Anything You Can Do

by R.S. Grey

  Okay, it actually is me. Can we talk? PLEASE? I made this email address in case you blocked my other one. You are so stubborn. Who doesn’t reply to emails and phone calls for DAYS?! Are you trying to punish me? I get it, I deserve it, but I want to move past this, and we can’t do that if we can’t talk.

  Also, that chopstick wound is probably infected now, so if we don’t talk soon, we’ll have to schedule my apology tour around my amputation and recovery.

  Daisy

  ___

  From: daisybell@duke.edu

  To: lucasthatcher@stanford.edu

  Subject: Re: Emails

  I’m not giving up.

  Daisy

  ___

  I know it will take drastic measures to win Lucas over. Emails and phone calls aren’t enough; I’ll have to get creative. I dial Madeleine.

  “I need your help getting Lucas somewhere on Saturday night.”

  “Really? It’s been too long since you’ve tormented him. Are you going to pull a prank because—”

  “No Madeleine, not this time. Just get him there.”

  In the old home video, Lucas was planning on asking me to the eighth-grade formal. It’d be way more poetic to pull my little stunt at the same dance, but unfortunately, it’s still months away. I don’t have months to wait, but luck is on my side when I check and see that there’s a sixth-grade Sadie Hawkins dance at the middle school on Saturday night. I volunteer as a chaperone and the organizers reluctantly accept, despite finding it extremely odd considering I don’t have a child attending the school. I rattle off a spiel about the school nurse needing backup to treat any dancing injuries now that the kids are bumpin’ and grindin’ these days.

  Finding the dress I wore to the dance all those years ago is not a problem. My mom kept it under plastic over the years because she’s a memory hoarder. Sadly, I had a growth spurt in high school and the dress barely covers my belly button. I try zipping up the back, and I swear the zipper cackles when it hits a roadblock a few inches from where it started. I improvise by layering it over a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. I look like an overstuffed sausage sleeve, but Lucas will appreciate the effort. I hope.

  I find a polaroid from the dance and precisely recreate my hair and makeup, right down to the crunchy curls and smeared red lipstick. I buy Lucas a boutonniere and I wear a matching corsage—which fits nicely over my lime green cast, thank you very much. I purchase a disposable camera and stuff it into my child-sized purse. This is a historical reenactment, people, and I don’t skimp on the details.

  It all seems like a great idea until I arrive at the dance and parents stare at me in confusion. At first, they probably think I’m the mammoth middle schooler that developed too early, thanks to all the hormones in dairy these days. By the time they realize I’m actually an adult, they look worried that I’ve taken a quick break from sanity. I smile and move along, never staying in one place too long, lest they grow curious and want to come talk to me or have me committed. Madeleine assures me she is on her way with Lucas, and when my phone buzzes in my hand, I don’t even have to glance down to know it’s go-time. They’re here.

  The timing is impeccable. As I make my way to the small stage at the front of the dance floor, I spot the unattended microphone and head straight for it. Across the stage, my eyes lock with those belonging to a pint-sized middle schooler who is beelining for the same destination. She’s closer to the mic and scurries to beat me to it. She has flashcards in her hand and a determined expression on her face. She’s basically me, 14 years ago.

  I turn over my shoulder and see Madeleine all but dragging a disheveled Lucas through the doors. It’s clear he doesn’t want to be here and has no clue what’s going on, but I need him to stay.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” announces the small girl through the mic.

  C’mon, Miss Honor Roll, make it quick.

  “Thank you all for coming to the ninth annual Sadie Hawkins dance,” she intones, making sure to over-enunciate each and every syllable. “It is time to announce the winners of Mr. and Mrs. Sadie Hawkins Dance 2017!”

  She holds for applause that never comes.

  Most of the “cool” middle schoolers ignore her, and the half that are listening wear expressions that clearly signal she’s seconds from losing them. And I’m seconds from losing Lucas. He’s shaking his head and tugging his arm out of Madeleine’s grip. He’s trying to head back out the door, back to wherever he’s been hiding out over the last few days, too stubborn to return any of my phone calls.

