Perfectly Adequate

by Jewel Ann

  “I can unzip just the bottom if you need air on your feet.”

  I blink open my heavy eyelids, bringing wet-hair Dorothy Mayhem and her oversized Taylor Swift Reputation T-shirt into focus. “To keep my feet from getting claustrophobic in your zipper bed?”

  “To allow cool air to your feet to help regulate your body temperature.” She unzips the bottom of the bed. “I can leave it like this or actually let your feet out like this.” Peeling back the bottom covers, she exposes my feet. My good one and the one with just my toes sticking out from a blue cast. So many options and unexpected surprises with the zipper bed. Same goes for Dorothy Mayhem.

  “However you sleep in here will be just fine with me.”

  “Oh.” She shakes her head. “I don’t actually sleep inside it. I sleep on top of it so it’s always made up. If I get chilly, I grab a blanket. I just hate dealing with making beds.”

  I never let on to her just how much emotion I feel right now. She’d interpret it as me getting emotional over a zipper bed. It’s not that. Well, it is that. It’s everything. The twenty-year-old version of me might have found zipper beds a hard limit. I might have run away from a zipper-bed girl without looking back. I mean, she has a zipper bed. Just imagine what other oddities rule her life.

  Right now, it crushes me to imagine the day might come where nothing fantastical like Instagram emus, chicken-less soup from a can, and zipper beds won’t be part of my life—that she won’t be part of my life.

  Because … She. Chose. My. Son.

  Dorothy put Roman above everyone else. And in doing so, she made me love her in a way that rips the air from my lungs, shackles my heart, and claims my soul.

  “So you don’t care?”

  Quelling my aching emotions, I grin. “Just get in bed.”

  “Okay.” She shrugs, flips off the light, and slips onto the zipper bed next to me, pinning me in since she’s on top of the bedding and I’m zipped inside of it.

  I have her exactly where I want her, and I can’t really touch her. So I close my eyes and just find comfort in her proximity.

  “I love you,” I say after several minutes of her fidgeting, hoping it distracts her from the discomfort of sharing her bed with me, maybe calm her nerves a bit.

  “Okay …” she replies in a breathy voice.

  “Are you okay?” I try to pull down the covers, but I’m zipped in tightly and her weight beside me thwarts my attempts.

  “Yes …” She swallows so hard I can hear it. And I can hear her shallow breaths, slowly quickening.

  I turn my head toward her, squinting to see her face in the darkness. Jutting my chin to get as close as I can. Her face comes into enough focus that I can see her eyes close, her bottom lip trapped beneath her top teeth.

  You have got to be kidding me!

  “Are you…” I squint a bit more, nudging her body with my elbow to get her attention “…getting yourself off?”

  “Yeah …” Pant. Pant. Pant. “No …” Pant. Pant. Pant. “Maybe … oh god …”

  “This is not happening,” I mumble.

  “Fu … fuck, Eli!” She grabs my thigh, holding it for dear life as her pelvis lifts from the bed.

  I realize she doesn’t want me to read books on autism and generalize her into the typical stereotypes. But the part about some Aspies struggling to exhibit appropriate behavior in certain situations seems to fit Dorothy to a T. And I think I realized it the day she casually got naked in the back of her car at the pizza place.

  It feels like weird timing. If I were going to masturbate in bed without including my partner, I think I would wait until they’re asleep.

  After her hold on me relaxes, along with the rest of her body, she releases a contented sigh.

  “Why? Just … why?” I whisper, staring at the dark ceiling, praying that it won’t take all night for my erection to die down.

  “It helps me relax so I can get to sleep easier. I usually journal before bed, but I didn’t figure you’d want the light on.”

  “Well…” I adjust my uncomfortable erection “…you thought wrong.”

  “Okay. Sorry.” She rolls to her side, planting her ass against my hip. “I’ll journal next time.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  My Baby Girl

  Dorothy

  “Oh … crap …” The alarm on my phone chimes. “Shit …” I cringe, peeling myself from Eli’s torso. How did this happen? He had surgery less than a month ago. And I’m on top of him!

