Anything You Can Do

by R.S. Grey

  “But as an old doctor is likely to do, I turned this problem on its head and looked at the silver lining. As you can see, Hamilton isn’t as little as it used to be. Do you know I’ve had to skip lunch every day for the past five years just to meet the demand?”

  I can see where he’s going with this, and I don’t like it. My fake smile is making my cheek muscles cramp.

  “My point is, there’s enough work for two doctors, maybe even three.”

  I don’t need lunch. I’ll work Saturdays—Sundays even. I want my own practice. It’s my dream and he’s slowly crushing it.

  All I actually manage to say is, “Right.”

  I try not to let dread show on my face. I moved back to Hamilton a few days ago assuming the practice was as good as mine, but part of being a doctor is being able to roll with the punches and adapt when things don’t go according to plan. So, I conjure up a genuine smile and resolve to fix this later.

  I scoot my chair back, stand, and stretch my hand out across the table.

  “Well Dr. McCormick, whatever ends up happening, I look forward to practicing with you.”

  He grins, pleased.

  As I leave Hamilton Brew, I take an espresso shot to-go…then think ahead and grab another. Tomorrow morning, I will come face to face with my rival, and there are a few things I need to take care of before then.

  From Hamilton Brew, I walk down Main Street and head into the biggest salon in town. I haven’t trimmed my hair in almost a year. That won’t do. I ask for clean layers and have them shape it so it frames my delicate features. From there, I ask for every spa treatment they have. I don’t want to be pretty for Lucas, who, as a robot, isn’t programmed to register beauty. The primping is all for me. I’m a general preparing for battle, and while they buff my feet, I flip through my old medical textbooks, brushing up on the off chance I encounter some obscure, hard-to-pronounce illness tomorrow.

  “What about your brows? Want us to shape them up a bit?”

  I laugh because it’s a stupid question. “Yes. Do it. All of it.”

  When I stroll into my mom’s house later, she’s sitting at the dining table flipping through magazines and talking on the phone. She looks up at me as I close the door and her mouth falls open in shock.

  “I’ll have to call you back,” she says into the phone. “Someone that looks like Daisy just got home.”

  I drop my shopping bags on the couch and walk into the kitchen. I’m taking a massive bite out of an apple when she comes in to join me. She’s petite, even more so than I am. Her blonde hair hides the few grays she has, and her regimented skincare routine means she looks 30 instead of 50. Usually her smile can light up a room, but right now, it lights up nothing.

  “You’ve been busy today,” she says, waving her hand up and down my body. I’m not really the girly-girl type; there was no time for it during medical school and residency. This woman with glossy hair and smooth legs seems foreign even to me, but it feels good, as if I’m faster and more aerodynamic now that they’ve stripped most of the hair from my body.

  “What’s in the shopping bags?” she asks as I munch on my apple.

  “Work clothes.”

  She arches a brow. “I thought you told me the other day you didn’t need anything.”

  “That was before—” I hold my tongue and then pivot. “I just changed my mind. These clothes are new and I spent all afternoon with Mrs. Williams getting them altered.”

  She smirks. “So you do know, don’t you?”

  “About what, Mother?”

  The use of the word mother hints at my annoyance with her, like when she uses my full name.

  She rubs her temple and sighs. “I only found out a few days before you moved back. I was going to tell you, but I’m a selfish woman and I wanted you back here. You’ve been gone too long.”

  “You still should have told me.”

  She nods, agreeing. “I take it from the clothes that you’re not leaving?”

  “Do you think I should?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Do you want to see what I bought then?”

  It’s an olive branch and she takes it readily. Truthfully, I’m not that upset that she didn’t tell me Lucas moved back sooner; I understand her reasoning. She and I have always been close, especially since it was just the two of us for so many years after my dad got sick when I was little. She hardly wanted me to leave for college and now that I’m back, I have no plans to leave this town again. No, McCormick Family Practice is as good as mine.

