“You are. I will wait.”
“And you’ll hate me for every second of it. I knew this would happen as soon as you made partner. It’s so easy for you to expect me to set aside my own dreams, now that you’ve fulfilled all yours.”
“Dylan,” he says. “I don’t want that from you. Do you think I would have asked you to marry me if I didn’t love your passion?”
“Right. Well, I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t get married. Maybe you can go ask your new friend.”
He sucks in a breath. Right now I want him to feel at least a fraction of the pain he’s causing me. But the vision of another woman in a white dress walking down the aisle toward him tears me apart from the inside.
He emphasizes each word when he speaks again. “I don’t want to marry anyone but you.”
“But it’s just one of the many things on a long list of everything I haven’t given you.” I pace back and forth from the stove to the counter while he stands dumbstruck, waiting for me to say something, to say that we can get past this. Finally, I stop and look at him. “Well, I hope she gave you everything you wanted.”
“I hardly even remember it, Dylan. Because all I was thinking while it was happening was that it wasn’t you.”
The sting of my hand is what alerts me to the fact that I’ve slapped him, and my first instinct is to apologize, but I refuse to take it back. The sharp sound assaults my eardrums, but I stand tall.
When I can breathe again, I say, “It should have been.” I walk toward the bedroom, then turn back to him. “You can stay in the guest room until you find another place.” Then I close the door behind me, and the door on us.
9
Cooper doesn’t move out right away. I’m not sure he even tries for the first week, maybe thinking or hoping I’ll change my mind. He continues to leave dinner in the fridge for me, and I still come home on my lunch break to let the puppy out, having surprisingly light conversations with Reese on the days he’s there and admiring his work on the days he’s not. But when Cooper and I pass each other in the living room, all I have left for him are tight smiles. There are no words left to say, and he seems to feel the same way.
Until one night he corners me in the hallway on my way to what used to be our bed. He catches my wrist and pulls me close in the small, dark space.
“Dylan,” he breathes, and the single word almost crushes me after our prolonged silence. “Is this for real?” he chokes out.
“How can I ever make love to you again,” I hiss, “knowing she’s touched you where I touch you? Knowing she’s kissed you when I’m the only one who should be kissing you? How, Cooper? You were supposed to be mine.”
It’s not just about betrayal; it’s about respect. How can I respect him when he disrespected us and what we had together? He shattered the bubble of intimacy that surrounded us, and there’s no getting that back.
He nods and lets me go.
After that, I start to see apartment listings lying around the house and hear him taking phone calls in the guest room, asking questions about kitchens and bedrooms. I suggest Stephen’s place but he says he doesn’t want to get anyone else involved. He tells me he needs some time to decide how to break it to his family, and I agree to give him that much. Despite the cheating and the lies, I still feel a pang of guilt that he has to start over, not only in another home but in life. Back to being single, back to living in an apartment. He hasn’t fully settled into his partnership at the practice, and he has the puppy to take care of. But then I remind myself that this wasn’t my choice. He made the decision to break us all by himself.
Didn’t he?
I cry myself to sleep for days, burying my face in my pillow, so Cooper won’t hear me, won’t think there’s any opening between us that he might squeeze back into. It would have been easier if he’d left right away. I’m not the kind of person who likes to drag things out. Once I make a decision, I prefer to act on it and be done with it. It’s the waiting that’s killing me. It’s seeing him standing in our kitchen and forgetting for just a moment that I can’t walk up behind him, wrap my arms around his middle and bury my nose into the hair at the nape of his neck.
And then I get so angry at myself for missing him, especially when he’s not even gone yet. But after one third of my life spent loving the man I thought I would be with forever, it’s too soon to think I could surgically remove him from my heart. I don’t think I’ll ever get a completely clean cut—we grew up together and into each other and around each other. I just work each day to create more distance between us, mentally and physically. It’s all I know to do.
Still, the changes make me restless.
Instead of sitting in my office at the clinic all afternoon, I listen to my voice mails and answer calls while I walk the hospital sidewalks just to get out of that suffocating box and breathe fresh air. Instead of eating lunch, I spend my break sitting cross-legged in the grass, silently watching Reese dig his way around the house. He seems to sense my need for silence and doesn’t push me, just lets me feed off our surroundings and his peaceful energy. Many nights, I toss and turn in a sleeping bag behind my desk at the clinic. Other nights, I pace around the yard, searching for an answer inside myself, wondering if this uneasiness means more than a simple transition.
Sometimes I think I catch Cooper watching me from the kitchen window, but when I look closer, no one is there.
Finally, a few weeks later, I come home early one morning to shower and find Cooper crouched in the shade of an overhanging pine in the front yard, suitcases littered around his feet. He’s petting the puppy, who’s sprawled out on the ground, ears laid back on his head. Cooper’s eyes are unfocused, like he’s a world away.
