Perfectly Undone. Jamie Raintree
keeps pretending she’s going to take maternity leave,” Andrew chatters as I help Erika pull her shirt out of the way. “But we both know that’s not gonna happen. She’ll probably have her assistant on the phone, barking out orders while she’s pushing.”
Erika narrows her eyes at him.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “When the baby comes, she’ll have to slow down, right, Erika?” I tease. Erika turns to Andrew, the paper underneath her head crinkling.
“Actually, I’m going to stay home with the baby,” Andrew says.
“Oh?”
“I can work from home,” he says. “And Erika likes to be at the office. She’s happy there. Stressed, but...a happy stressed, I think.”
I laugh because I know exactly what he means.
“I think that’s a great option,” I say. “Parenting is all about working as a team.”
“Teamwork makes the dream work,” Erika says, and they laugh.
I picture Erika power-walking through the halls of her office in her power pumps, singing it to her colleagues as she walks by. I envy Erika, so sure of herself and how her life is going to turn out.
“You okay, cuchura?” she asks me.
I realize I’m frowning and refocus. Andrew gasps as the steady swish swish of the heartbeat fills the room, saving me from answering Erika’s question. His eyes light up, and he looks over at Erika with so much adoration, I have to look away.
After the exam, as I walk down the hall, I hear footsteps approach from behind and turn to see Andrew.
“I wanted to say thank-you,” he says as he stops in front of me. He pushes his glasses farther up on his nose.
“Oh, you’re welcome,” I say.
We both step closer to the wall as another doctor breezes by.
He lowers his voice. “It’s just that...Erika doesn’t trust many people. She sort of likes to be in control of everything. I’m sure you noticed.”
I grin. “Not at all.” We both laugh.
“She was pretty scared when she found out she was pregnant. Everything that was going to happen to her body, labor, life changing. Since she’s started seeing you, she’s relaxed a lot. She trusts you, and she doesn’t trust easy.”
My chest swells, but I keep my expression in check.
“Thank you,” I say. “That means a lot to me.”
And it does. It means everything that I can be worthy of my patients’ trust.
* * *
Saturday night, it’s our weekly dinner date with Cooper’s parents, and as usual, following Cooper into his childhood home is like stepping into another world. Chatter comes from the kitchen, where I know I will find his family cooking together—a tradition, he told me, they started as a way to make the most of their visits after he and his sister moved out. After so many years with Cooper, I, too, have grown accustomed to grazing over cheeses, breads, wines and nibbles of vegetables as I help chop and throw them into simmering pots on the stove.
Cooper’s relationship with his family bears a sharp contrast to mine. Cooper still sees his parents at least once a week and talks to them on the phone most days, usually to get medical advice from his mom, a nurse who has more years of experience than Cooper and I have been alive. I join their dinners when I can. Some nights their playful banter and unbridled affection for each other—and for me—is a painful reminder of what I wish for my own family. Other times, it’s a refuge, a promise of a future that could still be if only I can find a way to make things right.
As Cooper closes the front door behind me, his mom, Marilyn, sweeps into the cramped space.
“There you two are. I thought I heard the door.”
Marilyn plants kisses on each of our cheeks. She is a small, supple woman with a bob of box-red hair and hugs like a down comforter. I kiss her in return, and the scent of her sweet pea perfume and the Cajun spices coming from the kitchen reminds me of when I first met her, the day after Thanksgiving all those years ago. Cooper and I had been dating for three weeks. He led me into their home, small but overflowing with color and life, so different from the cool angles and empty space I’d grown up in. I was greeted by his parents and his sister like they’d already sectioned off space in their hearts and had been waiting for me to fill it.
“Your father is just about to add the wine,” Marilyn says. “And you know if you don’t get a glass now, it will all end up in the gumbo.” She lets out her trademark high-pitched chuckle.
Cooper kisses her on the forehead and heads to the kitchen. I let Marilyn assess my face and skim her thumb over the circles under my eyes like she always does. They’re darker than usual, and I can see that she notices. All week, I’ve either been up late working on my application or worrying about what I’ll do if I actually get the grant. Or worrying about how I’ll forgive myself if I don’t. This research is about making amends. It’s always been about making amends.
Marilyn frowns, clearly wanting to say something.
“How can I help?” I ask. She nods toward the kitchen, and I follow her.
The wine flows, and since I’m not on call I allow myself to indulge. The alcohol dulls the sharp edges of my upcoming deadline and makes the conversation flow as I listen to Cooper’s dad, John, describe the latest architectural design he’s sketched—his heart’s work after long days spent as an electrician—as he sprinkles unmeasured and unidentified spices on the sausage I sauté on the stove. He asks about work, and I tell him about some funny moments in the delivery room, laughing along with him between sips of red wine from a juice glass. Stephen is absent, which is unusual, but Megan and Marilyn tease Cooper over a shared cutting board. His laughter pulls the strings of my heart. It’s been so long since I’ve been the one to make him laugh like that.
During our first year of med school, Cooper and I only had one class together—genetics. Our teacher, Dr. Sands, was unbelievably enthusiastic about his subject, sometimes spending an entire period marveling at how eye color wove its way through a family. Cooper and I had taken to quoting him when we were tired of doing homework or when we needed to clear the tension after a spat.
“Isn’t the human body exciting?” Cooper would mumble against my belly button after tickling me and pinning me to his bed.
“You can’t make stuff like this up,” I’d intone as we shared the mirror after the shower, and in his reflection, I’d see Cooper melt a little, looking at me looking at him.
One day, Cooper and I made a bet on whether Dr. Sands said “literally” or “super” more often in class. By the time we were tied at ten, we were both laughing through our tears, and Dr. Sands had kicked us out. We went back to Cooper’s car in the student parking lot and made love on the backseat, the rain our only cover. Even before I could admit it to myself, it was always Cooper and me against the world.
When the sausage is done, I follow Megan to the dining room with my glass of wine. Cooper catches my gaze over the cutting board and seems to read my mind. He gives me a tight-lipped smile, then returns to chopping.
“Do you want me to help set the table?” I ask her.
“Sure,” she chirps and passes a handful of spoons. She smiles, but she looks pale.
“Where’s Stephen tonight?” I ask.
“Work,” she says, but the word is hollow. And though her glossy blond hair is pulled back into its usual ponytail, and her light makeup is so smooth it could easily be mistaken for the perfection of her own skin, the sparkle that lights her eyes is missing. She looks like she’s lost a few pounds, too. The end of the school year must be taking its toll on her.
As I watch her from the corner of my eye, she picks up some bowls for the