  We’re upstairs in my room picking out my outfit for my first day of work when my phone rings on the nightstand. It’s a number I don’t recognize and I nearly ignore it, but curiosity gets the better of me.

  Waving my mom out, I lock the door and answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Daisy Bell.”

  I haven’t heard his voice in 11 years.

  “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “I think you know.”

  “Lucas Thatcher. I don’t recognize the number. Am I your one call from jail?”

  “I called from a payphone. I don’t want you tracing this.”

  “It’s 2017—where did you find a payphone?”

  “That’s irrelevant. Listen, we haven’t seen each other in a long time, and I wanted to break the ice. I don’t want things to get ugly tomorrow.”

  “I don’t have any clue what you’re talking about. I’m looking forward to working together, Lucas.”

  “Y’know, after all these years, I can still tell when you’re lying—but it doesn’t matter. This is your chance to bow out, Daisy. Gracefully. You can tell everyone you got another job.”

  “You’ll be the one bowing, Lucas, when Dr. McCormick sees the mistake he’s made in hiring you.”

  “Not likely.”

  “I’m going to bring him snickerdoodles. Dr. McCormick loves snickerdoodles.”

  “We’re going golfing on Saturday and I’m going to let him win.”

  “You hate losing.”

  “Only to you.”

  “Well then the next few months won’t be very pleasant for you.”

  “Are you done? I’m about to have to put in another quarter.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t call collect and make me pay.”

  I think I hear him chuckle, but it could be a crackle from the ancient payphone.

  “I’ll see you in the morning then, Dr. Bell.”

  I open my mouth, but then decide to end the call without dignifying him with a response.

  Not if I see you first.

  Chapter Three

  It was a shock to no one that Lucas and I both took the pre-med track in college. What career path is worth pursuing more than medicine? Perhaps law, but neither of us had enjoyed the mock trials we suffered through in Ms. Pace’s ninth grade history class. The only reason we’d put any effort into it at all was because we were pitted against one another, opposing counsel. I’d won, offering up a closing argument so good Atticus Finch would have been proud. Ms. Pace had consumed a heroic amount of Excedrin that year.

  Our senior year of high school, Lucas was offered a full ride to Stanford. Duke extended me the same. The fact that our universities were on opposite coasts further cemented our choices. In fact, I’d have gone all the way to New Zealand if they had offered me a full ride.

  After I moved away for college, information about Lucas was only offered up by Madeleine. We had an unspoken rule wherein I never asked about him and she brought him up often, as if I cared what he was doing with his life. She was the one to tell me when he was visiting home so I could stagger my visits. Once I confirmed that Lucas was away, I’d return home in short, anxiety-ridden bursts. The idea of him popping up in our small town at any time made it impossible to enjoy the holidays.

  Due to my careful planning and Madeleine’s incredibly detailed calendar, I haven’t seen Lucas in 11 years, not even in photos. I don’t use Facebook. One night in college, I decide
d I didn’t need the distraction any longer and disabled my account. Sure, earlier that same night Lucas had been tagged in a photo with a pretty blonde at a winter formal at Stanford, but that was unrelated to my decision. It really is a stupid website.

  The fact that I’m going to come face to face with Lucas after so many years apart makes it impossible to sleep, so I don’t bother. I get out of bed at the crack of dawn and get ready for work. My outfit—fitted gray cigarette pants, black blouse, and matching ballet flats—is professional, but also comfortable enough for a long day filled with appointments. Once my hair and makeup are done, I ride my bike the short distance to Hamilton Brew. The coffee shop is right across the street from the office and I have a perfect vantage point to watch for when Lucas arrives. I think it’s important that I see him before he sees me; I want every advantage I can get.

  The barista brings me two coffees (one for me and one for Dr. McCormick) and makes a joke about my morning read: The American Journal of Medicine. It’s no Cosmo, but the articles will distract me for a little while. My heart is racing and I haven’t even had caffeine yet. I blame it on my bike ride.

  “Daisy Bell, is that you?”

  I turn and stare up into the face of a girl I haven’t seen since my high school graduation.