  “But first, a bit of history,” the tiny middle schooler continues. “As you probably know, the Sadie Hawkins dance is an American folk event. It was first featured on a comic strip in the early 1930s and—”

  “LUCAS!” I shout through the microphone after wrenching it out of the girl’s hand and holding it just above her reach. The mixed reactions from the crowd are silenced by the sharp whine of feedback that issues from the amps.

  “Hey! You can’t do that!” reprimands the miniature MC. “I’m the student body president and chairperson of the dance committee!”

  She comes up my elbows, so I’m able to pretend I can’t hear her. When she finishes puberty, she’ll understand why I have to do what I’m about to do.

  “Lucas!” I shout again. He turns and finds me on stage. “Don’t leave!”

  For a second, he stops fighting and stands there, shocked. Madeleine releases her grip on him and quickly reaches for her cell phone. I hope her phone freezes before she can load Snapchat.

  Lucas is in a state I’ve never seen before. Worn jeans and a t-shirt. Day old stubble and disheveled hair sort of shooting in every direction. He’s clearly spent the last few days in hell, probably trying to convince himself to finally get over me. I pray I’m not too late.

  “You have to listen to me,” I continue. “That thing with the job was a misunderstanding.”

  My words are weak and he knows it. Sure, he probably wasn’t thrilled to learn he might be out of a job, but I know deep down it was never about work. It was about me. He’s a mess because he thinks he’s wasted half his life loving someone that would casually stab him in the back. He shakes his head and starts to back up and I know what I have to do. I shout into the microphone and it rings sharply in everyone’s ears.

  “I LOVE YOU, LUCAS THATCHER!”

  All is quiet. The entire school cafeteria has been momentarily silenced by my desperate outburst. A wolf-whistle breaks the spell and a few kids giggle, but Lucas has paused once again. He’s looking back at me, waiting for me to continue.

  “I love you, which seems crazy because up until about four days ago, I really thought I hated you. But when you think about it, love and hate aren’t so very different, right? To love someone is to strive to be a better person for them, and isn’t that what our hateful little competition has been about the whole time?”

  “Booooo!!!” a few middle school boys shout. “Get a room, grandma!”

  I forge ahead.

  “I feel so stupid because it took me so long to see it, but I see it now. You’ve loved me from the very beginning and I think everyone knew it but me. I couldn’t see it because I was so selfish, caught up in my own silly need to win every battle with you, but this whole time, you’ve been patient. You’ve played the games with me because that’s what I needed, but your heart was never in it. You were never trying to take me down. You were in love with me.”

  “Get off stage, weirdo!” another boy shouts.

  “And I know it took me a really long time to see that, like an embarrassing amount of time, but now I understand and I’m not going to let you walk away from us. That’s why I’m dressed like this! I have a boutonniere! A corsage! I want to go back in time and make things right!”

  A chaperone has come up onto the stage behind me and is trying to wrest the microphone out of my hand. I’m seconds away from being carted out of the dance in handcuffs.

  “Hey! Stop. I just have one
more—”

  “Ma’am, you have to get off stage.”

  “Lucas!” I shout right before the mic is ripped out of my hand. “If it’s not already clear, you’re my Mr. Sadie Hawkins 2017!”

  “Those are not the official results!” squeals the small student body president, still tugging on the microphone cord.

  The middle school’s resource officer moves very quickly for such an elderly man. Within seconds, he’s pulled me off stage and with the help of the chaperone, they’ve got my hands pulled behind my back, held together by a zip tie.

  “Sorry about this, Daisy.”

  I turn over my shoulder and recognize Tiffany Gaw, an old friend from the neighborhood. I forgot she taught at the middle school. She’s the one who helped detain me.

  “Oh, hey there Tiffany. How ya been?”

