Scenes from a Car Crash (Wish You Were Here)
Title: Scenes from a Car Crash (Wish You Were Here)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A million little pieces fit together to form the picture.
Part I
If you’ve learned anything from all of this, it’s that people have reasons.
Reasons for what they do, who they love, who they are. Good and righteous or dark and twisty.
Nothing is by accident. Nothing is random.
Everything leads to something. A million little pieces fit together to form the picture.
You’re not a religious person, but this you believe.
*
The kitchen is bright, the midafternoon sun beaming through the glass doors opening out onto the patio. You’re sitting across the table from the new kid in your class, your hands sticky from the peanut butter sandwich his mother just made you.
Derek has a nice mom. She’s warm and smiling and smells like cookies. She picked you both up from school because both of your parents are at work and your mother asked her to watch you for the afternoon.
Derek takes the final bite of his sandwich and looks at you. You don’t think he likes you because you were shooting a spitball at Zack Walter during silent reading time but it accidentally hit Derek in the back of the head instead.
Whoops.
“What do you wanna do?” he asks, and you know that he’s only being nice because his mother told him to.
You shrug. “I don’t know. Do you skateboard?”
He shakes his head. “My mom - ” he looks embarrassed, “My mom says it’s dangerous.”
You almost smirk at that but then someone walks into the room. A girl, a few years older than you, wearing a polka dot bikini. You try not to stare.
“Derek, if you’re the one who made that mess in the garage you better go clean it up before Dad sees,” she says warningly as she opens the fridge.
“It wasn’t me,” he replies insistently, but she ignores him as she grabs a bottle of water and walks out into the backyard.
“Who was that?” you ask, finally recovering your voice.
“Sarah, my oldest sister.” He rolls his eyes. “She’s thirteen and thinks she rules the world.”
“How many sisters do you have?”
“Four. Two older, two younger.” He sighs dramatically. “They all suck.”
You can’t imagine living with so many people. It’s always been just you - and with your parents never around, that can get a little boring.
“They’re all outside right now, lying down and trying to get tan,” he goes on, making a face.
Suddenly you’re hit with a plan. “Hey, didn’t you say you built a tree house with your dad?”
“Yeah, why?”
You grin. “Got any water balloons?”
Derek nods and grins back.
*
The suit is itchy and uncomfortable.
You tug impatiently at your necktie but your mother glances at you warningly in the rearview mirror.
“Don’t fidget.”
You nod and look out the window as you pull into the Shepherd’s familiar driveway. The entire street in front is filled with cars. If you didn’t know better, you’d think they were having a huge party.
“I’m just going to run in and give Laney my condolences before I go meet with my client. Are you sure you want to stay for the whole time?” your mother asks as the two of you get out of the car.
“Yeah,” you say shortly, and follow her to the front door.
Nancy answers the door, looking tiny in a frilly black dress. Yesterday was her tenth birthday.
“Hi,” she says quietly, and your mother pats her on the head before walking inside.
You look down the hall and see lots of adults in black murmuring in low voices. There seems to be food and flowers everywhere.
“Derek’s upstairs,” Nancy says before a woman you don’t recognize swoops down and hugs her tightly. Nancy politely tries to push her off. Five-year-old Kathleen, the baby of the family, runs by you laughing in delight at something no one else can understand.
You bound up the stairs and don’t bother knocking on Derek’s door.
“Go away,” he snaps before he turns and sees it’s you.
You almost don’t recognize him. He, too, is in a black suit too big for his skinny twelve-year-old frame. He’s sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, bouncing a tennis ball against the wall. His eyes are bloodshot with dark circles underneath them.
“Derek,” you begin, and then don’t know what to say. Polite condolences have no place here. They won’t change anything.
He turns and throws the ball against the wall again and you go sit down next to him silently. It makes a thud as it hits a second and third time, both of you watching it blankly as he catches and releases.
You know that it sucks for Derek, but it sucks for you too. After your father ran off with his secretary, Derek’s dad had been the one who taught you how to play football and taken you fly fishing.
“It’s just stupid, you know?” he says finally. “They said they’d get the whole tumor out. They promised.”
You nod. In the last two months, the words “brain tumor” and “CAT scan” had become part of your regular conversations.
“It’s all their fault. The stupid doctors. If they saw it earlier, if they got it all out, he’d be alive.” He throws the ball with extreme force and it ricochets against the wall and then over both of your heads, across the room where it knocks over one of his soccer trophies and falls to the floor.
Neither of you move to get it.
*
“So I met a girl,” he says, leaning back against the diner booth.
You raised an eyebrow. “You met a girl,” you repeat.
He nods and motions for the waiter to come over. “She’s my lab partner, actually.”
“And have you asked her out yet or are you doing that little adoration-from-afar thing you’re so fond of?”
“Already did. We had dinner Thursday night. Two more beers, please,” he tells the waiter.
“What? How did I not know that?” you demand.
“You were out with that chick from Genetics,” he reminds you. “You didn’t come home till morning.”
“Oh, right. Kaitlyn. No. Kristen. Fuck, what’s her name? Katherine? Definitely Katherine.” You nod in affirmation.
Derek rolls his eyes. “Well, I took her to that nice Italian place.”
“And did you seal the deal?”
He shook his head. “She’s not like that. She’s classy.”
“Classy?”
“The kind of girl you, like, marry.”
“You got all that from a first date?” you ask skeptically.
He nods. “Well, I talk to her every day in class. And we’ve gotten coffee together in the library.”
“Oooh, the library. Bad ass.”
“Shut up. She’s cool.”
You haven’t seen him like this about a girl since Patricia White, the cheerleader he’d been obsessed with in high school. Well, until you’d ended up bringing her to prom when he was too scared to ask her.
What were you supposed to do? It wasn’t like Derek was ever going to make a move.
“What’s her name?”
“Addison.”
You frown. “Wait, is she the hot redhead?”
He nods warily. “Please don’t tell me you already slept with her.”
“No,” you shake your head. You remember meeting her at orientation two months ago. You’d put on the charm, flirted and asked her if she wanted to get a drink - and she’d turned you down.
Three times, actually.
You’d just written her off as a cold, rich bitch. Someone who, although you hated to admit it, might be out of your league.
But apparently not out of Derek’s. He’d grown up a lot during college and had finally learned how to talk to girls.
“Anyway, I’m going to ask her to be my date to Sarah’s wedding. Think that’s too much?”
“No, girls love weddings.” You pause as the waiter returns with your beers and the meals you’d ordered what seems like hours ago. The limp French fries and greasy hamburgers don’t look very appealing.
“I can’t wait until we’re out of school and actually making some money,” Derek says, reading your mind.
“I know.” You push aside thoughts of the thousands of dollars in student loans you’ll be paying off once you graduate med school. “So is Nancy going to be at the wedding?”
Derek’s face tightens. “Mark.”
“What?” you feign innocence.
“I’d really rather try to ignore the fact that you’ve had sex with my sister.”
You grin. “I know.” It’s not your fault Nancy grew up to be, well, hot.
“She has a boyfriend now, anyway. Some guy from Harvard. So you think it’s okay if I ask Addison to come?”
*
“Browning, Sloan, Montgomery, Nelson, Shepherd!” The heavyset resident bellows out their last names in one breath. “Get yourselves over here and tell me what coronary calcification is.”
You hurriedly follow the others to her side, scouring your memory for a definition. Browning is flipping through a med book from his pocket and Derek opens his mouth to speak and then shuts it.
“Calcium circulates through the body and is vital for bone strength and cellular functions. It also deposits in the arteries as part of the atherosclerotic process. Calcification stiffens the blood vessels, hardening the arteries.” Addison rattles it off perfectly.
You shoot her a death glare.
“Good,” your resident says shortly. “The rest of you - start doing your homework.”
“Your girlfriend is making us look bad,” you mutter to Derek as you fall in step behind the others.
He rolls his eyes.
“I heard that,” Addison tosses over her shoulder.
“I heard that,” you mimic back.
“You are insufferable,” she hisses.
“And you love it.”
“Would you two shut up?” Derek asks, trying not to smile.
Suddenly the resident turns around to glare at all of you. “You three.” She shakes her head warningly. “You’re trouble.”
*
“I mean, I don’t know what he’s thinking. It’s as if he expects me to sit at home all day and be the perfect housewife. Dinner on the table at seven, clean house, you know.” Addison absently swirls her wineglass, sitting cross-legged on the floor at your feet.
“He doesn’t expect that,” you take a sip of the beer she’s graciously provided you. “He’s just busy. And stressed.”