I walk toward them, already knowing where the conversation will lead. How did we get to this place? I wonder. How will Cooper go create a new life that I’ll know nothing about? I’m not like Stephen, who was a part of the group before he married Megan. Without Cooper, I have nothing connecting me to him, Stephen, Megan, Marilyn and John. Once Megan has her baby, I’ll have no reason to see them ever again. Her child will never know who I am. This realization, now that it’s real, hurts. I’m not just losing the man I love, I’m losing a family.
“Hi,” I say softly, before I can fall apart. I have to keep it together in front of him, at least.
“Hi,” he says. He meets my eyes for a moment, then glances away. He’s dressed for work, but he’s unshaven and his hair isn’t styled. A soft breeze blows it across his forehead. I don’t even feel the desire to run my fingers through it anymore.
I don’t.
I clench my fists tightly at my sides.
“So you found a place?” I ask. I point to the bags. He’s viewed several apartments already, but none he liked. College students coming and going overwhelm the market this time of year.
“No,” he says. “But I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
I have to fight every instinct not to uphold my mother’s standard for social etiquette and tell him he can stay as long as he likes. It’s better for both of us if he leaves. Maybe if the house is finally empty, I can get used to the idea of sleeping in my own bed again.
“Okay,” I say.
He looks to the ground, and his jaw tightens, but after a moment, he nods to himself.
“I found a hotel where I can rent a room by the week for now,” he says. “The problem is, they don’t allow dogs.”
“Oh,” I say. I glance at the puppy. He has a stick between his paws and is working on turning it into mulch. “Well, I can keep him here until you find a place.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out. I’m sure my sister wouldn’t mind.”
“No,” I say too quickly. She has enough on her plate as it is, though Cooper doesn’t know. “It’s fine. Really.”
“Thank you.”<
br />
I look over at the empty planter in the center of the circular driveway and sigh. “I guess we should tell Reese he doesn’t need to finish the yard.” I’m surprised by how much this pains me.
“No,” Cooper says. “I want him to finish. That was a present for you.”
“I may not stay,” I say, though in truth, I haven’t thought that far ahead. Now that I’ve said it, it doesn’t sit well in my stomach.
“Then it will increase the value of the house.”
I nod. He swallows hard. There’s an awkward pause, then he meets my gaze with a struggle so obvious, it must be the hardest thing he’s ever done. Tears sting my eyes, but I won’t let them fall.
The sound of gravel crunching in the driveway alerts us to Reese’s arrival. I keep my back to him, knowing Reese will understand what’s happening if he sees my face, and soon enough, I’ll have to field his questions about our separation.
Cooper picks up his suitcases. “I’ll come check on the little guy as soon as I can. Let me know when he needs more food, and I’ll bring some over.”
“Okay,” I say, still not quite able to accept that this is really it. Cooper’s really leaving.
“Okay,” he says and ducks out into the sun toward the garage. The puppy tries to follow him, but I scoop him into my arms.
“Cooper,” I say, taking a step forward. The sunlight catches my eyelashes. He glances back at me. I want to tell him that I don’t regret any of our time together, even now that it’s come to this. It feels like it will muddy the waters too much, though—my feelings as much as his—so instead I ask, “Are you going to name the dog? We can’t keep calling him ‘puppy,’ you know?”
He shrugs, pretending it doesn’t matter to him—that none of this does—but I don’t fall for it. He’s terrible at not caring.
“I got him for you,” he says. “You should pick his name.”
“But you’re taking him when you get a place. Right?”
He shrugs again. “It will be his going-away present.”
I frown, and with no more reasons to stay, Cooper leaves.
* * *
Instead of seeking the shower for solitude, I go to the backyard where Reese is organizing his tools on the grass. He looks up at me when he hears the back door close, surprised. I approach him like I’m poised for a fight, but he doesn’t wince.
“Need any help?” I ask him, when I stop a couple of feet in front of him. I plant my hands on my hips to keep them from shaking. He looks me over for a moment before leaning down to pick up a shovel. He hands it to me and motions toward the moat. I don’t miss the irony. A moat was the most ridiculous request I could think to make, and now I’m the one digging it. I swipe the shovel from his hands and march toward the side of the yard where he left off.
I thrust the shovel at the dirt. From the ledge of the grass, though, I’m too high to get good leverage on it, and it jerks out of my hand and lands with a clang in the ditch below me.
“You’ll have to get down in there,” Reese says. I sit on the grass at the side of the trench so I can lower myself into the hole. I grab the shovel again, swing it back and heave it at the wall of dirt. The tip of the shovel hits it but bounces back. At least this time I hold on to it.
“It might be easier if you—” Reese starts, closer behind me now.
“Reese, would you just...” I feel him back off. With tears brimming my eyes, I hack at it again and again, the muscles tightening in my arms. At first, I’m taking out my frustration at Cooper, but then it becomes about my grant, and about Abby, and then my frustration with myself.
Should I have seen this coming? Or have I always been oblivious?
“Let me in,” I hear my own voice shout through my memory. I was pounding on the bathroom door I shared with Abby as I had been for the last half hour. We were both going to be late for school. Abby may have been able to talk her way out of a detention for tardiness, but I couldn’t. I banged the door again and heard the flush of the toilet a moment later. She took her time washing her hands and finally the door opened.
