Perfectly Adequate

by Jewel Ann

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  She’s Mine

  Dorothy

  “Good morning.” Mom smiles, cinching the tie to her white bathrobe.

  “Thanks for this,” I mumble over a mouthful of leftover fried rice.

  “You mean my lunch that you’re eating for breakfast?”

  “Oops.” I grin.

  “How was the market?”

  “Good. I took Romeo with me. Put him in my little red wagon. Look.” I pull up the pictures on my phone. “He’s so stinkin’ cute. He also kept eating the food we were gathering. The vendors went crazy over him. And I got us lavender lemonade, and he tried to eat the sprig of lavender, but spit it out onto the leg of a lady passing us. That was a little embarrassing.”

  She laughs. “I’m sure. Did Eli enjoy the market?”

  “Oh.” I shake my head, shoveling in more food. “He didn’t go. He had an appointment. I was babysitting Roman for him. I also ran into Dr. Hathaway. She seemed a little confused or worried about me being there alone with Roman. When she tried to get him to go home with her, he was all, ‘No! I stay with Dorfee!’ Oh my god, it was just … crazy. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “So did he finally go with her?”

  “No. Because this police officer came over and basically asked me if ‘my son and I’ knew her. Like … can you imagine how horrified she must have been? I felt really bad for her. But I didn’t know what to do.”

  “What did Eli say when you told him?”

  I cringe. “I don’t think he was happy. He didn’t exactly know I was taking Romeo to the market with me. He kinda freaked out when he got home.”

  “Dorothy Emmaline Mayhem, you took his child without asking?”

  “No. I didn’t take his child. He begged me to watch Roman. No big deal. Like, his son was fine. Yes, he wasn’t in his jammies and his face was a little dirty, but he was safe and sleeping on the sofa. I mean … isn’t that what should be important to parents? That at the end of the day, their child is alive and safe at home? Like … he sees this bad shit all day. He sees kids die and parents grieve. But he freaks out about a trip to the farmer’s market that ended just fine. I didn’t know what to say or do. This morning while I was showering, I thought thank god he didn’t know about the car seat.”

  “You didn’t use a car seat?”

  “No. Of course I did.” I rinse off the fork and put it in the dishwasher. “I just couldn’t figure out the stupid harness system. It’s like it was too loose, and then I tried to tighten it and Romeo said it was too tight. And just when I thought I had shit figured out, I realized there was like … a strap with a metal part at the end that needed to go somewhere, but hell if I knew where. So I tried again, and all metal parts were stuck in some sort of latch place which is good, right? But things were too loose, so I found some duct tape in Eli’s garage, and I taped together the loose straps until I felt confident that everything was secure and tight.”

  “Oh my god …” Mom covers her mouth. She laughs so hard she snorts. “Dorothy … oh my god. You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t duct tape that man’s son to his seat.”

  “Not Roman. I taped the straps. And it was a bitch to get that tape off there when we arrived at the market.”

  She wipes tears from her eyes. “What about going back home? The tape couldn’t have been as sticky.”

  I roll my eyes. “Duh, I took the whole roll with me.” I glance at my watch. “I need to brush my teeth and go.”

  “I love you. I just really love you.” She continues to laugh.

  “Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

  * * *

  Elijah

  “We need to talk.” Julie stands at the doorway to my office, dressed in a knee-length skirt, a white blouse revealing a bit of her new cleavage, black heels that make her legs look ten miles long, and a white lab coat. She’s also wearing that same look she wore the day she asked for a divorce.

  I close my laptop and lean back in my desk chair. “So talk.”

  She steps inside my office and shuts the door behind her before taking a seat on the other side of my desk. “I live with this guilt from leaving you. And when we got divorced, I swore to myself that I’d never be petty over little issues with Roman. So I don’t want to come across like I’m trying to cause trouble. I’m not. I just had a bad feeling in my stomach yesterday when I saw your friend, Dorothy, with Roman at the market. I wasn’t trying to be confrontational at all. I simply asked about your whereabouts. I honestly assumed you were there. It was just really disturbing that she seemed so ignorant on the subject. My mind went into this mama bear protective mode, and I could imagine her turning her back on him for two seconds and having no clue where he was either.”