“As if we all aren’t?” she asks. “I’m finishing a residency too, in case he hasn’t noticed.”
“Just get a maid,” you suggest, leaning back into the plush couch. “Or a cook or something. You guys can afford it.”
“That’s not the point, Mark.”
You’re both silent for a moment, and your eyes wander from the frost-covered windowpane down to where she’s staring broodingly into the fire. Her fiery hair is tucked into a haphazard ponytail, and she’s wearing her favorite well-worn Yale sweatshirt. You feel the heaviness of her mood and know this isn’t a time when you can just tease and charm it away. You’re not sure what else to do.
“Mark, we’re friends, right?”
“Yeah, unfortunately not with benefits,” you say with a straight face.
She ignores that. “So if I tell you something, can you promise not to tell Derek?”
You immediately sit up to study her face, but she is still staring into the fire.
“Yeah,” you say, hoping it sounds sincere. And hoping it’s true.
“Derek wants to have a baby.”
You suck in your breath quietly. “Oh.” It was one thing to share Derek with Addison, but you don’t think you’re ready for a smelly kid to come in and completely take over your best friends’ lives.
Then you realize what she’s said. “Just Derek?”
She nods and finally turns her head to look at you. “I’m not… I don’t. Not right now. Not when I’m just starting my career.” She pauses and her eyes are worried. “That doesn’t make me a terrible person, does it? A selfish person?”
You slide down the couch so that you’re sitting on the floor next to her. “No. No, of course not.”
“Yeah,” she nods, unconvinced, and turns back to look at the flickering fireplace. “Try telling that to him.”
*
Part II
“So.” Your psychiatrist looks at you over the top of her cats-eye reading glasses. “You obviously have daddy issues.”
You easily let your eyes roam from her stiletto heels up her tan legs. “Mmm-hmm.”
“You barely spent time with your own father, and then he left you and your mother. Soon after that your best friend’s father died - the man you looked up to.”
“Yup.” You nod, admiring her low-cut blouse.
“Mark, if you don’t stop staring at my chest I’m going to call Derek and have him beat you up.”
You finally look her in the eye. “First of all, Derek would never beat me up. Second, you charge four hundred dollars an hour and it’s the least you can let me do. Third,” you smirk, “you like it.”
Kathleen opens her mouth in objection but you quickly cross the room and cover it with your own.
“We really need to stop doing this,” she murmurs against your lips as you pull her back with you towards the couch.
“Shut up,” you whisper teasingly.
“And we still need to talk about your daddy issues,” she insists. “Among other things.”
You pull back to search her face. “Like what?” You’re only seeing a shrink in the first place because the hospital requires it as some new policy, and luckily Kathleen offers extra benefits.
“Like the fact that you have a thing for my brother’s wife,” she says flatly.
Your stomach clenches and you force your voice to remain steady. “You’re insane. You’re the worst shrink ever.”
“And you are self-destructive and self-loathing to an almost pathological degree,” she tells you, so you lean forward and kiss her psychobabble bullshit away.
*
You walk into the ballroom and are immediately overwhelmed by classical music, chandeliers, and tuxedo-clad waiters. Sacred Heart is throwing a fundraiser for the new children’s wing, and all the head attendings are expected to go and schmooze with the board of directors and potential donors.
You know it should be nice to feel important, but the truth is these things kind of make you want to kill yourself.
“Hey.” Derek appears in front of you, champagne in hand. “How’s it going?”
“Fine.” You scan the room. “How long before you think we can sneak out?”
Derek rolls his eyes. “We’re attendings now. We can’t sneak out of these things.”
You decide not to call him out for being such a saint. He’s been irritable lately, probably because tomorrow will be the fifteen-year anniversary of his father’s death.
“How’s that cardio surgeon you’ve been seeing?” Derek asks, taking long swallow of his drink.
“Fine,” you say flippantly. The truth is, you dumped Dr. Necci last week and she is currently glaring at you from across the room. “How’s that gyno you’re married to?”
“I am not a gyno,” a voice demands haughtily. You both jump and turn to see Addison standing behind you.
“You’re creepy, you know that?” you tell her.
She pointedly ignores you. “You said you were coming home before heading over here,” she says to Derek.
You ignore the way her black dress clings to her perfectly and instead finish your flute of champagne.
Derek shrugs. “Surgery ran late. I showered and changed at the hospital.”
Addison’s blue eyes flash and you wish you were anywhere but standing between the two of them. “I waited for an hour, Derek. You didn’t answer your pager and I didn’t know if I should call a car or send one to the hospital or what.”
“I didn’t look at my pager. And I told you I might come right over here.”
“When?”
“When I left this morning.”
“When you left this morning I was already at work,” she points out, and you study the floor, not the way some of her curls have slipped down from her updo to frame her face.
Derek throws up his hands in exasperation. “This is ridiculous.” He turns and walks away.
You hesitantly glance at her. She’s crossed her arms, staring after him with a mixture of anger and hurt.
“He always looks at his pager,” she says softly. “Does he think I’m an idiot? He just chose to ignore it.”
“Look, Addie, tomorrow’s the day - ” you begin.
“Shut up. I’m sorry about his dead dad, okay? That doesn’t mean he gets to be an asshole. That doesn’t mean you get to defend him.” She focuses her icy glare on you for a moment before turning and stalking away in the opposite direction.
You sigh and ask the waiter for more champagne.
*
The wind whips your face as you drive your new red z3 down the Long Island Expressway. It’s mid-June, and the summer sun beats down onto the black leather seats.
“That’s the exit,” Derek calls over the roar of the engine, and he grips his seat as you jerk the car over three lanes of traffic. “Are you trying to kill us?”
“Loosen up,” you yell as you slow down slightly to make the turn. “We’re on vacation, remember?”
Derek nods and looks out at the lush green trees whizzing past, the coastline barely visible through them.
This week at the beach had been your idea - you’ve been worrying about Derek a lot lately, although you’d rather die than tell him that. And he and Addison have this ridiculous mansion in East Hampton that deserved to be put to some good use, so you’d convinced him that you needed some manly bonding time away from the hospital and the city. And the wife. Addison wasn’t exactly pleased at the prospect of this little trip, but you’d promised her it would be good for Derek. You were pretty sure she could use the time alone, too, but of course you kept that to yourself.
Sometimes you wonder how you turned from friend to marriage therapist.
You finally pull onto a long tree-lined path, the tires crunching on the pebbles as you park at the top of the circular driveway. You’ve been here a dozen times, but the sight of the expansive brick estate still manages to take your breath for a minute.
Derek grabs your suitcases out of the trunk and follows you up to the front steps. He punches in the security code and the door swings open into an impressive marble foyer.
You can see past the high-ceilinged living room straight through to the back of the house, where sliding glass doors reveal a backyard of pristine sand and gently lapping waves.
You don’t even want to know what they paid for this place.
“You know, I really hate it here,” Derek says conversationally as he dumps the bags at the bottom of the winding staircase and leads the way to the kitchen.
“I still don’t understand how that’s possible. It’s great. You have a beach, a pool, a full-service bar…” You watch as he pours two glasses of scotch and hands one to you. “You’ve got it all.”
“Yeah,” he says shortly, and then sighs. You wait. “It’s not… it’s too much. All this.” He gestures to the house. “This place, the brownstone, the boats… it’s too much.”
“You’re saying you hate that you have too much money,” you say slowly, as if talking to a demented three-year-old - which face it, right now he is.
He looks away. “It’s suffocating. I can’t stand the fundraisers and the awards and redecorating the goddamn guest rooms again - ” here you know he’s talking about Addison - “and it’s as if the only thing that means anything anymore is work.”
“Which is why you spend every waking moment at work,” you finish for him.
He nods.
You think he might be on crack, but you can’t help feeling sorry for him. He looks so goddamn pitiful right now.
“All of this,” he says again. “It’s just suffocating.”
*
In the years to come, you will always remember it as That Night.
Of course, even now you realize the magnitude. You’re pacing back and forth in your apartment, waiting.
For what? You have no idea.
It’s thunderstorming outside.
You think it’s fitting.
The phone rings and you jump before lunging across the room to grab it.
“M-mark?” a whisper. A sniffle.
“What happened?” you ask hoarsely.
“H-he left.” She hiccups. “I need you to - please. Come.”
“Right there,” you promise, and you’re halfway out the door before you’ve hung up the phone.
The five-minute cab ride to their brownstone has never seemed so long. You throw a twenty at the driver and sprint out of the taxi before waiting for change.