  “Not bad. I mean, compared to you, I guess I’ve been pretty good,” she jokes before quickly apologizing. I tell her not to worry about it—she has a point.

  “Um, excuse me!” Tiny middle schooler is back, huffing harder than ever. “I’m here to press charges.”

  The officer shakes his head. “I’m afraid this here is a catch and release situation, missy. Nothin’ really illegal about embarrassing yourself in front of children.”

  “Daisy!” Madeleine shouts melodramatically, running through the crowd to get to me. “Oh my god officer, don’t take her to the big house, she’d never last! Will I be your one phone call from jail, Daisy?! Oh hey, Tiffany.”

  “Hey Madeleine.”

  “So is she going downtown? To the slammer?” Madeleine asks.

  The officer looks up at me. “If I cut this tie, you’re not going to run back on stage and continue to ruin the dance are you?”

  I look up and see Lucas hovering in the periphery of the group, watching the scene and wearing a smile. It’s small, but it’s there, and when his eyes lock with mine, there’s no evidence of hatred anymore, just amusement. It’s the answer I needed.

  “No. I swear I’m done.”

  “Right, well, just to show those kids and their parents that I’m not letting you off easy, I’mma cart you out of here like this and then I’ll cut you loose outside.”

  “Seems fair.”

  “This is an injustice,” mumbles the middle schooler before retrieving the microphone and attempting to regain the crowd’s attention.

  I’m led out of the dance to a chorus of cheers and boos. The very same boys who taunted me on stage now think I am cooler than cool in my handcuffed state. My street cred has doubled.

  In all, taking over the stage at a middle school dance probably won’t go down as my most brilliant idea. I’m sure word will spread that I’ve gone off my rocker and am not suitable to practice medicine. Dr. McCormick will likely want to have a word with me at work on Monday, but I’ll explain my reasonings and I have no doubt his eyes will be moist by the end of it—not only because he’s a big softie, but because like most everyone in our life, I suspect he has secretly been rooting for Lucas and me all along.

  Oh, right. Lucas.

  Apparently the love of my life.

  I laugh because to me, it is still funny.

  I look back just as Lucas catches up with me and the security guard. He’s still wearing that secret smile and I want to throw my arms around him and hug him, but I’m handcuffed. A criminal.

  “All right, miss,” the guard says, “If I catch you within twenty feet of that dance, I’ll handcuff you for good. You hear me?”

  “Yes sir. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  Lucas arches a brow, watching the exchange and probably enjoying it all a little too much. Once my hands have been cut free, I roll them out and rub my wrists like I’ve been tied up for years, not minutes.

  “I thought he was going to take me down to the clink,” I say, chancing a glance at Lucas. I don’t want him to bolt now that I’m not in danger of being arrested anymore.

  “You’re wacko,” he says, stepping closer.

  But there’s adoration in his words and I think there always has been, but now I can hear it. I’m finally listening.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  He tilts his head. “Yeah?”

  “Of course. I ate all the food in your apartment. I need you to come back and buy more.”

  He laughs and reaches out. With one hand around my neck, he tugs me close and pulls me to his chest. I close my eyes and inhale. “Charming.”

  “I’m really sorry,” I say against his shirt. “That thing with the CVs got out of hand. I never really wanted you to leave.”

  “I know.”

  “Where have you been the last few days?” I ask.

  “Hiding out at Madeleine’s. Looking for jobs.”

  I pull back so I can look up at him. “What?! Lucas c’mon, don’t be silly. Obviously you have to stay at Dr. McCormick’s.”

  “Doesn’t look like that’s an option. You said it yourself.”

  “I turned down the job. I want us both to stay at Dr. McCormick’s.”

  “I appreciate the gesture, but…does it even matter?”

  “I also have a really brilliant plan for how we can take down MediQuik.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Step one is simple: we work together.”

  “Has hell frozen over?”

