Breaking Perfect (9 page)

“No!” she said sharply, as if the
idea of him leaving was more frightening than the idea of him staying. She
softened. “I mean, no, please stay. My husband would want you to stay. Let me
make you something to eat. Why don’t you have a seat at the counter?”

She seemed a bit jumpy, so he
nodded and began to pull out one of the three stools tucked under the marble
countertop. This kitchen was like something out of the rich and famous.

“Not that one!”

Sean froze. What just happened? He
didn’t move, but looked at her from the corner of his eye for clarification.
She took a deep breath and, in a more controlled voice, said, “Not that stool.
That one is Mason’s. I think you would be happier on the third stool.”

She smiled as if the third stool
was the best stool in the whole world and surely sitting there would bring him
great rewards.
Okaaaay.
He didn’t give a shit if he sat on the fucking
floor at this point.
 
He was so tired he
could weep.

He sat and she began to pull items
down from cabinets she could barely reach. More than once he caught himself
admiring the creamy slice of her ass that peeked out past the hem of her shorts
when she went up on her tiptoes. A gentleman would offer to help, but something
had him hesitating. Plus, he liked watching her. Sean was a people person. He
liked sitting back and learning people not by what they claimed they were
about, but by how they actually acted.

She made fast work of making two
turkey sandwiches for him. He found it curious the way she made them, each of
them one step at a time, almost mechanically. Her lips silently counted: one,
two, three, slices of turkey then did the same for the next.

She placed one piece of Swiss on
top of the meat and used a knife to carefully cut off the two inches that hung
over the edge. Doing the same to the other, she then lined the discarded pieces
beside the bread and lined up two more slices of cheese. Her fingers squared
them up and sliced the two pieces of cheese so that when placed with the
overhanging pieces they would be exactly the same size as the slice below. He
wondered why she didn’t just cut one identical piece to the lower one, or
better yet, just throw it all on there.

As soon as the cheese spectacle was
done she grabbed the remaining scraps of cheese that apparently didn’t fit and
moved to the sink. She dropped them down the drain and turned the water on so
hot steam began to rise from the stainless basin. What a waste. He would’ve
eaten those pieces. He was about to tell her so, but was cut off from speaking
when the roar of the garbage disposal clicked on. He was going to say something
when it clicked off, but then she clicked it on again. And off. And on twice
more. It was beginning to sound like Morse code and he forgot what he wanted to
say.
 

She moved back to the sandwiches
and made an X with mustard then placed a dot inside two of the triangular
mustarded off sections and a line in the other two. She did the exact same
thing to the other slice of bread.

He frowned at her. His mouth was hanging
open in confusion by the time she held slices of lettuce at eye level and
carefully tore away edges until they were as identical as they could get.
Mason’s wife was definitely a weird bird.

She smiled when she finally seemed
satisfied with the green leaves. The manicured roughage was strategically
centered on the sandwich. The scraps went into the disposal. The same Morse
code was applied for what seemed to be proper grinding.

She didn’t talk while she worked.
She was so focused Sean didn’t know how she could have managed a conversation.
It was like she was in another place and had forgotten he was watching her. The
two sandwiches were sliced diagonally and organized like a pinwheel on a plate.
She poured a glass of juice from the fridge for him and opened a drawer to
retrieve a perfectly folded white linen napkin.

He sat back thinking she would hand
the plate to him, but she turned and disappeared into some closet on the far
wall. She returned with a glass jar filled with pretzel sticks. After twisting
off the metal lid and retrieving four perfect pretzels and throwing away a
broken one, she laid each stick between each sandwich slice.

Out of a bowl organized so nicely
he mistook it for a decoration, she carefully selected an orange and placed it
by the plate. She went to the closet and came back with another orange to
replace the one she just removed. Her full lips silently counted out six
oranges. Her tongue was a deep shade of pink and Sean blinked that transient
thought away. Using a large kitchen knife she methodically cut the fruit into
six even slices and placed them in a small glass bowl so they resembled a star
or a flower or some shit. He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to go through
all that trouble, but he was sort of interested to see what she would do next.
She stepped back and eyed her creations and nodded, apparently satisfied.

He leaned back as Libby carried the
plate, bowl, napkin, and cup over to where he sat and adjusted each item until
the napkin was perfectly straight, the cup directly above it, the bowl exactly
parallel from the cup to the left of the plate, and the plate turned so that
the straight edges of the sandwiches formed a cross rather than an X.

“Bon appetit!”

He was sort of speechless. “Uh,
thank you. It looks great.”

She beamed at him. Mase’s wife really
had a beautiful face. She was more cute than glamorous, bright blue eyes with
soft blonde lashes, pink full lips, and a pert little nose. She looked like an
all American girl, but also like no one he’d ever seen before. He took a bite
and shut his eyes as he groaned.

“This is delicious,” he said with a
full mouth.

She nodded happily and began
cleaning the counter where she’d made his dinner. He ate in silence and
continued to watch. The cleanup was as much of a production as the preparation.
She seemed to have a method for everything, the way she swept up the crumbs,
the way she disposed of things, and washed the dishes. He winced when he
noticed how red her hands were after washing the cutting board under steaming hot
water, but she didn’t seem to notice. She also filled a spray bottle with
piping hot water and used it to clean the counter after she bleached it. The
clinical scent of disinfectant was so strong it permeated his nostrils and
tainted the flavor of his lunch.

Afraid she’d burn her hands again,
he offered to wash his own dishes, but that had the effect of a record skidding
to a stop in the middle of a party. He realized immediately he’d overstepped
and quickly muttered that she never mind. What the fuck kind of girl did Mase
marry? Was this like some sort of Stepford shit?