  Before I can completely ease off his body, he blinks his eyes open.

  “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you? I don’t remember crawling onto your chest. It’s not like me. I just—”

  “It happened early on.”

  “Oh jeez.” I wrinkle my nose, leaning over to shut off my alarm. “So I woke you up?”

  “Yes.” He grins on a small yawn, covering it with his fist.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” He chuckles. “You’re a featherweight.”

  “Did you get back to sleep easily?”

  “No.”

  “Eli … I’m so sorry. I’m not used to sharing space. I’ve never shared my bed with someone else.”

  He runs his fingers through his dirty blond bedhead, leaving his arm resting behind his head, flexing his muscles.

  God … he’s so hot.

  “I struggled to stay awake.”

  I shake my head. “You mean, fall asleep.”

  “No. I could sleep forever with you on me like that, much like I can with Roman. But I didn’t want to go back to sleep. I wanted to smell your hair. Absorb the warmth of your body. Feel your heart close to mine.” He offers a sad smile. “I wanted to make a memory that time can’t erase.”

  I let his words swirl around in my head, finding a way to make sense of them, finding a place to keep them. But they don’t fit in my mind, so I tuck them away in my heart because that’s where they landed when he said them. “For the record…” I grab workout clothes from my closet “…loving you has been unexpectedly good.”

  “Good?” He chuckles.

  “Perfectly adequate.”

  “Doesn’t get any better than that.” He pushes to sitting.

  “Let me help.”

  “I’m good. Well, if you could unzip the bed, I’d be good. I just need to make my way to the bathroom.”

  I unzip his side of the bed. “How are you getting home? Don’t you have brunch today?”

  “Mom is bringing brunch to my house. My sisters and their families are coming over too. This is really the day for you to skip work to come to brunch.”

  I help him get up and situated with his crutches. “Sounds like the perfect family gathering. Roman should be pretty excited. And Dr. Hathaway, I assume, will be there. So that’s good … oh … was she at your house last night? I mean … how did you coming over here go over with her?”

  “I don’t know.” His words are a bit strained as he takes his first few steps toward the bathroom with the crutches. “I didn’t tell her I was coming here. It was a spontaneous, last minute decision. They were at the park. But my mom went back there after she dropped me off here, so Julie found out eventually.”

  “I bet she was pissed off. I hope not at me. I didn’t invite you over last night.”

  Eli glances back over his shoulder. “If you didn’t look up to Julie, at least on a professional level, would you still think I should be with her?”

  “If you could love each other, then yes. For Roman … absolutely.”

  “Jesus …” he mumbles, continuing toward the bathroom.

  “What?” I follow him around the corner.

  “If you’re not going to let me be with you, then stop making it so easy to love you.” He pushes the door shut behind him.

  I leave. He seems a little upset. I thought we were okay, but maybe we’re not. When I get to work, Mom messages me to let me know that his dad picked him up.

  I really should not have fallen in love with Dr. Haw
kins. What was I thinking?

  * * *

  Elijah

  I need a shower.

  Instead, I receive the Sunday brunch welcome wagon as soon as my dad helps me inside my house. I feel like an errant child who just got dragged home from a friend’s house after breaking curfew. Except my mom took me to Dorothy’s house, so I have no reason to feel guilty.

  “Hey.” I give my family a tight-lipped smile as I enter the family room filled with my sisters, their families, Mom, Roman playing with his older cousins, and Julie.

  Julie … she shifts her gaze to the floor as soon as I look at her. She makes me feel guilty, which is insane. Julie has no right to make me feel guilty for anything. But this voice in my head (Dorothy’s voice) keeps scolding me for pining after another woman when I have the opportunity to put my family back together.

  For Roman. Anything for him.

  Mom and my sisters have smirks on their faces, like I got away with something, and they’re dying to know the details. The details? Ha! That’s easy.