The front door is slightly ajar and you walk into the foyer. There’s a puddle on the floor.
You hear nothing but silence. “Addie?” you call cautiously, glancing into the kitchen and then the living room.
“Here,” a disembodied voice murmurs somewhere in the blackened dining room. You flick on the light and see her sitting on the floor against the wall, knees tucked up to her chest and shaking. Her hair is wet and she’s wearing nothing but Derek’s old CBGB tee-shirt.
You slide down next to her and slowly put your hand on her knee.
“Don’t touch me!” she yells, jerking her knee away and you snap your arm back.
“Sorry,” you say quietly, and you study the hardwood floor.
“This is not happening. This is not happening,” she mumbles under her breath, rocking back and forth slightly, hands clenched tightly around her shins.
For the second time in your life, you feel completely helpless. You have absolutely no idea what to say to make this better. But of course, the other time it hadn’t been your fault that Derek’s dad died. Now… well, now it was kind of your fault.
“Do you know where he went?” you ask finally, wondering if it would only make things worse if you tried to talk to him.
She shakes her head, sending tiny droplets of water onto your cheek.
You blow out your breath slowly, wondering what the hell you’ve done.
Part III
You don’t tell Addison that this whole living-together thing actually scares the shit out of you.
You don’t tell her that the hundreds of hair products in the bathroom are overwhelming, that the tofu and fat-free yogurt in the fridge is scary, that every time you step on one of the designer stilettos covering the floor your stomach clenches. You don’t tell her that every time you touch her you feel an underlying sense of terror - you are touching someone who does not belong to you.
You don’t tell her because you’re afraid she’ll leave if you do.
She’s not fine. She insists with a bright smile, with perfect makeup, that everything’s great and she’s over it and she Does Not Want to Talk About Him.
You want to fix her. You’re trying. You told her you loved her, once. She just kissed you in reply. You tried not to read into it too much.
You know she hates herself. You know she feels dirty and cruel and wrong. You’ve tried convincing her, tried telling her softly that he’s the one who left her. He’s the one who disappeared without a trace, who won’t answer her lawyer’s calls.
You hear her crying late at night, when she thinks you’re asleep. It’s hardly noticeable - a sniffle, a small gasp for breath, a hasty wipe of her eyes. She misses him, you’re pretty sure of that.
You don’t tell her that you miss him too.
*
“I’m pregnant.”
You drop the weight you’ve been lifting on the ground. It hits with a dull thud and you sit up to stare at her.
“What?”
Addison shifts her weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I’m pregnant, Mark.”
You hold each other’s gaze uneasily for a minute. You can’t help the first thought that flies into your head - you impregnated Derek’s wife. You. Got. Derek’s. Wife. Pregnant.
You think you might throw up.
“How did this happen?” you manage to ask finally.
She shrugs, her face blank. “The pills are only ninety-nine percent effective.”
“You’re an obstetrician,” you say, as if that makes a difference.
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“Fuck.”
She nods.
This is not how you pictured this moment. Whenever you thought about having kids, it was in some far-off future where you lived behind a white picket fence in the suburbs with a golden retriever. It had not included a penthouse bachelor pad in the city with your best friend’s not-quite-ex-wife.
And of course, you’d never envisioned the mother of your children looking quite so miserable when she told you the fabulous news.
“Do you want to…” you struggle on how to ask tactfully, “keep it?”
Her eyes widen slightly and she tugs on her sleeves, a very un-Addison move. “I mean… I guess. Yeah. Of course. Of course I do.” She looks as unconvinced as you feel.
*
It’s been two weeks since she told you, and now you decide it’s time to bring up something that’s been bothering you.
“You need to take them off.”
She looks up at you from the medical journal she’s reading at the breakfast table, glasses perched on the end of her nose the way you love. “Hmm?”
“The rings, Addie. You need to take them off.” You slide into the chair across from her and pour yourself a cup of coffee.
She immediately glances down at her left hand. You follow her gaze and try not to remember going to Cartier with Derek twelve years ago to pick out the large diamond engagement ring.
“I… I will.”
“It’s been almost two months,” you point out. “And I haven’t said a word. But you can’t… you can’t keep doing it to yourself.” Or to me, you add silently.
“It’s just habit,” she says defensively.
“We’re having a baby,” you say with some difficulty. “Things are going to have to change.”
“Like what?” she asks immediately.
“Like you need to move on,” you say, more harshly than you’d intended. You need her to move on. You need her to stop moping around, to take off the gold bands that feel like they’re burning you when she touches you.
“I have moved on,” she snaps back. “They’re just stupid rings. I’m living here, I’m having your goddamn baby, I’m fucking you whenever you want, would you just leave me alone?”
You stand up and almost knock the chair over in the process. “Don’t do me any favors,” you snarl before grabbing your coat and stalking out the door.
“Fucking asshole,” you hear her mutter under her breath.
*
“Dr. Sloan?”
You look up from your desk to see a cute blonde nurse smiling at you from the door. You vaguely remember hooking up with her at the hospital Christmas party last year. You smirk at her slightly. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” she says breathlessly, as you rack your brain for her name. Charlotte? Charlie? “But I have the test results for the little girl in 32, Nicole Priestly, and I think you should take a look.”
“Sure, come on over.” You roll your chair back a little and gesture to your desk.
She crosses the room and bites her lip slightly as she sets the papers down in front of you, hovering just a little closer than she should.
Addison hasn’t talked to you for three days. You’re a guy. You have needs.
And ten minutes later, as you’re kissing the nurse hard and pulling her into your lap, Kathleen’s words from when she used to be your shrink run through your mind.
It’s like you have this unconscious desire to fuck up anything in your life that’s good, Mark.
*
When you get home, the first thing you see is the tiny Yankees one-piece you bought last week lying in the trash can.
Shit.
“Addison?” you call, walking through the kitchen and sitting room until you find her in the bedroom, throwing things into a suitcase.
Your heart rate picks up. “Addie?”
She snaps her head up to look at you and you wince at the power of her glare. “You. You are… I can’t even.”
“What?” you demand.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you not remember that we work in the same fucking hospital?”
You open your mouth to retort and then shut it.
You are kind of an idiot.
You brush away the little voice inside your head (Kathleen’s voice) that says you wouldn’t have done it unless you wanted her to find out.
“It’s a disgusting cycle, really,” Addison goes on, yanking down a handful of dresses and stuffing them into the suitcase. “Adulterous wife moves in with the husband’s best friend, so the best friend goes off and fucks the pediatrics nurse.” She snorts. “Charlene. Is that even a real name?”
“I’m sorry,” you say, aware of how lame and pale those words are. Is this how she’d felt That Night? You grab her arm and force her to look at you. “Addison, I’m sorry. I just - ” Out of the corner of your eye, you see an open bottle of vodka on the dresser. “Is that - are you drinking?” you ask, your voice hardening immediately. “What’s wrong with you? What about the baby?”
She jerks her arm away. “There is no baby, Mark.”
You stare at her numbly, the words not making sense.
“As of two o’clock today, there is no baby.” She clenches her jaw and looks at you with contemptuous eyes.
“So you…” you trail off.
She nods.
You sit down on the bed, feeling as if the air’s been sucked from your lungs.
So this is how it feels to have your heart ripped out.
She bends and gathers an armful of shoes, dumping them unceremoniously into the bag.
“Where are you going?” you manage to choke out.
She zips up the suitcases and drags it by the handle to the door, pausing to look at you.
“Seattle,” she says, and then she’s gone.
*
Part IV
It’s eerie, really, how life goes on as normal without her. Without them.
Sacred Heart is still one of the best hospitals in the country. You still have a waiting list of hundreds of rich socialite wives, wanting face lifts and tummy tucks from Mark Sloan. There are still plenty of nurses lined up to sleep with you.
But, of course, there are the rumors. It’s no big secret why the head of neurosurgery, followed by the head of neonatology, just upped and left Manhattan. Everyone knows you’re the dick best friend, the manwhore who ruined the perfect couple. Mostly, people are starting to get over it. Well, except for the Chief of Surgery, who pretty much hates you for driving away two of his best surgeons. Luckily, he can’t afford to fire you and make it three.
So life is fine. The apartment no longer smells like that suffocating Chanel perfume, and you can leave the kitchen as messy as you want. You don’t trip over ridiculous high heels when you’re getting ready in the morning.
You tell yourself you’re just being a good friend when you call her voicemail. You tell her that you hope she’s doing well, you hear Seattle’s nice, you hope her practice is successful. You never mention Derek and you never ask if she gave him the divorce papers.