  “Hannah?” I toss out hopefully. Without Facebook, I have to rely on my memory.

  She beams and I know I’m right.

  “How are you?” she asks, stepping closer with a big, confident smile.

  I nod. “I’m good, yeah. How about you?”

  I see her diamond-studded hand rubbing her very pregnant belly.

  “I’m good. Eight months along and not really sleeping much at the moment.”

  That’s why she’s at the coffee shop at a time usually reserved for shift workers and crazy doctors staking out their nemeses.

  “Congratulations, you look great.”

  She rolls her eyes in disbelief.

  “Well that’s polite of you to say. Todd says I’ve never looked better, but I think he’s just saying—”

  “Todd Buchanan?!”

  She nods with a laugh. “The same! We got married a few years back.”

  I feel like I’ve stepped into the twilight zone. My classmates are getting married and having children. I’m 28 and have never declared my love for a significant other. My biggest commitment so far is buying a Roomba. How is this possible? How am I so behind?

  “That’s great,” I croak.

  “God, you look different,” she spouts, waving her hand from the top of my blonde hair to the tip of my ballet flats. “I mean, you used to be pretty in high school, but you never quite knew what to do with all that hair and those freckles. I’m glad you don’t cover them up.”

  I touch my cheek, a little shocked by her candidness. “Thanks.”

  “Y’know, I saw Lucas the other day,” she continues. “Moving his stuff upstairs.”

  My body hums. I tell myself it’s the caffeine kicking in, though I haven’t taken a sip. Must be the fumes.

  “Oh?”

  This is news to me; I assumed he would be moving back in with his parents temporarily. Lucas and I lived next door to one another our entire lives. Our proximity didn’t matter much when we were younger, but as soon as we entered high school, that changed. There was no escape. We knew each other’s every move. No boy ever picked me up for a date without Lucas lingering outside, somehow ruining the moment. Checking the mail, mowing the lawn, washing his car—innocuous activities that did little to hide his true intent: to get inside my head and ruin the moment.

  I wasn’t quite as bold. I used the perch at my bedroom window to spy when the moments presented themselves, like when he kissed Carrie Kocher on his front porch when we were fourteen. I’d been glued to the pane of glass, watching and trying to suppress my gag reflex. How can she stand it? I’d wondered.

  I reach for my coffee, examine the milky brown color, drop it, shuffle it a little to the left, and then look back to Hannah. She is wearing a little smirk and then she leans down close so the barista can’t hear.

  “He’s still the hottest thing to come out of Hamilton High.”

  If I’d taken a sip of my coffee, I would have performed a spit take all over her face.

  “I take it from your reaction you two still don’t get along?” she continues.

  I’m not shocked she remembers our rivalry. I think the Bush administration was briefed about our antics at one point.

  “Can someone that arrogant get along with anyone?” I joke, trying to push the blame where it belongs: on Lucas.

  She laughs. “You were the only one to have a problem with him. We never could figure it out. There was even a rumor going around that—”

  I laugh loudly and aggressively. I need her to shut up and go have her baby somewhere.

  “Well, I don’t want to keep you, and I need to get back to reading…”

  She takes the hint and steps back. I wish her luck with her pregnancy and then go back to pretending to read my journal. It’s only when she walks out that I realize I never asked her what she meant by “moving his stuff upstairs.”

  I’d heard they were putting lofts in some of the second stories along Main Street, but…surely he isn’t right above me right now. My spine trembles and I slowly raise my eyes to the ceiling, as if expecting drops of blood to drip on my forehead like in a horror movie.

  Instead I see only exposed ductwork and wiring, and I feel like a fool. I’ve thought about Lucas for longer than I care to. It feels like I’m already losing a competition that doesn’t even exist, so for the next few minutes, I pretend I’m back at Duke, a million miles away from Lucas. The daydream does wonders for my nerves, and I can almost imagine a world in which he doesn’t exist.

