The Perfect Present

by Larissa de Silva

  “End-of-life care, mostly.”

  “Oh. That sounds…” I close my mouth because I don’t really know what to say. I don’t want to embarrass myself anymore, and Rudy seems a little tense. I don’t know if it’s because of the situation with my parents, or because I’m still practically naked from the waist down, or because he did just pull me out of a literal hole, but I want to exit this situation as soon as possible.

  “He’s a doctor, Jess,” my mom says. “He gets to decide whether you have to go to the hospital or not.”

  “If you want to avoid the hospital, we could just go for an x-ray, but you might still run into some people,” Rudy says. “If it’s better for you, someone can take you.”

  “We can take her,” my mom says. My dad has appeared right next to her, as if out of thin air, and is staring at me with a mix of concern and amusement. I can tell he’s trying not to laugh, though probably mostly for my mom’s benefit.

  “No,” Rudy says instantly taking a step toward her. “There’s no real safe way for you to leave the house right now. Jess is young and healthy. She’s going to be okay, but it might be harder for you to survive a failing porch.”

  Rudy is right. When I was a little girl, my parents built a giant balcony-like backyard facing the lake, and there are no other entrances or exits into the property. There is a backyard door that leads to the balcony, and it’s beautiful, but they’ve been talking about building a little swinging door into the fence, and they still haven’t done that. Not that I can blame then, my dad is always on a different DIY project, and the house does look amazing. It always does. But that doesn’t mean that a fence door out of the balcony has ever been a priority.

  “Absolute menace,” my dad says, then turns to my mom. “I told you you should have let me build a deck a year ago.”

  “Robert, it’s hardly the time.”

  “You guys really need to get someone here to fix that deck,” I say. “As urgently as possible. You can’t be stuck in here. What if something happens?”

  “Seems like your leg is more important right now, sweetheart,” my mom says. I understand what she’s telling me.

  “I guess I could try to--”

  “I’ll drive you,” Rudy says. “If you want me to.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says. “And I’ll see if I can find someone to fix your guys’ porch. We need to get that done, too. Jess is right.”

  My mom nods, takes a sip of her hot cocoa, then looks at my father. “You’re installing a door in that fence today.”

  He flashes her a toothy smile. “Yes, dear,” he says.

  I roll my eyes. “Can I at least get dressed?”

  “Put on your pants,” he says. “We should get this done ASAP.”

  “You’re worried,” I say.

  He meets my gaze and flashes me a smile. “No,” he says. “I’m just a cautious person.”

  “Okay,” I say, pulling my pants up. “Okay, let’s go.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  RUDY

  I have to carry her out of the house. It isn’t hard, I scoop her up and carry her, but as I walk out of the porch, carefully so that I walk around the rotten wood, I’m conscious of every step I’m taking. I can feel her head resting against my chest and how soft she is in my arms. I’m trying to make this as quick as possible, as clinical as possible. There’s nothing clinical about this, though. Jess Hart is in my arms, and I’m carrying her past a threshold, the way I had planned to all those years ago. The way I had wanted to.

  But this isn’t romantic. I’m doing it because I have to, and for no other reason. I take a literal leap past the hole in the floor, and then lean onto the railing as I begin to walk down the steps.

  “You can set me down,” Jess says, her voice quiet. “I can walk.”

  “The car is right there,” I reply. “I don’t want you to put undue pressure on your leg, in case you’re seriously hurt.”

  “I’m not in that much pain.”

  “Like I said, I’m cautious,” I reply. I feel her head nodding, moving up and down on my chest. It makes my heart flutter and it makes me feel all light-headed, which I don’t have time for. “You’ll probably just be able to get home and rest up.”

  Jess laughs dryly. “I don’t want to rest up,” she says. “I’m not supposed to be here that long.”

  “I don’t know if this will put a dent in your travel plans,” I say, finally landing on the grassy path. I practically sprint toward my car, as quickly as I can, mostly because I don’t want to drop her. She’s not heavy, but I’m not used to carrying other human beings.

  As soon as I get to the side of the car, I let her down on the grass gently and she winces.

  “Sorry,” I ask as I open the passenger door. “Did that hurt?”

  “Only a little,” she replies as she gets into my car. She seems to do it without much difficulty and sighs contentedly when she has taken the weight off her leg. She looks up and smiles at me. “Thank you so much. For everything.”

  “No worries,” I reply. “It’s the least I can do.”

  “It’s really not,” she says, meeting my gaze.

  I don’t argue with her. There’s no time to argue. I close the door and walk to the driver side. When I put the car in gear, I notice that Jess is staring at me.

  “What?” I ask. “I’ll take you to the medical plaza. It’s quicker than the hospital.”

  “Thanks,” she says, then bites her lower lip. She shakes her head. “This is... not how I expected to run into you. If I ever did run into you again.”