  I poured my heart out to Dorothy and she rejected me.

  The apple pie was good.

  And from the way it sounded, her orgasm was too.

  That pretty much sums up the previous evening.

  “I’m starving,” I say, instead of explaining my absence.

  “Yes! Let’s eat.” Mom herds the gang into the kitchen until I’m left alone in the living room with Julie.

  “How was the park?” I ask.

  “He had fun. Wet the bed, probably from too much water. I already have it cleaned up.”

  “Thanks.”

  She nods.

  “Are you going to avoid looking at me all day?”

  She lifts her gaze, wearing a forced smile, a mask that does little to hide her anger or disappointment. I can’t tell which one. “Good morning, Elijah.”

  Hurt. She’s hurt.

  Julie has no right to be angry. I know this, and I can tell by the somber expression on her face that she knows it too. But heartache is immune to reason. That, I know all too well.

  “Good morning.”

  She clears her throat. “How is Dorothy?”

  An instant smile comes to my face, in spite of the immediate pain. “She’s good.”

  Julie presses her lips together and nods. “That’s good.” Her words carry no bitterness.

  The women in my life have a knack for being their most amazing selves when I really need them to show me their dark side. Their anger. Their jealousy and selfishness.

  “She thinks I should try to put my family back together—for Roman.”

  Julie’s gaze snaps up to meet mine as her lips part. “Wh …” She shakes her head like she can’t believe what I said. “Well, what do you think?”

  I glance over Julie’s shoulder to my family gathered around the kitchen island, filling their plates with food, filling the room with laughter, and filling my heart with memories and reminders of the life I’ve wanted for so long.

  “I think life is pretty fucking complicated.”

  She blinks several times and slides her hands into the front pockets of her faded jeans before tipping her chin toward her chest. “It is,” she murmurs.

  “It’s painful to have everything you ever thought you wanted, yet feel like it’s not quite right. Like something’s missing.” I ease onto the sofa, leaning the crutches against the arm of it.

  Julie grunts a laugh, keeping her gaze pointed at her feet.

  “Of course you know exactly how I feel. Except you haven’t experienced it from the other side of the equation—the lonely side.”

  She glances up, eyes wide. “The lonely side? Oh, Elijah, you are so very wrong. There is no feeling of loneliness that’s greater than feeling like nobody understands you. The desolate hell of needing something that makes no sense to the rest of the world. Of realizing that, if you find the courage to choose yourself, you will be alone. Free … but so very alone.”

  “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Because I—”

  “No,” she interrupts with complete conviction in her voice. “I want you, Eli. Not your pity. Not your sympathy. I just don’t want you to think that the confusion, the depression, the feeling like I wanted to crawl out of my skin … out of my life … was some fantastic walk in the park for me. And I’m not blaming anyone but myself, but it wasn’t easy. Do you know how many times I contemplated taking my own life? Do you?”

  I flinch, choking on the lump in my throat that grows a little more with every word of her revelation.

  Julie blinks back her tears. “Be…” emotion trips up her words “…because I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. Why was I so unhappy with my life? Why did this perfect life feel like a goddamn burden? I felt so inadequate as a mother, a doctor, a wife, a person … Do you know what it feels like to feel like a failure as a human being?”

  My jaw clenches as my eyes burn with unshed tears.

  “It’s so … fucking … lonely,” she whispers before sucking in a shaky breath and looking at the ceiling like her tears can defy gravity if she just keeps looking upward.

  “You two going to eat with us—” Mom stops as her gaze ping-pongs between me and Julie. “You know, your dad turned the porch heaters on. We’re all going to sit out there and eat. You both take your time.” She rests her hand on Julie’s shoulder for a breath before disappearing into the kitchen.

