Perfectly Adequate

“Eli … I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. God … don’t apologize for being bipolar. That’s fucked-up. It would be like my patients apologizing for having cancer. Apologizing for suffering. Apologizing for dying.”

“What happened tonight, Eli?” she whispers.

My gaze affixes to the coffee table. “I lost Dorothy.” Pushing out of the chair, I hobble to the stairs and climb them, slowly and awkwardly, but I do it by myself. After a long shower, I floss and brush my teeth, crawling into bed around two a.m.

Just as I start to drift off to sleep, the other side of the bed dips. Julie slides in next to me, wrapping her arms around me, her front to my back. I close my eyes again and fall asleep.

The next morning, I wake up a little after six to an empty space next to me. It takes me a few seconds to get my balance when I stand, pulling on a white T-shirt. As I navigate the stairs, the aroma of coffee greets me.

“Morning.” Julie’s already showered and dressed for work in a navy pencil skirt and light gray button-down shirt. Her hair is neatly pulled back into a ponytail.

“Morning.” I take a seat at the table.

“So … we need to make some decisions.”

Decisions. I kind of hate all decisions at the moment. I don’t even want to make a decision on what I’m going to wear today, let alone make any sort of life-changing decision. “What decisions?” I murmur.

She hands me a cup of coffee, brushing her lips along my cheek for a soft kiss. I don’t think I want her kissing me. But I did want it for so long, the foreign feeling of not wanting it is messing with my head.

“Your mom is coming over today. So if you decide to come into work, she’ll be here with Roman. But we need to set a schedule. My mom is used to watching Roman every other week, so I don’t know how she’ll feel about watching him full-time. She’s been used to having lunch with friends on her weeks off, or taking short trips with Dad. But what I’m really thinking is we should consider scaling back our schedules like we discussed doing right after Roman was born. Well …” She sits across from me. “I adjusted my schedule and you just made sure you didn’t work more than forty hours a week. But what if we tried to each work four days a week. I could take Thursdays off. You could take off Fridays. If your mom is willing to watch Roman on Mondays, then my mom could do Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and he wouldn’t have to go to daycare. Also my mom will still have days off to do other things, including her getaways with my dad. What do you think?”

What do I think? I take a sip of my coffee. Well, I think I miss Dorothy.

“I can’t do this now.” I bow my head, scratching the back of it while closing my eyes.

“Oh … well. Okay. We can discuss this later when you’re not so groggy. Do you want to ride into work with me?”

I used to … I used to want her next to me in bed. I used to want her good morning kisses. I used to love commuting to work together, especially on the days that we couldn’t keep our hands off each other—during the early years, right after we both got our jobs at the children’s hospital.

The reckless behavior.

I used to drive seventy-five … eighty miles per hour with Julie’s head in my lap, her mouth on me. Sometimes I had to pull over behind an old building or along an empty trailhead because we just couldn’t wait … because we needed each other in every way possible.

The feeling of needing Julie has consumed my entire adult life.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be there today, since they’re not expecting me until Wednesday. So I’ll drive.” I try so hard to sound normal. To sound okay. But I’m not okay.

Dorothy … everything with her is okay.

Beautiful. Exhilarating. Heart-stopping. Soul-reaching. Okay.

“Okay. I’ll check in on you. Maybe we can grab lunch if my schedule allows.”

No. Julie isn’t allowed to say okay. It’s not her word. It loses all meaning coming from her lips.

“Maybe.” I force a smile before taking a sip of my coffee.

“Oh, your mom is here.” She sets her coffee cup in the sink. “Since you’re driving, I’m going to take off. Kiss Roman for me.”

I nod.

How is this happening? How is she standing in my kitchen, acting like we’re a family, giving me exactly what I’ve wanted forever? How is it possible to feel so suffocated by my dreams?

“Good morning, Lori! Have a great day,” Julie’s cheery voice grates along my nerves.

“Someone’s in a good mood.” Mom lifts an eyebrow in surprise after Julie shuts the door.