You try not to take it personally that she never calls you back.
*
“You have a god complex,” Meredith Grey informs you as she plops down on the barstool next to you.
You look up from your scotch with amusement. “Well hello to you too, dirty mistress.”
“Hello. You have a god complex.”
You roll your eyes. “I’d ask what made you come to this revelation, but I have a feeling that won’t happen until I buy you a shot of tequila.”
“You would be correct in that assumption,” she says with a smile, eyes sparkling.
“Joe, some Jose Cuervo over here,” you call down the bar, and once Meredith has downed her drink she swivels towards you.
“What are you doing here?” you ask. “Don’t you have a certain dreamy neurosurgeon to get back to?”
“He’ll be working all night. There was a car accident with several head injuries but I’m way over my hours for the week already.” She pauses. “I’m not resentful of the people who need him to fix their brains. That would be selfish. So I’m not resentful. Even if we were supposed to go out tonight or something, I wouldn’t be resentful.”
You nod. “Obviously.” You can’t help but like her, because she reminds you a little bit of yourself in some self-loathing, self-destructive way.
“So why are you here?”
“I’m here…” You pause and look around before shrugging. “I’m here because I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”
Meredith’s expression softens for a moment, so you add, “And I figure I can take advantage of some lonely nurse getting drunk after her shift.”
“Ah.” This explanation seems to make more sense to her. She orders another drink before glancing back at you. “So, don’t you want to know why you have a god complex?”
“No, not really.” You sip your scotch. “All good surgeons have god complexes, Meredith. We save lives and so we think we can save the world.”
She shakes her head. “Derek doesn’t.”
You laugh and choke on your drink. “You’re right. Derek doesn’t have a god complex. He has a saint complex.”
“What?” She wrinkles her nose slightly.
“Tell me you haven’t noticed it,” you say with slight exasperation. “Derek thinks he’s perfect. He operates on brains, which is so much more important than faces. He didn’t ignore his wife - no, the whole thing was my fault. Addison and I are going to hell, but it’s perfectly fine for him to sleep with you at that prom. Derek’s never made a mistake and all the shit that’s happened in the last couple of years wasn’t his fault in any way. Derek can do no wrong, Derek’s the hero, Derek’s the saint.”
She plays the part of the good girlfriend and rolls her eyes with a smile. “You’re just jealous.”
“You think he’ll be your McDreamy for long?” You can’t help asking, and somewhere you know you’re going over the line. “You think he won’t start to slip away from you once he gets over the infatuation? That he won’t get sucked into his job and start canceling plans and not spending time with you because he knows he’s got you?”
Meredith’s mouth opens slightly as she stares at you.
You sigh. “Or maybe he already has.” You drain your glass. “Look, Meredith. I know Derek. I’ve known him since I was nine years old. He’s a good guy. But he just… he has problems facing what’s really there.”
Meredith purses her lips and looks down at the bar. “I think I’m going to need more tequila.”
*
“You’re leaving?” You lean against the doorway of her office in an effort to look nonchalant. In an effort to look as though the world hasn’t just been ripped out from under you - again.
Addison glances up at you as if it’s an afterthought. “Yes.”
“To L.A.? Really?” You keep your voice light.
She nods. “Sam and Naomi made me an offer.” She glances back down at the papers on her desk as if that’s that.
“You’ll hate L.A. You’re from Manhattan,” you say, as if she doesn’t already know it. “They’re so bright and shiny and perky and laid-back down there. And you’re so…”
“I’m so what, Mark?” She raises a perfect eyebrow with amusement. “So Upper East Side ice bitch?”
“Something like that,” you say, and she laughs.
“I’m just…” she gazes off at something you can’t see. “I’m looking forward to getting away. From this. From here. From everything. Starting fresh, you know?”
You do know. You just wish she wanted you to come with her.
You almost tell her - tell her that you can’t let her go. Not after everything you’ve given up for her - your best friend, your practice, your home, your city. She can’t just leave you.
But something in her voice, her expression, stops you. She wants this. She really does, and who are you to stop her?
“How soon?” you manage.
“Next week.”
Next week, you repeat dazedly in your mind. “Okay.” You clear your throat. “I have to go check on a patient.” You turn to leave.
“Mark.”
You glance back.
“I’m sorry. For everything. All of this.”
You nod quickly. “Yeah.”
And for the first time, you wonder if it was all her fault.
*
“She told me about the baby, you know,” Derek tells you at Joe’s.
You just look at him in surprise.
“About a month ago. We went out to dinner after work one night,” he continues.
You push down the immediately jealousy that bubbles up when you remember all the times she’s refused to have dinner with you in Seattle. “And she told you?”
He nods. “I was shocked, to say the least.”
“You and me both.”
Derek looks you in the eye. “I’m sorry. She said… she said you were doing okay with it. Before.”
You sigh. “I tried. I don’t know. I still wonder… well. No point.”
“I just couldn’t believe that she…” He looks down into his scotch. It’s almost funny how difficult it is for the two of you to have a civil conversation. “I mean, if I were you, I’d be furious. But of course, I was always the one who wanted it. She never did. I couldn’t understand it at the time - still can’t, really. So when she told me the first thing I wondered was whether she would have done the same thing if it were mine.” His voice is slightly raw.
“If it were yours, she would have kept it,” you say, with more than a little bitterness. “Even if she wasn’t ready. She would have kept it.”
Derek doesn’t say anything.
“She said I would have made a terrible father.” Immediately you wish you could retract your words - Derek is not your friend; he’s barely even your colleague. This is the most you’ve spoken in eleven months.
“That’s not true.”
“You think?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “You would be great.”
“I always - ” you can’t believe you’re about to say this, but the combination of scotch and Addison’s impending departure is doing something to your head - “I always thought, if I did do the kid thing, I’d want to be like your dad.”
Derek eyes you cautiously and then offers a small nod. “Me, too.” He laughs suddenly, forcefully. “Funny that both of us are nearing forty and no kids. Not married, either.”
“We’ve definitely done an admirable job of completely fucking up our lives.”
He shakes his head a little sadly. “I don’t even know where it started.”
*
“Seriously?” you ask as soon as you’ve opened your hotel door.
Addison nods and crosses her arms, looking away.
Your eyes can’t help scanning from her stilettos up to the thin straps of her black lace dress. You swallow hard.
“You’re leaving in the morning, Addie.”
“Why else did you think I was here?” she asks, and bites her bottom lip.
You hate yourself right now - you really do.
“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you say and step aside so she can walk in.
She perches on the bed and crosses her legs. It strikes you that you don’t even know who the woman in front of you is.
Sometimes she’s the icy redhead who ignored your flirtatious advances at Yale orientation.
Sometimes she’s your best friend’s girlfriend, eating Twizzlers and staying up with you all night to help you pass your first-year intern exam.
Sometimes she’s the victim of Derek’s neglect.
Sometimes she’s the vicious bitch who fucked you over.
Sometimes she’s the almost-mother of your almost-child.
And mostly - mostly she’s the only woman you’ve ever actually loved.
So you step forward, and you let her grab the hem of your tee-shirt and drag you down towards her.
Because after all, you’re an easy target for evil redheads.
You press your mouth to hers, expecting the familiar taste of peppermint and expensive lipstick, but now Addison’s lips only scream of being alone.
You flinch but hold steady and kiss the smile right off her face.
*
Sometimes you try to trace the path of how the three of you got here - to being three fucked up people, none of you trusting each other. You remember being interns, comparing notes and arguing over who would get to work on the best cases. You remember talking with Derek about what you’d do with all the millions of dollars you’d earn, and making fun of Addison when she meticulously planned their perfect wedding.
Some of the reasons for why people turned out the way they did are obvious - Derek is a neurosurgeon because of what happened to his father; you’re in plastics because you to make things look perfect on the outside even though inside they might be broken.
And other things? Those reasons are a little harder to dig up. Like how Addison can deliver babies every day while knowing she killed her own. Like how you can watch her pack up her hotel room without telling her that you think she’s your only chance at ever being happy. Like how you and Derek will never go back to how it was.
You know now that this mess had been a long time coming.
You’ve always considered yourself a realistic person. You like things black and white, not that blurry gray area in the middle. Cut, suture, close.
It’s the lack of closure that really kills you in all of this.
You’d like to think that it’s because there’s still some kind of better ending out there. Not happy, necessarily - just better.
But the thing is, you’re one of the best plastic surgeons in the country for a reason. You pay painstaking attention to detail.
It wasn’t one moment that made it all start going downhill.