  I smile at her. “You expected me to come and fix your air conditioner?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “It’s okay,” I reply. “I don’t mind. I get it, I also thought I was going to go into the family business.”

  She doesn’t say anything. The silence weighs heavy between us, and although I don’t owe her an explanation, I don’t feel like not talking to her is the right thing. She’s here, and after she goes away, I’ll probably never see her again. So I decide to just be as honest with her as possible. I don’t stand to gain anything, but I definitely don’t stand to lose anything, so I’m not going to keep things from her. Even when that’s my first instinct.

  “My dad got sick,” I say as I take the turn-off to go on the street. “When I was about twenty or twenty-one.”

  She nods. “Yeah, I heard about that.”

  “He was diagnosed with cancer, and I was so worried. But he went into remission, and I decided that I wanted to be able to help him. I wanted to be able to help everyone like him, and everyone like me. Like, without my dad, I would have been lost,” I say, more to myself than to her. “So I worked hard. Went to community college, got into the honors program, then managed to transfer into the University of Florida. After that, I managed to get into their medical school. I didn’t want to go too far, in case something else happened, but when I graduated, he insisted.”

  “That sounds like your dad,” she says.

  I chuckle. “Yeah,” I say. “I managed to get into a big hospital in Atlanta. A really reputable one. After that, I was working as a family medicine doctor with an independent practice.”

  “Were you happy?”

  Her question catches me off-guard. I didn’t think she was going to ask anything of the sort, and it feels like I’m just telling a story, something I don’t think she’s particularly interested in. Her question seems sincere and she’s staring at me, wide-eyed, her lips parted.

  I furrow my brow. I have to think about it. “I don’t know,” I say. “I mean, I felt... I was doing something to help people. I guess I felt more useful than I ever have before, but I don’t know if that necessarily made me happy. You know what I mean?”

  She laughs. “No,” she replies. “Not at all.”

  I smile, shaking my head. “So you weren’t happy when you were working?”

  “Oh, no, work always made me happy,” she says. “I
guess I’ve just never really felt useful. I mean, not in comparison.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I reply. “You help people with their house. You help them feel happy and that’s really important.”

  She laughs. “I’ll take your word for it, doctor,” she says.

  I laugh too. “Please don’t,” I say. “Please don’t start calling me doctor, okay?”

  “What should I call you?”

  “Rudy works,” I say. “Or, honestly, whatever you want. Just don’t call me by my title. That’s like me calling you.. I don’t know, what would I call you? Graphic designer?”

  “Interior designer,” she says. “Those are very different things.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything about design.”

  “And I don’t know a thing about medicine,” she says.

  We both laugh before I turn into the medical plaza. “We’re here,” I say. “Do you want me to carry--”

  “No!”

  I laugh. “I was joking, Jess.”

  “You better have been,” she replies, then smiles at me. “Thank you. I really do appreciate all your help.”

  “No worries,” I say. “It’s the least I can do.”

  She opens her mouth to say something, but then she doesn’t. I walk around the car to open the passenger door for her and extend my hand. She takes it, and her hand is warm in my own.

  We smile at each other, and for a second, everything feels like it is the way it’s supposed to be.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JESS

  After being poked and prodded, far more than I had anticipated, I’m finally released from the medical plaza. I walk out of the doctor’s office and scan my gaze to see if I can spot Rudy. I thought he was going to go in with me, but he didn’t, and I didn’t feel brave enough to ask.

  It didn’t matter. I’d been seen, prescribed painkillers, and ordered to rest, which was exactly what I had expected. I didn’t know the people who had seen me, but from their smirks, I could tell that they wouldn’t be forgetting what had happened to me any time soon.

  I spot Rudy, who is walking toward me, his arm outstretched. I hold on to him. “What did they say?” he asks.

  “Thought you’d know,” I reply.

  He shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “That’s illegal.”

  “What, really?”

  “Yeah, unless we’re next of kin, or something like that,” he says. “I could lose my license.”

  “I don’t mind showing you anything.”

  He smiles at me, his cheeks reddening a little. “I appreciate that,” he says. “But the health care system can’t really do that. So what did they say?”

  “It’s probably a tendon sprain,” I reply. “There’s no fracture or anything. But they said I should rest as much as possible.”

  He nods. “Right.”

  “They said I might need physical therapy,” I say. “Depending on how it heals.”

  “You gotta keep resting it,” he says.

  I shake my head. “There’s no time to keep resting,” I reply. “I mean, think about it. My parents are still trapped in their house. I’m going to have to fix that.”

  He cocks his head, his eyes narrowing as the automatic doors to the street open. “Why?” he asks.

  “It was my fault,” I reply. “The porch gave in because of me and now parents are basically trapped in their house.”

  “It wasn’t really your fault,” he says. “It could’ve have happened to anyone. It’s probably a good thing that it happened to you, because if it had happened to your mom or your dad, the repercussions could’ve been a lot worse.”

  “Right,” I say. “And a little pain never hurt anyone.”

