Perfectly Adequate(73)

“Then go have some quiet time with your toys in your room, otherwise … it’s nap time.”

“I go to my room.” He pouts, dragging his feet up the stairs.

She knows he’ll go to his room and play if nap is the alternative.

“Really, Elijah? In front of our son?”

I wet my lips, still tasting Dorothy on them. “I thought you were outside.”

“Well, we weren’t. And if you’re not ready to explain to Roman why you’re kissing Dorothy, then I suggest you not kiss her if there’s even a remote chance he could catch you.”

Julie definitely wouldn’t want to know that I went down on Dorothy in her bedroom while Roman played Xbox within hearing distance of Dorothy’s moans—things that wouldn’t get me nominated for Father of the Year.

“Understood. Maybe this weekend you can take Roman to your house Friday and Saturday night, and I’ll get someone else to stay with me.”

“And by someone else, you mean Dorothy?”

“I mean my mom and dad can come over during the day.”

“And at night?”

I shrug.

“You’d rather make out with your new girlfriend than have your son here?”

“Oh, Jules … you do not want to go there with me.”

“Go where?”

She is here.

At my house.

Helping me do things like take a piss and brush my teeth.

I could slay her with a brutal dose of reality. But I don’t. For once, possibly the first time since she left me, I take the high road.

“Could you please help me to the sofa? I’m a little exhausted from … everything.”

“Yeah,” she says. Her expression falls into one of resignation.

After she helps me get situated on the sofa, she checks on Roman.

“He fell asleep on the floor.” She grins, coming down the stairs. “Like literally in the middle of his Legos. So I covered him with a blanket. I knew if I tried to move him into bed, he’d wake up.” Julie picks up the dishes from lunch and brings me my medications with a glass of water.

“She calls you Boss Bitch.”

Julie pauses for a second. After a few blinks, she hands me my pills. “Who?”

“Dorothy. I’m pretty sure it’s a good thing.”

“Mmm …” She nods. “Usually.”

“You’re smirking. You know it’s good. You know it’s a compliment.”

“It’s … a nice compliment. Yeah.”

“She knows your stats. Listened to you give talks. She pretty much idolizes you as a doctor. How does that feel?”

“How does it feel to know your girlfriend looks up to me—at least professionally?” She sits on the sofa, angling her body to face me. “It feels good. And a little weird.”

“Does it make it harder for you to dislike her?”

“I don’t dislike her.”

“You dislike her with me.”

Julie presses her lips together and flips her long, red hair over her shoulder. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to say it. I can see it. Why? Is it Dorothy in particular, or would it matter who kissed me?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers, averting her gaze. “I don’t know about anything anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“The definition of Hell: Having everything you should ever want and still wanting more.” She runs her fingers through her hair, drawing in a shaky breath then blowing it out slowly as emotion turns red in her eyes. “I wasn’t happy and I didn’t know why.” She quickly wipes away a tear. “We had a baby. A baby, Eli. And it wasn’t enough. Wh…” she clears thick anguish from her throat “…what kind of person throws away everything because it’s not enough? I actually had tests done—hormone tests, brain scans—I honestly thought something was physically wrong with me to feel so incredibly dissatisfied. So … angry.”

Still, after all the pain and anger, I still break inside watching Julie grasp for that invisible thing that tortures her.

“Everything irritated me. I constantly felt on the verge of either starting a fight or having a complete breakdown. And you were the recipient of all of it. Even when you didn’t realize it. For two years before we separated, I resented the way you combed your hair, the way you laughed, the childish voice you used when talking to Roman, the scent of your cologne, the rhythm of your words, that stupid pause you take before answering a question, like your mind is always on a two-second delay, the way you slurp your smoothies and stir your coffee, just … every damn thing about you drove me to the verge of insanity. And without one single shred of reason.”

I think regaining my memories from falling into the ravine would hurt less than her words. And yet, I know she isn’t saying them to hurt me. Still … they rip open old wounds, ones that can’t be repaired by the expert hands of surgeons. I hold onto my words and mask my reaction.

“I hated myself. I just … hated myself for hating you. I hated myself for wanting out. I felt like the worst mother, the worst wife and daughter, the worst friend … I felt like the worst h-human.” Her words fall apart. “And I just needed out, but I didn’t know how to tell you that. You were perfect. And I wanted nothing to do with you. What does that say about me? There were times I actually hoped you’d cheat on me so I could have an out. But not Elijah … nope. You would never do that. And even that irritated me. Who thinks that? What sane human being hopes their spouse will cheat on them?”