When I woke the next morning, there was an Andy-sized hole in the bed next to me, and I could hear the sounds of breakfast, and of Max attempting to abscond with said breakfast, in the kitchen. I rolled over and looked at the alarm clock (which, oddly, I never used as an alarm, preferring to use my phone in the kitchen instead) next to my bed. It was 10:37! Hardly surprising, given that I had stayed up until well past 12:30 finishing my notes, reviewing results, and answering patient messages and telephone calls. I stretched diagonally across the bed, touching my toes to the far corner and the tips of my hands past the light on my bedside table. Rolling over, I looked down at my feet, steadied myself, then stood and walked into the bathroom.
Shutting the door, I realized that a certain dilemma was upon me. I had to take a serious shit. You'd think that with all of our slumber parties, Andy and I would've crossed this bridge already, but somehow that hadn't happened, at least not that I could remember, for either of us. Either he had left early, or I hadn't needed to go, or maybe I had held it a little bit and waited until I got to work just to delay the inevitable a little bit longer.
I looked in the bathroom mirror. My hair was a mess, and the eyeliner that I sometimes wore to work was smudged. I was a cross between Bellatrix Lestrange and Princess Merida from the Disney animated movie Brave. I laughed at myself, recalling Zack's sage advice, "everybody poops." With no more preamble, I sat down on the toilet and performed my necessary evacuatory functions. What I had failed to do, however, is lock the bathroom door. So when Andy knocked, and then walked in after a second, I practically screamed out.
He chuckled, shutting the door, and said, "God, sorry Jen, I thought you were still in bed."
Waves of embarrassment flooded me. Had he known what I was doing? Was he disgusted by the smell? Did I have the smelliest poop in all the land?
I laughed then at my own ridiculousness. And also at the evolution of our relationship. I'm not sure one would measure relationship milestones in this way, but it seemed non-trivial to me that we were now pooping in front of each other. Well, if not 'in front of' at least with some degree of proximity, and for this, I felt a little proud and also a little embarrassment.
"I'm almost done," I called out, hurrying to wipe methodically, flush and then replacing the toilet seat. It had been a rather large dump, and to my horror there was a little streak of shit stuck to the bottom of the bowl that would not flush. Instantly I was paralyzed. If I flushed again, to try to get the streak to go down he would think that I was having diarrhea or the most colossal stool in the history of man. If I left it there, then he would have to stare at my shit stain the next time he peed. My mind began racing at the possibilities and was startled when he knocked again.
"Sorry to bother you, but I really have to use the bathroom, any chance you're finishing up?" he said, from behind the closed door.
I panicked, what was I going to do? It seemed silly to keep him out of the bathroom due to a submerged fleck of feces, but at the same time, it also just seemed so unladylike.
"Andy?" I said, walking up to the door, but not touching it, as I had not yet washed my hands.
"Jen?" he said closely, clearly, he was just on the other side of the door.
"Andy, I have a predicament and I want your thoughts on how I should handle it," I said, deciding that airing the facts was the most ridiculous way to proceed, and what was I if not a connoisseur of the absurd.
"So, we've reached a small milestone," I said, my voice trembling just barely, "I have taken a shit while you're still here. The problem is that there is a little bit of a streak left and I am embarrassed for you to see it."
There was silence on the other side of the door, then a stifled chuckled.
"Uh, did you use the toilet or is the streak somewhere else?" he asked, his tone clearly in jest.
"In the toilet of course, I haven't shit in the sink!" I exclaimed.
"I'm afraid I don't understand Jen, isn't that where shit is supposed to go? I mean that's where I put it, usually."
I laughed, then smiled. "Usually?" I said, "what do you mean, 'usually?'"
"Well," he said sincerely, "I've been known to shit in the woods when the circumstances dictate."
"So, if you see the stain you won't think that I'm disgusting and you won't be grossed out? You don't want me to clean it up first?" I said, looking around the bathroom for the scrubber brush, but not seeing it anywhere.
"Jen, when this is done, and we've both used the facilities, I'm going to want you to show me actual proof that you've graduated medical school, because, frankly, your squeamishness at this is a little unsettling in light of the fact that you're allowed to prescribe controlled substances."
"It's smelly too," I said, "and I don't have a match or a candle. It's been a long time since I've had to shit in front of someone else. Well, in front of a boy... a boyfriend, I mean."
"Jen, open the door. It will be fine."