It was all those little details, pulled together into something that ultimately came undone.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A million little pieces fit together to form the picture.
Part I
If you’ve learned anything from all of this, it’s that people have reasons.
Reasons for what they do, who they love, who they are. Good and righteous or dark and twisty.
Nothing is by accident. Nothing is random.
Everything leads to something. A million little pieces fit together to form the picture.
You’re not a religious person, but this you believe.
*
The kitchen is bright, the midafternoon sun beaming through the glass doors opening out onto the patio. You’re sitting across the table from the new kid in your class, your hands sticky from the peanut butter sandwich his mother just made you.
Derek has a nice mom. She’s warm and smiling and smells like cookies. She picked you both up from school because both of your parents are at work and your mother asked her to watch you for the afternoon.
Derek takes the final bite of his sandwich and looks at you. You don’t think he likes you because you were shooting a spitball at Zack Walter during silent reading time but it accidentally hit Derek in the back of the head instead.
Whoops.
“What do you wanna do?” he asks, and you know that he’s only being nice because his mother told him to.
You shrug. “I don’t know. Do you skateboard?”
He shakes his head. “My mom - ” he looks embarrassed, “My mom says it’s dangerous.”
You almost smirk at that but then someone walks into the room. A girl, a few years older than you, wearing a polka dot bikini. You try not to stare.
“Derek, if you’re the one who made that mess in the garage you better go clean it up before Dad sees,” she says warningly as she opens the fridge.
“It wasn’t me,” he replies insistently, but she ignores him as she grabs a bottle of water and walks out into the backyard.
“Who was that?” you ask, finally recovering your voice.
“Sarah, my oldest sister.” He rolls his eyes. “She’s thirteen and thinks she rules the world.”
“How many sisters do you have?”
“Four. Two older, two younger.” He sighs dramatically. “They all suck.”
You can’t imagine living with so many people. It’s always been just you - and with your parents never around, that can get a little boring.
“They’re all outside right now, lying down and trying to get tan,” he goes on, making a face.
Suddenly you’re hit with a plan. “Hey, didn’t you say you built a tree house with your dad?”
“Yeah, why?”
You grin. “Got any water balloons?”
Derek nods and grins back.
*
The suit is itchy and uncomfortable.
You tug impatiently at your necktie but your mother glances at you warningly in the rearview mirror.
“Don’t fidget.”
You nod and look out the window as you pull into the Shepherd’s familiar driveway. The entire street in front is filled with cars. If you didn’t know better, you’d think they were having a huge party.
“I’m just going to run in and give Laney my condolences before I go meet with my client. Are you sure you want to stay for the whole time?” your mother asks as the two of you get out of the car.
“Yeah,” you say shortly, and follow her to the front door.
Nancy answers the door, looking tiny in a frilly black dress. Yesterday was her tenth birthday.
“Hi,” she says quietly, and your mother pats her on the head before walking inside.
You look down the hall and see lots of adults in black murmuring in low voices. There seems to be food and flowers everywhere.
“Derek’s upstairs,” Nancy says before a woman you don’t recognize swoops down and hugs her tightly. Nancy politely tries to push her off. Five-year-old Kathleen, the baby of the family, runs by you laughing in delight at something no one else can understand.
You bound up the stairs and don’t bother knocking on Derek’s door.
“Go away,” he snaps before he turns and sees it’s you.
You almost don’t recognize him. He, too, is in a black suit too big for his skinny twelve-year-old frame. He’s sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, bouncing a tennis ball against the wall. His eyes are bloodshot with dark circles underneath them.
“Derek,” you begin, and then don’t know what to say. Polite condolences have no place here. They won’t change anything.
He turns and throws the ball against the wall again and you go sit down next to him silently. It makes a thud as it hits a second and third time, both of you watching it blankly as he catches and releases.
You know that it sucks for Derek, but it sucks for you too. After your father ran off with his secretary, Derek’s dad had been the one who taught you how to play football and taken you fly fishing.
“It’s just stupid, you know?” he says finally. “They said they’d get the whole tumor out. They promised.”
You nod. In the last two months, the words “brain tumor” and “CAT scan” had become part of your regular conversations.
“It’s all their fault. The stupid doctors. If they saw it earlier, if they got it all out, he’d be alive.” He throws the ball with extreme force and it ricochets against the wall and then over both of your heads, across the room where it knocks over one of his soccer trophies and falls to the floor.
Neither of you move to get it.
*
“So I met a girl,” he says, leaning back against the diner booth.
You raised an eyebrow. “You met a girl,” you repeat.
He nods and motions for the waiter to come over. “She’s my lab partner, actually.”
“And have you asked her out yet or are you doing that little adoration-from-afar thing you’re so fond of?”
“Already did. We had dinner Thursday night. Two more beers, please,” he tells the waiter.
“What? How did I not know that?” you demand.
“You were out with that chick from Genetics,” he reminds you. “You didn’t come home till morning.”
“Oh, right. Kaitlyn. No. Kristen. Fuck, what’s her name? Katherine? Definitely Katherine.” You nod in affirmation.
Derek rolls his eyes. “Well, I took her to that nice Italian place.”
“And did you seal the deal?”
He shook his head. “She’s not like that. She’s classy.”
“Classy?”
“The kind of girl you, like, marry.”
“You got all that from a first date?” you ask skeptically.
He nods. “Well, I talk to her every day in class. And we’ve gotten coffee together in the library.”
“Oooh, the library. Bad ass.”
“Shut up. She’s cool.”
You haven’t seen him like this about a girl since Patricia White, the cheerleader he’d been obsessed with in high school. Well, until you’d ended up bringing her to prom when he was too scared to ask her.
What were you supposed to do? It wasn’t like Derek was ever going to make a move.
“What’s her name?”
“Addison.”
You frown. “Wait, is she the hot redhead?”
He nods warily. “Please don’t tell me you already slept with her.”
“No,” you shake your head. You remember meeting her at orientation two months ago. You’d put on the charm, flirted and asked her if she wanted to get a drink - and she’d turned you down.
Three times, actually.
You’d just written her off as a cold, rich bitch. Someone who, although you hated to admit it, might be out of your league.
But apparently not out of Derek’s. He’d grown up a lot during college and had finally learned how to talk to girls.
“Anyway, I’m going to ask her to be my date to Sarah’s wedding. Think that’s too much?”
“No, girls love weddings.” You pause as the waiter returns with your beers and the meals you’d ordered what seems like hours ago. The limp French fries and greasy hamburgers don’t look very appealing.
“I can’t wait until we’re out of school and actually making some money,” Derek says, reading your mind.
“I know.” You push aside thoughts of the thousands of dollars in student loans you’ll be paying off once you graduate med school. “So is Nancy going to be at the wedding?”
Derek’s face tightens. “Mark.”
“What?” you feign innocence.
“I’d really rather try to ignore the fact that you’ve had sex with my sister.”
You grin. “I know.” It’s not your fault Nancy grew up to be, well, hot.
“She has a boyfriend now, anyway. Some guy from Harvard. So you think it’s okay if I ask Addison to come?”
*
“Browning, Sloan, Montgomery, Nelson, Shepherd!” The heavyset resident bellows out their last names in one breath. “Get yourselves over here and tell me what coronary calcification is.”
You hurriedly follow the others to her side, scouring your memory for a definition. Browning is flipping through a med book from his pocket and Derek opens his mouth to speak and then shuts it.
“Calcium circulates through the body and is vital for bone strength and cellular functions. It also deposits in the arteries as part of the atherosclerotic process. Calcification stiffens the blood vessels, hardening the arteries.” Addison rattles it off perfectly.
You shoot her a death glare.
“Good,” your resident says shortly. “The rest of you - start doing your homework.”
“Your girlfriend is making us look bad,” you mutter to Derek as you fall in step behind the others.
He rolls his eyes.
“I heard that,” Addison tosses over her shoulder.
“I heard that,” you mimic back.
“You are insufferable,” she hisses.
“And you love it.”
“Would you two shut up?” Derek asks, trying not to smile.
Suddenly the resident turns around to glare at all of you. “You three.” She shakes her head warningly. “You’re trouble.”
*
“I mean, I don’t know what he’s thinking. It’s as if he expects me to sit at home all day and be the perfect housewife. Dinner on the table at seven, clean house, you know.” Addison absently swirls her wineglass, sitting cross-legged on the floor at your feet.
“He doesn’t expect that,” you take a sip of the beer she’s graciously provided you. “He’s just busy. And stressed.”