  “Jules …”

  “Just …” She holds up her hand. “Please hear me out.” Taking a deep breath, she meets my scrutinizing gaze. “It could happen to you. It could happen to me. Responsible people have bad things happen to their children. But we navigate this world with a fierce, protective love for him. And I know your family and my family share that love too. You know I hate that you send him to daycare where the people taking care of him do so because they are getting paid, not because they love him with their whole being. But at least he’s in one spot. And there are rules and security. But some girl that you’ve known for two seconds should not be allowed to gallivant around the city with our child. And I don’t care if it makes me sound like a cold, untrusting bitch. What you think or anyone else thinks doesn’t matter to me. Roman is my only concern here.”

  “Are you done?”

  “No. I want a legal agreement that lists the people who are allowed to be unsupervised with Roman. And the list has to be mutually agreeable for every name on it.”

  I grunt a laugh. “And you don’t want Dorothy on that list.”

  “Are you marrying her?”

  “For god’s sake, Jules. Marrying someone doesn’t magically make them more trustworthy.”

  “Uh …” she laughs. “I disagree. I’d like to believe that neither one of us would marry someone unless we completely trusted them with Roman.”

  “Well, I completely trust Dorothy.” I hate the lie. I mostly trust her. I feel pretty fucking guilty for not being able to completely trust her, but I sure as hell won’t let Julie see an ounce of my doubt. It doesn’t mean I’m planning on leaving Roman with Dorothy again anytime soon. But I want the decision to be mine, not something mutually agreed upon between Julie, me, and our lawyers.

  “So you know everything about her? What’s her favorite color? What hospital was she born in? What’s her mother’s maiden name? What school did she attend? Childhood pets? Does she have any cavities? What medications does she take?”

  “Enough …” I rub my forehead. “If I hired a professional nanny, I wouldn’t know or give a shit about her favorite color.”

  “True. But she’d come with references. And you could do a background check. Drug testing. All the things a responsible parent would do before hiring a nanny. So if you don’t know her well enough to marry her, and you haven’t conducted a thorough background check on her, then you better always be with her when she’s with Roman.”

  “Julie—”

  “This is nonnegotiable, Eli. I’ll be the bitch if that’s what it takes to keep my son as safe as possible. I’m a little disappointed that you’re not showing the same level of responsibility. And if you can’t do this on your own, I’ll make sure a judge makes you do it.”

  My phone vibrates with a message from my nurse. I stand and slip on my lab coat. “I have to go. Have a fucking fabulous day, Jules. You sure have made mine.”

  “Why do you make me the bad guy?” She follows me out of my office.

  “Because every day I can manage to find something seriously wrong with you is one less day that I have to wonder if something is seriously wrong with me.” I keep walking toward the elevator without looking back.

  After checking in on a patient who was read
mitted earlier this morning, I make my way to the lab to check on Warren and review some test results.

  “How’s it going?” I ask, walking into the lab.

  Warren pushes his chair away from the counter to let me look at the computer. “I think it’s going really well.”

  It is. We’re seeing massive destruction of cancer cells without major side effects. We still have a lot of testing to do. But small victories matter.

  “Willow said she saw Dorothy Mayhem with your son at the farmer’s market last night. Is she babysitting for you now too? Man, that girl can juggle a lot. Has she by any chance said anything about me? She’s taking the whole hard-to-get game to a ridiculous level.”

  Great. There were witnesses. I hope that doesn’t get around to Julie. I know she’ll start pulling people into her office to interrogate them.

  “I had an appointment. She watched him for me. It’s not an actual job for her.”

  “Don’t you have like a million family members always fighting over who gets to watch him?”

  Yes. I do. But I didn’t need a babysitter, I needed Dorothy naked in my bed. But that all went to shit. I question if I’ll ever see her naked again.