  He laughs at that. “I’ll drive you home now,” he says.

  “You really shouldn’t have to keep carrying me inside and out,” I reply, then close my eyes. “I just--I wish I had somewhere to stay. That wasn’t my parents.”

  He looks at me. “You could stay with me,” he says after a little while. “It’s right down the street, and I promise you, I will be very respectful.”

  I look him up and down. “I know that, Rudy. You’ve always been a gentleman.”

  He laughs, throwing his head back. “You know,” he says. “I hope I’ve only been a gentleman when I’ve had to be.”

  I lick my lips. “Okay,” I say. “Take me back to your house. I’ll make some calls and get my parents’ porch fixed. I’ll make sure to get out of your way, so that if you have work, or something...”

  He side-eyes me for a second before he shakes his head. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I don’t have work today.”

  “Great,” I say. “So you don’t even get a day off. Instead, you have to deal with all this shit.”

  “It’s hardly dealing with any shit, Jess,” he says, then pauses for a second before he speaks. “Honestly, I like being around you. It’s better than being at home. That house has always been too big.”

  “You aren’t joking,” I say.

  After that, he doesn’t really talk. He drives in silence until we get to his house, only a few feet away from my parents’ own. He parks in front of the charming two-story house and looks at it for what feels like a little too long. He turns to look at me. “Are you okay to walk?” he asks.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I’ll be okay. I’ll feel better once I get some medicine.”

  He furrows his brow.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he says. “Open the glove compartment.”

  I do as I’m told, and the contents of it clatter. I look around at it, and see lots of medicine bottles with labels I don’t understand.

  “Take that one,” he says. “The one at the end there.”

  “What’s this?” I ask as I rattle the bottle.

  “It’s an NSAID,” he replies. “It’ll help with the swelling and with the pain, at least until you get your prescription medication. There’s an unopened bottle of water here, in the cupholder. Don’t worry, I haven’t touched it.”

  “We’ve shared plenty of water bottles before,” I say. “I’m sure I would’ve lived.”

  “I don’t doubt you would’ve lived,” he replies. “But would it have been a happy life?”

  I laugh. “I guess that’s the question,” I say. I swallow the pills and take a swig of water, before I close my eyes. “Thank you for everything. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

  “I do,” he says. “You’ve always appreciated things.”

  I look at him for a little too long. He has little freckles around his nose, which he didn’t use to have, and his eyebrows look like they’ve been trimmed. His face has changed. His face has grown into his features, and where he was a cute boy before, now he’s a handsome man. Far more handsome than he has any right to be. I shouldn’t stare at him, but I’m feeling pretty entranced by him. He’s magnetic.

  He never used to be. He was always attractive, interesting, but never magnetic before.

  We get to his house and he gets out of the car, as always, and walks around to my side of the car. When he helps me out, I feel like I could just fall into his arms, and I want him to hold me.

  He won’t. I know that. But it’s what I want, so when he pulls his hand away and allows me to wrap my hand around his strong bicep as I get out of the car. I try not to support myself with my injured leg, but it’s hard. I practically hop along until we get to the stairs going up his porch.

  We never really used to hang out at his house when we were kids. We normally spend time together at the park, or at school, or sometimes, my place. But we never really spent any time at his parents’ house, partly because he just never extended an invitation. Every now and then, I would go have dinner with them. They were always nice, but his mom was almost never there. It was really a surprise when I heard that she decided to ask for a divorce and that she did it from Paris. I never asked Rudy about that. I figure that if he wanted to talk about his mother, he could.
We could spend hours talking about anything and everything. We had always been able to do that, but now, with everything that happened between us, I didn’t know if we could.

  The house was always quiet, so wasn’t a surprise when he put the key in the lock and opened it to a completely silent space. My eyes widened a little because the furniture had all practically changed, because they had upgraded. I didn’t know why. Everything was a lot more minimalist, with less colors. It wasn’t bad. It fit the space pretty well. It just didn’t seem like Rudy Steele’s house. “Thank you,” I said as I stepped into the foyer.

  “You’re very welcome,” he replied. “Let me get you to the sofa and let’s raise that leg.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “You are wrong,” he replied. “I would never forgive myself if I wasn't worried about you.”

  I looked around as he took me to the new sofa. It was a sectional, white leather, that could really do with a pop of color on it. I tell myself not to be judgmental. He’s already helping, and he’s not exactly asking for my design expertise. “Still. I really appreciate everything you’re doing.”

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  He helps me sit down on the sofa. It’s softer than I expected. He grabs a pillow and puts it under my knee as I extend my leg. “Are you comfortable?” He asks.

  “As comfortable as I’m going to be.”

  He laughs again, this time with a little less humor in his voice. “I get it. You’ll feel better soon.”

  “What about my parents?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll go get some supplies, and I will go get some help. We can get a temporary ramp going or something, at least for a bit.”