“As if we all aren’t?” she asks. “I’m finishing a residency too, in case he hasn’t noticed.”
“Just get a maid,” you suggest, leaning back into the plush couch. “Or a cook or something. You guys can afford it.”
“That’s not the point, Mark.”
You’re both silent for a moment, and your eyes wander from the frost-covered windowpane down to where she’s staring broodingly into the fire. Her fiery hair is tucked into a haphazard ponytail, and she’s wearing her favorite well-worn Yale sweatshirt. You feel the heaviness of her mood and know this isn’t a time when you can just tease and charm it away. You’re not sure what else to do.
“Mark, we’re friends, right?”
“Yeah, unfortunately not with benefits,” you say with a straight face.
She ignores that. “So if I tell you something, can you promise not to tell Derek?”
You immediately sit up to study her face, but she is still staring into the fire.
“Yeah,” you say, hoping it sounds sincere. And hoping it’s true.
“Derek wants to have a baby.”
You suck in your breath quietly. “Oh.” It was one thing to share Derek with Addison, but you don’t think you’re ready for a smelly kid to come in and completely take over your best friends’ lives.
Then you realize what she’s said. “Just Derek?”
She nods and finally turns her head to look at you. “I’m not… I don’t. Not right now. Not when I’m just starting my career.” She pauses and her eyes are worried. “That doesn’t make me a terrible person, does it? A selfish person?”
You slide down the couch so that you’re sitting on the floor next to her. “No. No, of course not.”
“Yeah,” she nods, unconvinced, and turns back to look at the flickering fireplace. “Try telling that to him.”
*
Part II
“So.” Your psychiatrist looks at you over the top of her cats-eye reading glasses. “You obviously have daddy issues.”
You easily let your eyes roam from her stiletto heels up her tan legs. “Mmm-hmm.”
“You barely spent time with your own father, and then he left you and your mother. Soon after that your best friend’s father died - the man you looked up to.”
“Yup.” You nod, admiring her low-cut blouse.
“Mark, if you don’t stop staring at my chest I’m going to call Derek and have him beat you up.”
You finally look her in the eye. “First of all, Derek would never beat me up. Second, you charge four hundred dollars an hour and it’s the least you can let me do. Third,” you smirk, “you like it.”
Kathleen opens her mouth in objection but you quickly cross the room and cover it with your own.
“We really need to stop doing this,” she murmurs against your lips as you pull her back with you towards the couch.
“Shut up,” you whisper teasingly.
“And we still need to talk about your daddy issues,” she insists. “Among other things.”
You pull back to search her face. “Like what?” You’re only seeing a shrink in the first place because the hospital requires it as some new policy, and luckily Kathleen offers extra benefits.
“Like the fact that you have a thing for my brother’s wife,” she says flatly.
Your stomach clenches and you force your voice to remain steady. “You’re insane. You’re the worst shrink ever.”
“And you are self-destructive and self-loathing to an almost pathological degree,” she tells you, so you lean forward and kiss her psychobabble bullshit away.
*
You walk into the ballroom and are immediately overwhelmed by classical music, chandeliers, and tuxedo-clad waiters. Sacred Heart is throwing a fundraiser for the new children’s wing, and all the head attendings are expected to go and schmooze with the board of directors and potential donors.
You know it should be nice to feel important, but the truth is these things kind of make you want to kill yourself.
“Hey.” Derek appears in front of you, champagne in hand. “How’s it going?”
“Fine.” You scan the room. “How long before you think we can sneak out?”
Derek rolls his eyes. “We’re attendings now. We can’t sneak out of these things.”
You decide not to call him out for being such a saint. He’s been irritable lately, probably because tomorrow will be the fifteen-year anniversary of his father’s death.
“How’s that cardio surgeon you’ve been seeing?” Derek asks, taking long swallow of his drink.
“Fine,” you say flippantly. The truth is, you dumped Dr. Necci last week and she is currently glaring at you from across the room. “How’s that gyno you’re married to?”
“I am not a gyno,” a voice demands haughtily. You both jump and turn to see Addison standing behind you.
“You’re creepy, you know that?” you tell her.
She pointedly ignores you. “You said you were coming home before heading over here,” she says to Derek.
You ignore the way her black dress clings to her perfectly and instead finish your flute of champagne.
Derek shrugs. “Surgery ran late. I showered and changed at the hospital.”
Addison’s blue eyes flash and you wish you were anywhere but standing between the two of them. “I waited for an hour, Derek. You didn’t answer your pager and I didn’t know if I should call a car or send one to the hospital or what.”
“I didn’t look at my pager. And I told you I might come right over here.”
“When?”
“When I left this morning.”
“When you left this morning I was already at work,” she points out, and you study the floor, not the way some of her curls have slipped down from her updo to frame her face.
Derek throws up his hands in exasperation. “This is ridiculous.” He turns and walks away.
You hesitantly glance at her. She’s crossed her arms, staring after him with a mixture of anger and hurt.
“He always looks at his pager,” she says softly. “Does he think I’m an idiot? He just chose to ignore it.”
“Look, Addie, tomorrow’s the day - ” you begin.
“Shut up. I’m sorry about his dead dad, okay? That doesn’t mean he gets to be an asshole. That doesn’t mean you get to defend him.” She focuses her icy glare on you for a moment before turning and stalking away in the opposite direction.
You sigh and ask the waiter for more champagne.
*
The wind whips your face as you drive your new red z3 down the Long Island Expressway. It’s mid-June, and the summer sun beats down onto the black leather seats.
“That’s the exit,” Derek calls over the roar of the engine, and he grips his seat as you jerk the car over three lanes of traffic. “Are you trying to kill us?”
“Loosen up,” you yell as you slow down slightly to make the turn. “We’re on vacation, remember?”
Derek nods and looks out at the lush green trees whizzing past, the coastline barely visible through them.
This week at the beach had been your idea - you’ve been worrying about Derek a lot lately, although you’d rather die than tell him that. And he and Addison have this ridiculous mansion in East Hampton that deserved to be put to some good use, so you’d convinced him that you needed some manly bonding time away from the hospital and the city. And the wife. Addison wasn’t exactly pleased at the prospect of this little trip, but you’d promised her it would be good for Derek. You were pretty sure she could use the time alone, too, but of course you kept that to yourself.
Sometimes you wonder how you turned from friend to marriage therapist.
You finally pull onto a long tree-lined path, the tires crunching on the pebbles as you park at the top of the circular driveway. You’ve been here a dozen times, but the sight of the expansive brick estate still manages to take your breath for a minute.
Derek grabs your suitcases out of the trunk and follows you up to the front steps. He punches in the security code and the door swings open into an impressive marble foyer.
You can see past the high-ceilinged living room straight through to the back of the house, where sliding glass doors reveal a backyard of pristine sand and gently lapping waves.
You don’t even want to know what they paid for this place.
“You know, I really hate it here,” Derek says conversationally as he dumps the bags at the bottom of the winding staircase and leads the way to the kitchen.
“I still don’t understand how that’s possible. It’s great. You have a beach, a pool, a full-service bar…” You watch as he pours two glasses of scotch and hands one to you. “You’ve got it all.”
“Yeah,” he says shortly, and then sighs. You wait. “It’s not… it’s too much. All this.” He gestures to the house. “This place, the brownstone, the boats… it’s too much.”
“You’re saying you hate that you have too much money,” you say slowly, as if talking to a demented three-year-old - which face it, right now he is.
He looks away. “It’s suffocating. I can’t stand the fundraisers and the awards and redecorating the goddamn guest rooms again - ” here you know he’s talking about Addison - “and it’s as if the only thing that means anything anymore is work.”
“Which is why you spend every waking moment at work,” you finish for him.
He nods.
You think he might be on crack, but you can’t help feeling sorry for him. He looks so goddamn pitiful right now.
“All of this,” he says again. “It’s just suffocating.”
*
In the years to come, you will always remember it as That Night.
Of course, even now you realize the magnitude. You’re pacing back and forth in your apartment, waiting.
For what? You have no idea.
It’s thunderstorming outside.
You think it’s fitting.
The phone rings and you jump before lunging across the room to grab it.
“M-mark?” a whisper. A sniffle.
“What happened?” you ask hoarsely.
“H-he left.” She hiccups. “I need you to - please. Come.”
“Right there,” you promise, and you’re halfway out the door before you’ve hung up the phone.
The five-minute cab ride to their brownstone has never seemed so long. You throw a twenty at the driver and sprint out of the taxi before waiting for change.
The front door is slightly ajar and you walk into the foyer. There’s a puddle on the floor.
