Perfectly Adequate(82)

“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.

“But who were you with when we went on our date?”

“Not saying.”

Please shut up before I blurt it out because I can’t keep secrets!

I pull open the door to the fifth floor. Warren stays on my ass, and I know he doesn’t need anything on the fifth floor.

“But clearly you’re no longer together. Right?”

“Yes. No. Ugh … he was in an accident, so things are complicated.”

“An accident?”

“Go away, Warren.” I double my speed down the hallway, but his legs are so much longer, it’s useless.

“The only person I know who has been in an accident is Dr. Hawkins. But that’s ridiculous so—”

“Why would that be ridiculous?” I whip around, glaring up at Warren as he holds his coffee out to the side instead of ramming it into my chest.

The cocky grin falls right off his genetically gifted face as his eyes widen, jaw unhinged. “No way. There’s no way you and Hawkins were …” He shakes his head.

“Well …” I clear my throat and take a step backward, diverting my gaze to the nurse passing us on my left. “I didn’t say it was him. I just asked why it would be so ridiculous.”