I paused only for a second, then opened the door, with my head hung low, looking sideways, as if anticipating his reproach.
He stepped into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind himself. He stepped forward, pushing me up against the sink and sniffed the air.
"What is that god-awful smell?" he asked, looking around the room for the source of the unpleasant odor.
"Andy! Stop! Don't make fun of me," I said, moving to hit him, then realizing that I still hadn't washed my hands. I pivoted mid attack and turned on the faucet, getting my hands warm and soapy.
While I was doing this, he moved to the toilet and picked up the lid. "Oh gross, who left a little skid mark on the toilet bowl?" He looked at me, his eyes so filled with evident joy, it was hard not to laugh with him.
I dried my hands on the hand towel next to the sink and turned to face him. "I did, ok? I created the smell. It came from my bum. That's my skid mark," I said, pointing to the offending evidence in the toilet bowl. "I am terrible person undeserving of your love."
He moved to me then, and took me in his arms, kissing me full on the mouth.
"You are so full of shit," he said, kissing me again.
"No, I'm not," I said, pointing again at the skid mark, "it's all out of me, see, it's right there."
We both laughed this time, deep, guttural laughter, the kind that you have with only those people who know you well and love you anyway. It seemed to go on and on for at least a full three minutes. Tears were coming to my eyes, and I could see he was equally effected.
"Well," he said, "it's my turn." He looked at me expectantly, but I wasn't sure what he wanted me to do.
"Do you want me to stay?" I gasped, looking around the small bathroom to see if there was some place to hide.
"Not especially, no," he said, "but staying or no, this is happening, so whatever it is you're going to do you should make up your mind in the next three seconds."
I turned to the door, unlocking it quickly and exited without another word. Once safely on the other side of the bathroom door, I slumped up against it, the fit of laughter returning to me at the hilarity of the exchange.
I was going to have to tell Zack what had just happened, he would have found the whole thing hilarious.
After Andy was done in the bathroom, he joined me in the kitchen to enjoy the simple breakfast he had made: eggs, bacon, and yogurt with chia seeds. Andy wasn't on keto but he did seem to eat pretty low-carb, no doubt one of the many secrets to maintaining the physique of an Olympic God. He sat down at the kitchen table and picked up his cup of coffee.
"That was fun," he said, smiling again before taking another sip.
"Just so we're clear," I said, "I am only self-conscious about my own bodily functions, I have zero shame when talking with other people about theirs."
"Oh, I'm sure that's true," he said, "I mean, how could it be otherwise? If you experienced this much irrational dysfunction when speaking to your patients about their various holes, and what comes out of them, I'm sure you wouldn't have made it past the first week of medical school."
"Actually, the first two years of my medical school were all pretty much pre-clinical, I didn't really get to start talking to people or touching them until third year."
He paused for a minute, drinking his coffee, and then asked, "do you like it? Being a doctor, I mean?" He put his coffee back on the table and stretched his legs out, clearly waiting for me to answer.
I thought for a minute before responding. "I definitely don't like being a resident," I said, moving over to the coffee pot to poor myself a cup, then reaching into the fridge for the milk, which I put into my electric steamer. "I hate not having control over my own schedule, and I'm tired of being at the bottom of the totem pole, especially since I only have seven months left. But on the flip side, I'm also completely terrified about graduating and being 'released' into the real world and feeling like a complete fraud because I have absolutely no fucking idea what I'm doing."
"I remember that feeling," he said, taking another sip of coffee. "I still have it some time when I have to make presentations in front of the senior members of my firm. I'm convinced that they see right through me and that they have better ideas than me, it sucks, that feeling."
"I guess the other thing, about being a doctor, is that I'm not very good at the mechanics of it, at the details, I mean."
He looked quizzically, then said, "uh, I beg to differ Dr. Parks, and I think I've got ample evidence that you manage the details just fine." He pointed to his crotch, no doubt referring to the two occasions where I provided medical succor to his genitals during his time of need.
"No, not that," I said, "not the medical aspect of it. More having to do with the time management and the workflow part of it. I run behind a lot, and I'm hardly ever done with all of my work at the end of the day, which means that I have mountains of it to do when I get home."
"Isn't that pretty standard for other doctors too?" he asked, "I've got a friend from college and he's some kind of doctor, maybe heart or kidney or something, and whenever we get together he's always telling me about how much work it is."