You hear nothing but silence. “Addie?” you call cautiously, glancing into the kitchen and then the living room.
“Here,” a disembodied voice murmurs somewhere in the blackened dining room. You flick on the light and see her sitting on the floor against the wall, knees tucked up to her chest and shaking. Her hair is wet and she’s wearing nothing but Derek’s old CBGB tee-shirt.
You slide down next to her and slowly put your hand on her knee.
“Don’t touch me!” she yells, jerking her knee away and you snap your arm back.
“Sorry,” you say quietly, and you study the hardwood floor.
“This is not happening. This is not happening,” she mumbles under her breath, rocking back and forth slightly, hands clenched tightly around her shins.
For the second time in your life, you feel completely helpless. You have absolutely no idea what to say to make this better. But of course, the other time it hadn’t been your fault that Derek’s dad died. Now… well, now it was kind of your fault.
“Do you know where he went?” you ask finally, wondering if it would only make things worse if you tried to talk to him.
She shakes her head, sending tiny droplets of water onto your cheek.
You blow out your breath slowly, wondering what the hell you’ve done.
Part III
You don’t tell Addison that this whole living-together thing actually scares the shit out of you.
You don’t tell her that the hundreds of hair products in the bathroom are overwhelming, that the tofu and fat-free yogurt in the fridge is scary, that every time you step on one of the designer stilettos covering the floor your stomach clenches. You don’t tell her that every time you touch her you feel an underlying sense of terror - you are touching someone who does not belong to you.
You don’t tell her because you’re afraid she’ll leave if you do.
She’s not fine. She insists with a bright smile, with perfect makeup, that everything’s great and she’s over it and she Does Not Want to Talk About Him.
You want to fix her. You’re trying. You told her you loved her, once. She just kissed you in reply. You tried not to read into it too much.
You know she hates herself. You know she feels dirty and cruel and wrong. You’ve tried convincing her, tried telling her softly that he’s the one who left her. He’s the one who disappeared without a trace, who won’t answer her lawyer’s calls.
You hear her crying late at night, when she thinks you’re asleep. It’s hardly noticeable - a sniffle, a small gasp for breath, a hasty wipe of her eyes. She misses him, you’re pretty sure of that.
You don’t tell her that you miss him too.
*
“I’m pregnant.”
You drop the weight you’ve been lifting on the ground. It hits with a dull thud and you sit up to stare at her.
“What?”
Addison shifts her weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I’m pregnant, Mark.”
You hold each other’s gaze uneasily for a minute. You can’t help the first thought that flies into your head - you impregnated Derek’s wife. You. Got. Derek’s. Wife. Pregnant.
You think you might throw up.
“How did this happen?” you manage to ask finally.
She shrugs, her face blank. “The pills are only ninety-nine percent effective.”
“You’re an obstetrician,” you say, as if that makes a difference.
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“Fuck.”
She nods.
This is not how you pictured this moment. Whenever you thought about having kids, it was in some far-off future where you lived behind a white picket fence in the suburbs with a golden retriever. It had not included a penthouse bachelor pad in the city with your best friend’s not-quite-ex-wife.
And of course, you’d never envisioned the mother of your children looking quite so miserable when she told you the fabulous news.
“Do you want to…” you struggle on how to ask tactfully, “keep it?”
Her eyes widen slightly and she tugs on her sleeves, a very un-Addison move. “I mean… I guess. Yeah. Of course. Of course I do.” She looks as unconvinced as you feel.
*
It’s been two weeks since she told you, and now you decide it’s time to bring up something that’s been bothering you.
“You need to take them off.”
She looks up at you from the medical journal she’s reading at the breakfast table, glasses perched on the end of her nose the way you love. “Hmm?”
“The rings, Addie. You need to take them off.” You slide into the chair across from her and pour yourself a cup of coffee.
She immediately glances down at her left hand. You follow her gaze and try not to remember going to Cartier with Derek twelve years ago to pick out the large diamond engagement ring.
“I… I will.”
“It’s been almost two months,” you point out. “And I haven’t said a word. But you can’t… you can’t keep doing it to yourself.” Or to me, you add silently.
“It’s just habit,” she says defensively.
“We’re having a baby,” you say with some difficulty. “Things are going to have to change.”
“Like what?” she asks immediately.
“Like you need to move on,” you say, more harshly than you’d intended. You need her to move on. You need her to stop moping around, to take off the gold bands that feel like they’re burning you when she touches you.
“I have moved on,” she snaps back. “They’re just stupid rings. I’m living here, I’m having your goddamn baby, I’m fucking you whenever you want, would you just leave me alone?”
You stand up and almost knock the chair over in the process. “Don’t do me any favors,” you snarl before grabbing your coat and stalking out the door.
“Fucking asshole,” you hear her mutter under her breath.
*
“Dr. Sloan?”
You look up from your desk to see a cute blonde nurse smiling at you from the door. You vaguely remember hooking up with her at the hospital Christmas party last year. You smirk at her slightly. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” she says breathlessly, as you rack your brain for her name. Charlotte? Charlie? “But I have the test results for the little girl in 32, Nicole Priestly, and I think you should take a look.”
“Sure, come on over.” You roll your chair back a little and gesture to your desk.
She crosses the room and bites her lip slightly as she sets the papers down in front of you, hovering just a little closer than she should.
Addison hasn’t talked to you for three days. You’re a guy. You have needs.
And ten minutes later, as you’re kissing the nurse hard and pulling her into your lap, Kathleen’s words from when she used to be your shrink run through your mind.
It’s like you have this unconscious desire to fuck up anything in your life that’s good, Mark.
*
When you get home, the first thing you see is the tiny Yankees one-piece you bought last week lying in the trash can.
Shit.
“Addison?” you call, walking through the kitchen and sitting room until you find her in the bedroom, throwing things into a suitcase.
Your heart rate picks up. “Addie?”
She snaps her head up to look at you and you wince at the power of her glare. “You. You are… I can’t even.”
“What?” you demand.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you not remember that we work in the same fucking hospital?”
You open your mouth to retort and then shut it.
You are kind of an idiot.
You brush away the little voice inside your head (Kathleen’s voice) that says you wouldn’t have done it unless you wanted her to find out.
“It’s a disgusting cycle, really,” Addison goes on, yanking down a handful of dresses and stuffing them into the suitcase. “Adulterous wife moves in with the husband’s best friend, so the best friend goes off and fucks the pediatrics nurse.” She snorts. “Charlene. Is that even a real name?”
“I’m sorry,” you say, aware of how lame and pale those words are. Is this how she’d felt That Night? You grab her arm and force her to look at you. “Addison, I’m sorry. I just - ” Out of the corner of your eye, you see an open bottle of vodka on the dresser. “Is that - are you drinking?” you ask, your voice hardening immediately. “What’s wrong with you? What about the baby?”
She jerks her arm away. “There is no baby, Mark.”
You stare at her numbly, the words not making sense.
“As of two o’clock today, there is no baby.” She clenches her jaw and looks at you with contemptuous eyes.
“So you…” you trail off.
She nods.
You sit down on the bed, feeling as if the air’s been sucked from your lungs.
So this is how it feels to have your heart ripped out.
She bends and gathers an armful of shoes, dumping them unceremoniously into the bag.
“Where are you going?” you manage to choke out.
She zips up the suitcases and drags it by the handle to the door, pausing to look at you.
“Seattle,” she says, and then she’s gone.
*
Part IV
It’s eerie, really, how life goes on as normal without her. Without them.
Sacred Heart is still one of the best hospitals in the country. You still have a waiting list of hundreds of rich socialite wives, wanting face lifts and tummy tucks from Mark Sloan. There are still plenty of nurses lined up to sleep with you.
But, of course, there are the rumors. It’s no big secret why the head of neurosurgery, followed by the head of neonatology, just upped and left Manhattan. Everyone knows you’re the dick best friend, the manwhore who ruined the perfect couple. Mostly, people are starting to get over it. Well, except for the Chief of Surgery, who pretty much hates you for driving away two of his best surgeons. Luckily, he can’t afford to fire you and make it three.
So life is fine. The apartment no longer smells like that suffocating Chanel perfume, and you can leave the kitchen as messy as you want. You don’t trip over ridiculous high heels when you’re getting ready in the morning.
You tell yourself you’re just being a good friend when you call her voicemail. You tell her that you hope she’s doing well, you hear Seattle’s nice, you hope her practice is successful. You never mention Derek and you never ask if she gave him the divorce papers.
You try not to take it personally that she never calls you back.
