Perfectly Undone. Jamie Raintree

      Cooper scoops the puppy up and closes him in our bathroom, then takes me by the hand and we wait on the front porch for Stephen to arrive, both of us barefoot. He doesn’t let go of me, just keeps looking over at me with sad eyes and a hopeful smile.

      Of course he’s hopeful. That’s the kind of world Cooper grew up in, the kind of example his parents set for him during their thirty-three years of marriage. He believes in love stories and happily-ever-afters. As much as it drives me crazy that he thinks relationships should be as easy as all the good parts his parents let him see, I’ve always loved him for it, too.

      That’s not the example I was given. I used to believe in forever, but the truth about relationships revealed itself around the same time as Santa Claus’s fake beard and the Grimms’ version of the fairy tales, when Mom traded her flowy skirts for pressed pantsuits, and my once-affectionate parents stopped cooking together and began arguing more. Then, when Abby died, Mom shut down completely. Now my mom merely puts up with my dad’s existence, and my dad tiptoes around her, like we all do. That’s what I know of relationships.

      It wasn’t until I met Cooper’s parents that I began to see the possibility of a loving marriage again. But watching Stephen grow into a devoted husband is what really showed me I might be able to overcome my need to keep everyone at an arm’s length and find happiness for myself someday, too. I thought if Stephen could overcome his self-destructive habits, I had a chance. So I don’t just hope Stephen and Megan work things out; I need them to.

      A few minutes later, Stephen’s headlights flash through the trees, and he comes to a stop in the driveway. Cooper’s hand slips from mine as he steps off the stoop to meet him at the truck and pull him into a hug. I rub my hands together for something to do with my nervous energy and allow them a minute alone. I hear Cooper ask, “Why didn’t you tell me, man?”