can I do? What do you need from me? Your mom.”

  “I need to get out of here.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  * * *

  “You’re nervous.” Mom shuts off the car.

  I stare at the front door to Dorothy’s house. “No. Maybe. Well, it’s because she lives with her parents. If they’re here, they’ll answer the door. Then I have to explain myself to them. That part makes me a little nervous.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m out of my comfort zone here as well since I’m the mother dropping off her injured thirty-eight-year-old son with an overnight bag. Hi, could you look after my boy? He needs help getting around, going to the bathroom, and cooking food. Here’s my number. Call me if he’s a burden.”