  After I’ve settled into the Oscar-worthy impression of calm I’m determined to exude, a door opens outside, adjacent to the coffee shop’s front entrance. I scrunch my brows and lean closer to the window, watching in slow motion as a man walks out onto the sidewalk. A man I’d hoped to avoid for a lifetime, or at least another five minutes. A man who is the very bane of my existence.

  Chapter Four

  My mouth dries. My hands shake. My stomach plummets and then flips over and over like a rollercoaster set to MAX SPEED. Technically, I’m getting my wish—I’m seeing him before he sees me—but my wish has changed and I want him to disappear, to go back up to his hidey-hole and stay there forever.

  His back is to me and I begin an assessment of him that’s purely scientific. His hair is dark brown, thick and trimmed by someone who knows what they’re doing. He’s wearing navy slacks and a crisp white button-down. His brown leather watch matches his belt and shoes. At some point over the years, a woman must have taught him how to color coordinate, presumably before he chopped her up and turned her into jerky.

  He turns to look both ways before crossing the street. He doesn’t do it because it’s what his mother taught him—I know he’s looking for me, ensuring I’m not waiting with a souped-up Ford Bronco, prepared to mow him down. For a few seconds, I’m provided with a view of his profile. Of course. I curse time and testosterone. 11 years have taken his chubby cheeks and sharpened them to hard lines. They’ve stretched his tall frame and blown it up like a muscled balloon. Without a doubt, he eats protein and has a gym membership.

  In high school, he preferred contact lenses. Now, he is wearing thick black frames like he has an audition for some new superhero movie after work and he’s trying to step into the role early. Pathetic. They suit him.

  Once he’s sure the coast is clear, he takes a step out onto the street. Soundlessly, I rise and tail him like an undercover cop. When I slip out of the coffee shop, Lucas doesn’t turn, but he immediately spots me in the reflection of the plate glass that fronts McCormick Family Practice—my hair is too bright to go unnoticed. Our eyes lock in the mirrored surface and neither of us turns or wavers. We’re the only ones out on the street; I could scald him with Dr. McCormick
’s coffee and claim it was an accident. It would be his word against mine, and I’m adorable, but this coffee already has a purpose.

  Our steps clap in unison, left, right, left, right. I desperately yearn to touch the door handle first, a tiny achievement, but it’s impossible unless I break into a sprint. Too desperate even for me. He reaches the door first and I predict he will step inside and lock it behind him. Instead, he steps back and holds it open for me.

  I know it’s just an act. Chivalry is dead. Lucas killed it.

  When I’m a step away from brushing past him, he smiles coyly and sticks his foot out to trip me. Without breaking stride, I take an exaggerated step over it.

  “Did you like the flowers?” he asks.

  His voice is deeper and smoother than it was on the phone, like a dark liquor, the kind that leaves you with a nasty hangover.

  I smile. “They’re rotting in the garbage.”

  “And the card?” His malevolent tone confirms the flowers and the card were less of a gift, and more of a Trojan horse into my psyche.

  “It burned nicely.”

  Our first encounter in 11 years is sharp. I’m not surprised we’re picking up right where we left off.

  We step into the lobby and Dr. McCormick is waiting for us with the rest of the staff. They’re wearing eager smiles and I don my own, careful to tilt my head away from Lucas so he can’t see.

  “WELCOME DOCTORS!” they all shout, pointing to the homemade banner hanging behind the reception desk.

  My smile widens as our boss steps within earshot. “Good morning, everyone! Dr. McCormick, I brought your usual from The Brew. As for everyone else, the first coffee break is on me today.”

  They are pleasantly surprised and Lucas is not. I extend the coffee out to our boss and finally turn to glance up at Lucas. My smile seems genuine because up until a second ago it was. I’ve learned a few tricks over the years.

  Lucas evaluates me. He drags his dark gaze from the tip of my ballet flats to the top of my shiny hair; he’s wondering if I’m still a worthy opponent. When the edge of his mouth slowly unwinds into a smirk, I know he’s excited to have his old rival back. He wants to pick the meat from my bones.