  “You should see someone,” I say with resignation. “My mom. Julie, you could talk to my mom. If you’re depressed—”

  “Don’t.” She brushes off my efforts to show concern. “I’ve already seen someone. I’m already taking medications—mood stabilizers, antidepressants. And I hate it. I hate them and what they mean. I hate that something is wrong with me. But I’m taking them for Roman because he deserves to have a mom who is present and reliable. And I’ve been going to therapy. Granted, it’s only been a month, but I’m doing the work.”

  I rub my forehead. Bipolar. She’s bipolar, and I didn’t see it. How did that happen? How the hell did I miss that? “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

  “I didn’t want you to feel responsible. Until I realized I did in fact want you. But I don’t want you to come back to me out of some feeling of responsibility. It’s not your problem. Not your responsibility.”

  “Jules, asking me to come back into your life makes it my problem, which makes it my responsibility too.”

  “If you come back.”

  I nod slowly. “If …”

  Julie studies me for a few seconds. “Do you love her?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, because I do … I unapologetically love Dorothy Mayhem.

  I wait for Julie’s next question, readying myself for what will be my difficult answer.

  Julie will ask me if I still love her.

  And I will say yes.

  In spite of everything—the blindsided abandonment, losing my marriage, losing time with Roman, the jagged words—I love Julie Hathaway. For over twenty years, I honestly felt I was put on Earth to love her. It’s just that simple.

  Or so I thought …

  But Julie says nothing. And that’s fine.

  I don’t need her to know at this point that I love her. Just like I don’t need her to know that I spent the year after our divorce hating her to the bone, but somehow still loving her right down to my soul.

  It’s complicated.

  “Can I bring you a plate of food?” She smiles. Not a great smile, more like her dog died, but he’d had a good life so all will be fine eventually.

  I know that smile too well. It’s the one I wore on my face for months after she left me. “Thank you. That would be great.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Dorothy

  “Did I do something wrong?” Warren follows me to the elevator from the cafeteria after my break. He grins as if he can do no wrong.

  It’s been six weeks since the fondue date from Hell.

  Six weeks since Eli’s accident.


  And three weeks since I’ve seen Eli. Not that he hasn’t made ample attempts at calling and texting me. He has. I’ve just been busy.

  Busy with school.

  Busy with work.

  Busy biding my time until he heals. Then I will, once again, tell him to go back to Dr. Hathaway, and that messy lust and love chapter (and by chapter, I mean a dozen or more journals) can be stamped complete.

  The End.

  “Um, yeah,” I answer, staring at the elevator doors while rolling my lips between my teeth and drumming my fingers on my arms hugged to my chest.

  Go away. Go away. Go away.

  “Well, are you going to tell me exactly what I did that has earned me the cold shoulder?”

  What I did sounds singular. I have an entire journal of all the things I find “wrong” with Warren. Where am I supposed to begin?

  “You took me on a fondue date.”

  He steps close, hovering just behind me. It makes me itchy. I have to be allergic to him. A hookup in the on-call room could put me into anaphylactic shock.

  “You didn’t like the fondue? Or you had other things in mind that didn’t include dinner?” He lowers his voice with everything that comes after the word other.

  I push open the door to the stairs, unable to wait another second for the elevator. Warren follows me.

  Idiot.

  “Dorothy, come on. Just tell me.”

  I hold my coffee in one hand and ball my other hand into a fist as my feet stomp up the stairs. “A fondue date is equivalent to unprotected sex with a stranger on a first date. It’s gross and just asking for trouble. Yet, that’s where you took me. And I only went out with you because the person I was having sex with at the time didn’t want me to tell you, so I kept our date to keep from having to explain why I couldn’t go on a date with you. And I have more … just so much more I could say about your deep character flaws and questionable taste in everything from cologne to your brand of shoes. But this year I vowed to be more reticent with my negative opinions.”

  “Christ, Mayhem, you are one hell of a ballbuster. And who are you fucking that knows me?”

  “No one. I’m not sexually active at the moment.” I glance at my watch as it pops up with an activity notification, asking me if I’m doing a stair climbing workout.