“Your Highness,” she said, motioning for me to enter, a small bow curving her back. She looked sick—pale, tired eyes, a light sheen of sweat on her face. But I didn’t care. I hoped she was sick. Served her right for all the late nights out of the house, leaving me to cover for her with Mom and Dad. I was tired of her dragging herself into her room in the early hours of the morning, waking up late and giving me a poor attendance record for the first time in my life.
I pushed past her and grabbed my toothbrush. “You’re one to talk,” I barked. “Maybe if you weren’t out letting Christian worship you every night, you wouldn’t look like the walking dead.”
It was a low blow. Abby was gorgeous, and we both knew I resented it, though I never said it out loud. Not once did she ever do anything but try to build me up.
Abby scoffed. “Oh, Dylan. If you only knew.”
I shrugged, pretending I didn’t care, but as she leaned against the door frame saying nothing, my curiosity overwhelmed me. I shoved my toothbrush into my mouth and raised my eyebrows at her.
“Christian broke up with me,” she said.
My hand slipped from the toothbrush, and my body sagged in regret. After a moment, I finished brushing, spit and went to her.
“You know he’s an idiot, right?”
She nodded, her eyes filling with tears.
“You were going to break up with him anyway, remember? You’re leaving soon.”
She nodded again. “It’s fine, really. He’s a child. Now I can tell all the cheerleaders what a small penis he has.”
I snorted a laugh, blushing at the word. Abby laughed, too, and took a deep breath.
“It’s just... It’s not that,” she mumbled.
“Well, what it is?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. For a second, I thought I saw genuine fear cloud her eyes, but before I could goad it out of her, Mom called from the living room and our moment of alliance was shattered.
“Girls, you’re late!”
“Shit,” I muttered and ran a brush through my hair a few times. “Let’s go.” I grabbed both our backpacks and pulled her down the stairs behind me.
By the time we met back at her car after school, her face had regained some of its color, and she was smiling again.
“I don’t think he’s going to be dating any more cheerleaders,” she said as we got in, laughing. I took that as a sign that the sadness had passed and never asked her about it again.
Just like I didn’t ask Megan that night at her parents’ house.
Just like I pretended Cooper and I would be fine.
Just like I’m pretending I’m fine.
The shovel falls from my hands, and I sink down to the dirt. I press my shaking fingertips to my eyelids. Eventually, Reese hops down into the ditch and sits next to me. He says nothing, his silent presence the most comfort I’ve had in weeks. He doesn’t ask. Maybe he knows. Maybe he doesn’t care.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say. I peek out from beneath my fingers to look at him—the crazy woman who wanted a moat.
“Sure.”
“How long does it take daisy seeds to sprout?”
He looks to the sky, thinking. “Depends. Two to four weeks, usually.”
I frown.
“Why?” he asks.
“No reason. Can I ask you another question?”
“Sure.”
“When you get the next batch of flowers, will you wait for me to help you plant them?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Will you be able to take the time off work? It may take longer to work around the flowers that are already here.”
“I’ll figure it out.” Those few minutes of digging have been the most
therapeutic thing I’ve done in years.
He pretends to think it over—or maybe he actually does—then says, “I think I could arrange that.”
“Promise?” I ask. I’ve had enough of people not keeping their word to last a lifetime.
Reese purses his lips together and nods. “I promise.”
* * *
“So how’s your patient doing?” Reese asks me one Wednesday evening about a month after Cooper’s departure. He’s been working later in the day to avoid the midday heat, so even though his visits are still sporadic, when he does show up, it’s right around the time I’m coming home from work. I’ve found comfort in that, even leaving the office early from time to time just to escape and find easy conversation with Reese. He doesn’t ask about Cooper, though I’m sure the suitcases and Cooper’s absence tell him everything he needs to know. Instead, we talk about work—his clients, my patients—and our passion for our respective fields bridges any gap in terminology. “The one who delivered early?” he clarifies.
“She’s doing well,” I tell him. I slip my tennis shoes off and sit on the edge of the trench, so I can drop my feet into it. I’m still in my scrubs after a delivery, so I don’t mind so much if I get dirty. I feel especially light after today’s delivery to a mother who miscarried four times before welcoming her first child early this morning. Afterward, she held me tightly and cried tears of joy into my shoulder.
The coolness of the earth on my feet lowers my body temperature, overheated from the summer sun and the busyness of the day. “I released her today. The baby is still in the NICU, but he’s been stable for two days. He’ll probably be in there for a few more weeks, but at least his mom can be with him all day if she wants to. I know it’s been hard for her to be away from him.”
“I can imagine,” he says.
I can’t help but laugh.
“Can you?” I ask. “What do you know about the maternal bond?”
Reese chuckles and holds up his hands, covered in dried mud. “Fair enough. But I know what love feels like. I know what it means to take care of someone.”
Perfectly Undone Page 12