  “Mmm …” is my only answer as I inspect a few slides.

  He leans against the counter a few feet from me. “I wonder if she’s a flowers kind of girl. I mean, at first I thought she might be a fun time, you know? But the more she dismisses me, the more I want her. And I think she’s hell-bent on busting my balls until I treat her the way she thinks she deserves to be treated. Ya know?”

  “Like an intelligent woman with morals and high standards?”

  Warren laughs. “Sure. Something like that. So what do you think? Flowers? Chocolates? Cookie bouquet? Singing telegram?”

  I tell myself there’s no reason to not tell Warren the truth. But the real truth is that there’s a million reasons to not tell Warren about me and Dorothy. I don’t need rumors going around because rumors always escalate to the most ridiculous stuff. And the last thing I need is Julie catching wind of something that isn’t true about Dorothy.

  “Maybe she’s legitimately not interested. I realize that’s not what your ego wants to hear. But you can’t be a god to every woman.”

  “If you’re a Christian who believes in one god, then it’s possible I can be a god—the god—to every woman.”

  “In that case, send her a cookie bouquet from Bloomin Bakery.”

  “Oh yeah. Those are the best.”

  “They really are.”

  “I wonder if it’s too late to get one ordered for today? I’d love to get her thinking about me today. That leaves two more days to seal the deal.”

  “And by deal, you mean politely ask her out on a date, not make her an on-call room conquest, right?”

  “Sure.” He smirks.

  I want to punch him. Why does my instinct to protect Dorothy make me rabidly violent?

  * * *

  Around four o’clock Dorothy knocks on the door to the lab. Warren lets her in. A large cookie bouquet hides her face.

  “I can’t accept these. I mean, I ate one but only as payment for my time to deliver them to you.”

  He takes the bouquet from her. “Why not?”

  She shoots me a nervous glance before tipping her chin up and addressing Warren again. “I get the sexual innuendo. These cookies in exchange for my cookie. Well, I don’t want to share my cookie with you. So, nice try.”

  While they work out their cookie issues, I sneak one out of the cellophane wrapped bouquet and take a bite.

  Mmm …

  They are my favorite cookies in Portland.

  “Dammit …” Warren looks at his phone. “I have to go. Those cookies have nothing to do with your cookie. In fact, they weren’t even my idea. Dr. Hawkins made the suggestion when I said I wanted to send you something. So now do you think he wants your cookie?”

  “Yes.”

  I choke on my cookie as she deadpans her answer.

  A cackle makes its way out of Warren as he covers his mouth with his fist and shoots me a look accompanied by an eye roll. “Sure. Sure he does. I’ll send you something less sexual tomorrow, Mayhem, like a rosary.” Warren leaves the lab.

  “Hey, ‘Dr. Hawkins,’ why would you tell Warren to send me a cookie bouquet?”

  I pop the last bite of cookie into my mouth. “Why are you air quoting my name?”

  “Because you’re weird with your name. Eli. Elijah. Dr. Hawkins. Just so many rules to figure out.”

  “At work, Dr. Hawkins is great. Without the air quotes. And I suggested Warren send you a cookie bouquet because I knew you wouldn’t accept it, and I thought Bloomin Bouquet’s cookies sounded really good today. I missed lunch with my mom. I’m kinda hungry.”

  “Why did you miss lunch with your mom?”

  “Because I had sex with Dorothy Mayhem at my mom’s house last weekend. And I knew that’s all she’d want to talk about today.”

  “Maybe you needed to talk through your anger over me taking Roman to the farmer’s market. Maybe she would have told you something really profound like ‘Eli, you should be thankful your son is alive and free of cancer. I bet a lot of your patients’ parents would love for their biggest problem to be that their child didn’t put on pajamas before falling asleep, or that he wet his pants after too much lemonade because he was healthy enough to go to the market.”

  Red face.

  Shaking balled-up hands.

  Clenched jaw.