  “No, hear me out. We were able to accomplish quite a bit competing against one another all these years. Just think what would happen if we were on the same team.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Oh a ton! I’ve been thinking it over the last few days. Ways to smash them. Ways to bury them. Ways to—”

  “Is any of it legal?”

  “Oh, right. Well, I guess we’ll have to go back the drawing board.”

  He nods and steps back, giving himself a little bit of space. It’s like he’s still in shock at what’s transpired and he’s not quite ready to jump back in with both feet. After so many years, I’ve conditioned him to be reserved, and I can’t force him to trust me right away—though that’s exactly what I want.

  We wave goodbye to Madeleine—she wants to stay behind and chat with Tiffany—and then start to walk toward the parking lot. There’s space between us, a gulf really, and though I want to reach for his hand, I don’t.

  He’s quiet. Contemplative. I’m scared he’s talking himself out of forgiving me, or worse, building up some kind of goodbye speech. So, before he can unwind the thoughts swirling around his stubborn head, I speak first.

  “I realized I loved you before you left.”

  His gaze stays straight ahead, but I watch his mouth tighten into a flat line. He’s heard me.

  “I don’t know if that matters to you, but I thought you should know. It didn’t take you leaving or us having a massive blowup for me to realize what I felt for you. I was sitting in my office, staring at that signed offer sheet and wondering why I couldn’t send it back to Damian. Owning my own practice has always been my dream and yet, I was frozen in place, stuck right on the precipice of realizing the truth.”

  He nods, understanding. “And then Mariah knocked on your door…”

  “And then Mariah knocked on my door,” I echo. “I won’t go into the details of that offer or why I didn’t turn it down the first second it was presented to me. I don’t think it matters anymore. I just wanted you to know that I loved you before you walked away.”

  He looks over to me and studies me.

  “Of course I’d have realized it much sooner, but I’m really flawed. Chock full of them really. I’m stubborn and can apparently be quite self-centered. I’m going to work on that.”

  The tip of his mouth turns up. It’s hardly a smile at all, but then he shakes his head and reaches out for me. He closes the gap between us and tucks me under his arm so we can walk in tandem to his truck.

  He’s still so quiet. I really need him to speak.

  Namely I want to hear those three little sissy words from Lucas.

  Three words that hav
e never felt so important.

  “You know, you can say it. I’m kind of waiting for you to say it.”

  “What?”

  He opens the passenger side door so I can hop in, but I don’t.

  “The declaration thing, about your feelings…”

  “Oh? You think I still love you?”

  My heart sinks.

  “Lucas! I just got myself arrested at a middle school! The least you can do is say it.”

  He smirks and moves closer, pinning me up against the side of the truck. “This was all part of my plan, Daisy. Remember?”

  He takes another step toward me and I hold my breath as his hips brush against mine. He bends low, caging me in with one hand over my head and the other on my neck, brushing aside a few strands of hair. His warm breath hits my exposed skin and a shiver runs down my spine. I tilt my head, giving him consent, but he lingers. Teasing me. I wrap my hand around his bicep, contemplating taking matters into my own hands just before he presses a kiss to my neck, just below my ear. “I came back to Hamilton to woo you, make you fall in love…”

  I squeeze my eyes closed and think of Lauryn Hill because he’s killing me. Softly. With his words.

  “I can’t believe you fell for it.”

  I squeeze his biceps. It’s a warning.

  He laughs under his breath and pulls away. “Of course I love you, Daisy.” He tugs his hand through his hair, looks away, then back. “I mean, come on, I’ve loved you since I knew what love meant.”

  “So what about all those times you tormented me?”

  He wipes away his smile. “Most of the time people get to leave their hometown and reinvent themselves during college, but you know everything about me, the good, the bag, and the ugly. So yeah, at times, I didn’t really know how to show it, but rest assured, it’s always been you.”

  I think an entire hoard of butterflies has been set loose in my stomach.

  The car ride to my mom’s house is a wild one. I’m rattling off event after event from our childhood, trying to see it through his eyes.