*
“You have a god complex,” Meredith Grey informs you as she plops down on the barstool next to you.
You look up from your scotch with amusement. “Well hello to you too, dirty mistress.”
“Hello. You have a god complex.”
You roll your eyes. “I’d ask what made you come to this revelation, but I have a feeling that won’t happen until I buy you a shot of tequila.”
“You would be correct in that assumption,” she says with a smile, eyes sparkling.
“Joe, some Jose Cuervo over here,” you call down the bar, and once Meredith has downed her drink she swivels towards you.
“What are you doing here?” you ask. “Don’t you have a certain dreamy neurosurgeon to get back to?”
“He’ll be working all night. There was a car accident with several head injuries but I’m way over my hours for the week already.” She pauses. “I’m not resentful of the people who need him to fix their brains. That would be selfish. So I’m not resentful. Even if we were supposed to go out tonight or something, I wouldn’t be resentful.”
You nod. “Obviously.” You can’t help but like her, because she reminds you a little bit of yourself in some self-loathing, self-destructive way.
“So why are you here?”
“I’m here…” You pause and look around before shrugging. “I’m here because I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”
Meredith’s expression softens for a moment, so you add, “And I figure I can take advantage of some lonely nurse getting drunk after her shift.”
“Ah.” This explanation seems to make more sense to her. She orders another drink before glancing back at you. “So, don’t you want to know why you have a god complex?”
“No, not really.” You sip your scotch. “All good surgeons have god complexes, Meredith. We save lives and so we think we can save the world.”
She shakes her head. “Derek doesn’t.”
You laugh and choke on your drink. “You’re right. Derek doesn’t have a god complex. He has a saint complex.”
“What?” She wrinkles her nose slightly.
“Tell me you haven’t noticed it,” you say with slight exasperation. “Derek thinks he’s perfect. He operates on brains, which is so much more important than faces. He didn’t ignore his wife - no, the whole thing was my fault. Addison and I are going to hell, but it’s perfectly fine for him to sleep with you at that prom. Derek’s never made a mistake and all the shit that’s happened in the last couple of years wasn’t his fault in any way. Derek can do no wrong, Derek’s the hero, Derek’s the saint.”
She plays the part of the good girlfriend and rolls her eyes with a smile. “You’re just jealous.”
“You think he’ll be your McDreamy for long?” You can’t help asking, and somewhere you know you’re going over the line. “You think he won’t start to slip away from you once he gets over the infatuation? That he won’t get sucked into his job and start canceling plans and not spending time with you because he knows he’s got you?”
Meredith’s mouth opens slightly as she stares at you.
You sigh. “Or maybe he already has.” You drain your glass. “Look, Meredith. I know Derek. I’ve known him since I was nine years old. He’s a good guy. But he just… he has problems facing what’s really there.”
Meredith purses her lips and looks down at the bar. “I think I’m going to need more tequila.”
*
“You’re leaving?” You lean against the doorway of her office in an effort to look nonchalant. In an effort to look as though the world hasn’t just been ripped out from under you - again.
Addison glances up at you as if it’s an afterthought. “Yes.”
“To L.A.? Really?” You keep your voice light.
She nods. “Sam and Naomi made me an offer.” She glances back down at the papers on her desk as if that’s that.
“You’ll hate L.A. You’re from Manhattan,” you say, as if she doesn’t already know it. “They’re so bright and shiny and perky and laid-back down there. And you’re so…”
“I’m so what, Mark?” She raises a perfect eyebrow with amusement. “So Upper East Side ice bitch?”
“Something like that,” you say, and she laughs.
“I’m just…” she gazes off at something you can’t see. “I’m looking forward to getting away. From this. From here. From everything. Starting fresh, you know?”
You do know. You just wish she wanted you to come with her.
You almost tell her - tell her that you can’t let her go. Not after everything you’ve given up for her - your best friend, your practice, your home, your city. She can’t just leave you.
But something in her voice, her expression, stops you. She wants this. She really does, and who are you to stop her?
“How soon?” you manage.
“Next week.”
Next week, you repeat dazedly in your mind. “Okay.” You clear your throat. “I have to go check on a patient.” You turn to leave.
“Mark.”
You glance back.
“I’m sorry. For everything. All of this.”
You nod quickly. “Yeah.”
And for the first time, you wonder if it was all her fault.
*
“She told me about the baby, you know,” Derek tells you at Joe’s.
You just look at him in surprise.
“About a month ago. We went out to dinner after work one night,” he continues.
You push down the immediately jealousy that bubbles up when you remember all the times she’s refused to have dinner with you in Seattle. “And she told you?”
He nods. “I was shocked, to say the least.”
“You and me both.”
Derek looks you in the eye. “I’m sorry. She said… she said you were doing okay with it. Before.”
You sigh. “I tried. I don’t know. I still wonder… well. No point.”
“I just couldn’t believe that she…” He looks down into his scotch. It’s almost funny how difficult it is for the two of you to have a civil conversation. “I mean, if I were you, I’d be furious. But of course, I was always the one who wanted it. She never did. I couldn’t understand it at the time - still can’t, really. So when she told me the first thing I wondered was whether she would have done the same thing if it were mine.” His voice is slightly raw.
“If it were yours, she would have kept it,” you say, with more than a little bitterness. “Even if she wasn’t ready. She would have kept it.”
Derek doesn’t say anything.
“She said I would have made a terrible father.” Immediately you wish you could retract your words - Derek is not your friend; he’s barely even your colleague. This is the most you’ve spoken in eleven months.
“That’s not true.”
“You think?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “You would be great.”
“I always - ” you can’t believe you’re about to say this, but the combination of scotch and Addison’s impending departure is doing something to your head - “I always thought, if I did do the kid thing, I’d want to be like your dad.”
Derek eyes you cautiously and then offers a small nod. “Me, too.” He laughs suddenly, forcefully. “Funny that both of us are nearing forty and no kids. Not married, either.”
“We’ve definitely done an admirable job of completely fucking up our lives.”
He shakes his head a little sadly. “I don’t even know where it started.”
*
“Seriously?” you ask as soon as you’ve opened your hotel door.
Addison nods and crosses her arms, looking away.
Your eyes can’t help scanning from her stilettos up to the thin straps of her black lace dress. You swallow hard.
“You’re leaving in the morning, Addie.”
“Why else did you think I was here?” she asks, and bites her bottom lip.
You hate yourself right now - you really do.
“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you say and step aside so she can walk in.
She perches on the bed and crosses her legs. It strikes you that you don’t even know who the woman in front of you is.
Sometimes she’s the icy redhead who ignored your flirtatious advances at Yale orientation.
Sometimes she’s your best friend’s girlfriend, eating Twizzlers and staying up with you all night to help you pass your first-year intern exam.
Sometimes she’s the victim of Derek’s neglect.
Sometimes she’s the vicious bitch who fucked you over.
Sometimes she’s the almost-mother of your almost-child.
And mostly - mostly she’s the only woman you’ve ever actually loved.
So you step forward, and you let her grab the hem of your tee-shirt and drag you down towards her.
Because after all, you’re an easy target for evil redheads.
You press your mouth to hers, expecting the familiar taste of peppermint and expensive lipstick, but now Addison’s lips only scream of being alone.
You flinch but hold steady and kiss the smile right off her face.
*
Sometimes you try to trace the path of how the three of you got here - to being three fucked up people, none of you trusting each other. You remember being interns, comparing notes and arguing over who would get to work on the best cases. You remember talking with Derek about what you’d do with all the millions of dollars you’d earn, and making fun of Addison when she meticulously planned their perfect wedding.
Some of the reasons for why people turned out the way they did are obvious - Derek is a neurosurgeon because of what happened to his father; you’re in plastics because you to make things look perfect on the outside even though inside they might be broken.
And other things? Those reasons are a little harder to dig up. Like how Addison can deliver babies every day while knowing she killed her own. Like how you can watch her pack up her hotel room without telling her that you think she’s your only chance at ever being happy. Like how you and Derek will never go back to how it was.
You know now that this mess had been a long time coming.
You’ve always considered yourself a realistic person. You like things black and white, not that blurry gray area in the middle. Cut, suture, close.
It’s the lack of closure that really kills you in all of this.
You’d like to think that it’s because there’s still some kind of better ending out there. Not happy, necessarily - just better.
But the thing is, you’re one of the best plastic surgeons in the country for a reason. You pay painstaking attention to detail.
It wasn’t one moment that made it all start going downhill.
It was all those little details, pulled together into something that ultimately came undone.