After they were finished in the
kitchen she invited him into what appeared to be the living room. He’d never
realized there were so many variables of the color white. The carpets were
white. The walls were white. The furniture, the trim, it was all colorless.
There was even a painting on the wall of a naked woman’s back with only a white
sheet covering her finer parts. Oh shit, not a naked woman, a naked Mrs. Davis.
He looked away and feared he might have actually blushed.

She obviously caught him. “Mason
had that commissioned for our one year anniversary. He insisted we hang it in
here. It used to embarrass me, but he loves it so I’ve gotten over it.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Five years.”

“Were you together a long while
before that?”

She laughed. “Oh, no. We only met
about two months before we were married.”

Two months! What the fuck? Did Mase
realized she had some seriously goofy quirks before the wedding or was that
something he learned after their “I do’s”. He realized she was staring at him.
“What? I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s
just…you…you have a piece of hair sticking…I’m sorry, it’s nothing. It was rude
of me to stare.”

“Oh, this?” He forked his fingers
through his hair knowing it was just going to spike out the way it wanted
anyway. “There really is no rhyme or reason to it.” Her blue eyes widened as he
sent his hair into more disarray. Shit, should he not have done that? The scene
from the movie
Rain Man
when Dustin Hoffman lost it over something Tom
Cruise did ran through his mind, but Rain Man was autistic. Was that what was
going on with Mase’s wife? Nah, that didn’t seem right either.

A large grandfather clock in the
corner of the room chimed, announcing it was nine o’clock. “Mason will be
calling any minute unless he’s in surgery. He always calls between nine and
nine fifteen on Sundays to say goodnight.” God, Sean hoped it was sooner rather
than later.

Two seconds later the phone rang in
her hand and she smiled. “Hello? Hi, babe. Yeah. Yes. No, I’m fine. I’m sure.
Okay.” She held the phone out. “He wants to speak to you.”

Sean carefully took the phone from
her. The faint scent of flowers around her was amplified as he brought it to
his ear. Her sweet fragrance clung to the phone. “Hello?”

“What are you doing there?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

Mase sighed into the phone. “I’m
sorry about your father. I’m assuming he passed.”

“Tuesday.” The mixed emotions that
always accompanied the mention of his father’s passing slid through his mind,
making no more sense to him than they had the day before.

“Guess he lasted a little longer
than you expected. Sorry, that was uncalled for. Sean, you can’t be there.”

“I just wanted to see how you
were.”

“I get that, but my life doesn’t
allow for unplanned visitors. Especially visitors my wife has no idea about.”

“Yeah, funny thing, that.” Although
Sean hadn’t had many long-term relationships, Mason was married. How could he
have never mentioned him to his wife?

Mase scoffed then whispered into
the phone, “Of all people, you cannot hold that against me. Besides, it isn’t
for the reason you think that she doesn’t know. It’s complicated. It isn’t good
for you to be there with her right now. She had no way of knowing you were
coming. I…” There was a sharp beep in the background. “Fuck, I’m being paged.
Listen, do me a favor, is…is she okay? Liberty handles things…I know you have
no point of reference, but is she acting normal to you?”

Sean hesitated. “Uh…”

“Is she upset or doing anything
dangerous? Did you see her do anything you thought maybe wasn’t a good idea?”

“Um, one,” he hedged, very aware of
Liberty standing beside him.

“One what? One thing? What?”

He forced a cough and mumbled,
“Hand.” He didn’t want Liberty to know that they were talking about her right
in front of her. Funny, thirteen years and Mase talked to him as if they’d
spoken every day for the past decade.

“Fuck! Did she burn them? Was she
cleaning?”

“Yeah.”

“God damn it. All right, look, I
gotta go see about this patient. I’m going to see if they can find one of the
other doctors to cover my shift. As soon as someone gets here I will be home. I
know this doesn’t make sense, but if she starts doing something you think she
shouldn’t, ask her for a glass of red wine and accidentally spill it.”

“What?”

“Just, please. I have to go.
They’re paging me again. Let me speak to Libby real quick.”

He passed the phone back to Libby
and she smiled. “Hello. Okay. I thought you would. Okay. Me too. What?” Her
smile briefly faltered. She looked down at her hands and he could tell she was
upset. Her head nodded and she sniffled. “Mhm. I know. I know. I promise.
Always. I love you too.”

She hung up the phone and looked at
Sean. Was that accusation he saw in her gaze? Or perhaps resignation. Or maybe,
he was just being paranoid.

“We would like it if you stayed. If
you get your things I can show you where the guestroom is and you can get
settled.”

“Libby, are you okay?” He hated
that Mase asked him about her behavior then went right ahead and lectured her.
She obviously figured out he told on her. Why the fuck would he do that? Talk
about awkward situations.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean your hands—”

“Oh.” She looked down at her hands
again much like she had when on the phone with Mase. “Sometimes…” She shook her
head. “It’s something I do when I’m nervous. Mason gets upset, but it’s like I
feel myself going somewhere I don’t want to go and I need to, I don’t know,
bring myself back, force myself to feel that I’m still here. Please don’t tell
him.”

Too late.
Hadn’t Mase told her he knew? Sean was sure that was why
she looked so guilty before she said goodbye to him. “I…what did he say to you
before he hung up?” He had no right to ask, but really wanted to know.

Libby smiled and her cheeks turned
a pretty shade of pink. She lowered her lashes and admitted, “He asked if I was
being a good girl and told me I was to take good care of his baby girl while he
was gone. Mason is very protective of me and worries. He asked if I would do
that for him and then told me he loved me. I should have told him, but I knew
he was getting paged and I didn’t want him to be distracted when a patient
needed him.” She then looked up at him and steadfastly said, “I’ll tell him the
truth tomorrow. I promise. But right now he needs to work.”