  Dorothy Mayhem is seriously pissed off. Not something I’ve seen before. She doesn’t stutter once. Every word feels planned and rehearsed. Did she recite this speech all night?

  “I get what you’re saying, but it’s not that simple.”

  “It is that simple! He’s alive. You have a living, breathing child. Stop fucking away the minutes of your time with him by worrying about the stupid stuff.”

  I stand, moving closer so she’ll lower her voice and so she can hear my words and feel their gravity.

  “Maybe he’s not dying today, but that doesn’t mean I’m not in danger of losing him. Julie doesn’t want you alone with him unsupervised.”

  “What?” Dorothy jerks her head back. “Does she know we had sex?”

  “Serial killers, rapists, and child molesters have sex. It’s not a ticket to sainthood.”

  I hate Julie for being right. Does that make her reasons for leaving me right too? Is she just always right? I hope not. But she is right about Roman and us protecting him needing to be our number one priority. There is no way I will tell her she’s right. But … she’s right. And nothing Dorothy can say will change that.

  “You think I’m a serial killer, rapist, or child molester? Seriously?”

  “No.” I return a sad smile. “But if you were, I wouldn’t know it. The truth is, there is so much I don’t know about you. And I can’t be guided by blind instinct, or insane moments of passion. I have to always keep a clear head when it comes to Roman. And I haven’t done a good job with that.”

  “Because of me.”

  “No. Yes … I … I’m not saying any of this is your fault. I approached you. I invited you to do things with us. I asked you to watch him last night. It’s me. I need to be more mature in my thinking. Not be so impulsive.”

  With slightly narrowed eyes, she observes me. Then she nods slowly. “Okay. Yeah, it was a mistake.”

  “Mistakes happen.” I shrug, giving her my best understanding smile, hoping it beams like her favorite emoji so she’ll know I’m not mad at her, and I don’t blame her.

  “So we act like it never happened?” she asks.

  “Yeah. I think that’s a good idea. I don’t care to dwell on it.”

  Dorothy’s gaze shifts past me. “Were the cookies really your idea?”

  “Yes.”

  Her lips corkscrew. “Okay.” She grabs the cookie bouquet and leaves.

  I shake my head, with a grin affixed to my face. That could have gone badly. She
came out fighting, but in the end, I feel we’ve reached a compromise. She took the cookies before I had a chance to snag one more, but I can’t get greedy with my victories.

  An hour later, Warren returns with a bounce in his step and humming a tune.

  “Thank you, Dr. Hawkins.”

  I glance over at him with a lifted brow. “For what?”

  “The cookie bouquet suggestion. Once Ms. Mayhem realized it wasn’t my idea, but I made the effort to take your suggestion and get it for her, she gave me the thumbs-up.”

  Inching my chair to the side to face him straight on, I cock my head, eyes narrowed. “Thumbs-up for what exactly?”

  “Tuesday night I’m taking her to dinner.”

  What … the … fuck?

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. I wouldn’t joke about this. That girl has been a brick wall for weeks. Then out of nowhere, cookie bouquet equals date for Dr. Warren. Booyah!”

  I glance at my watch. “I’m going for coffee.”

  “I can get you one.”

  “No. I don’t want you having anything to do with my coffee.” I push through the door.

  “Dude!” He laughs. “That’s a bit harsh.”

  Harsh? Harsh will be when I beat the living shit out of him for not backing the fuck off Dorothy. Harsh will be losing my job for said beating. Harsh will be trying to keep custody of my son with an assault conviction on my record.

  I message her.

  Me: Where are you?

  She doesn’t answer in a timely manner. And by timely, I mean within seconds. So … I call her.

  No answer.

  But my phone vibrates with a text.

  Dorothy: Working. Not allowed to take calls on the clock. Not really supposed to be texting either. (shrugging emoji)

  “Willa, how would I find Dorothy Mayhem?”

  She glances up from the desk outside my lab. “The transporter?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you need, Dr. Hawkins?”

  “I need Dorothy Mayhem.”

  “I have a few minutes. I can help you.”