"Well, in a way, I'm glad to hear that other people are struggling too, especially specialists, since sometimes it feels like the weight of that particular problem is unnecessarily shouldered by primary care."
"Have you thought about what you might do to make it better, or to somehow change how you practice so that it's not as much of a problem?" He looked at my half-eaten eggs, and motioned with his fork as if to say, 'are you going to finish those?' I shook my head and pushed the plate toward him and he ate the remaining egg in one bite.
"Actually, I was having a conversation with an attending about this very thing just yesterday before coming home. She advocated quite strongly for getting work done at work, which likely for me means talking with patients less, writing less in my notes and limiting the number of topics that people can bring up in one visit. I don't know, I think I'm just in a slump is all. The worst part about it is that I have to start looking for a job soon. Like, really soon. And I have no idea where to even begin that search."
"Well don't you intend on staying in Salt Lake?" he asked, looking a little more serious than he had mere moments ago.
"I... uh... well, I guess I hadn't really given it much thought. Or, rather, I think I was purposely not thinking about it at all, since doing so gives me heart burn and palpitations."
"If not Salt Lake, where would you think of going?" He was definitely getting more serious, he was sitting up right, and his blue-grey eyes were doing that missile-lock thing they did.
"Sarah and Dave are likely going to move back to Seattle, or maybe Portland, because they both have some family out there. At one point, I entertained the idea of making a similar move."
"But your grandmother is here, right? Wasn't that one of the reasons that you chose to do residency in Salt Lake?"
"Yeah, sure, look, I... I don't think I've really thought about it much, like I said, I've been actively avoiding it. I think I'm just scared is all. Scared of continuing to be stuck in residency, but scared to grow up and have to make real decisions about stuff like mortgages and school districts and income tax brackets. And, obviously, now there's you, and that's, like, totally new and definitely throws a wrench into things."
"Oh, so I'm a wrench am I?" He smiled as he said it, but there was the subtlest undercurrent of wariness in his tone.
"No, I don't mean that in a bad way, I just mean. Well, frankly, Andy, what I mean is that I'm sorry that that puts so much pressure on you, I mean, on us, so early on in our relationship. If we had met at the start of residency and I had three years to sort of figure out whether or not this was going to, you know, work out between us, then we'd be having a very different conversation. I just don't want to start a job search and only look here because you're here, and then have us not work out and I'm stuck in a job that I don't love in a city where, well, where you are, and then to have that be all shitty and awkward. I also don't want to start looking somewhere else, and put pressure on you to either do something long distance, or to move or for us to end it just because I could only find employment in Topeka, Kansas. It's just a lot to think about, and we're still in the 'butterflies in the stomach' phase of our relationship, it just seems premature to dump all of this on you at once."
"Jen, you totally just skid-marked the toilet dropping the stinkiest deuce on the planet. I think we're well past the 'butterflies in the stomach' phase."
I reached over and started beating him playfully on the chest, and he skillfully grabbed my arms, and lowered me on to his lap, biting at my ear lobe and kissing my neck. My attempts to escape his powerful embrace were all in vain.
"Jen, at the risk of taking this too fast, I just want to go on the record saying that I want you to stay. I want us to seriously make a run at this. I haven't felt this way in a long time, fuck, I mean, maybe never. And you're right, if you leave and go somewhere else, I'm not sure that I could follow you or if we could make long distance work, so I want you to seriously consider looking for a job here in Salt Lake."
I quieted my movements, bending my head so that our foreheads were touching, but I didn't speak. It felt like I didn't need to. We sat like that, me folded into his lap, with his arms holding me to him for what seemed like an eternity, but in retrospect was probably just a few minutes.
"Andy?" I said, swallowing hard, my voice a little tremulous. "Speaking of Grandma, I sort of promised her that I would take her to lunch today. Any chance that you'd like to meet her?"
He had been rubbing the small of my back with his left hand, which he now stilled. "I can't think of a better way to spend the afternoon," he said, and moved to kiss me softly on the lips.
"Fair warning, she is a bit of a character," I said, trying my best to prepare him for what awaited him.
"Well, it'll be nice to see that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," he said.
"I told her that I'd pick her up around 12, and that we could maybe go for a walk. You down with that?" I said, trying to make my tone apologetic that I hadn't really clued him in to this essential component of our weekend plans.
"Jen, it's fine. Seriously. Grandma's love me."
"Oh, I have no fucking doubt that she's going to love you. I am worried that she might try to sit on your face or something. She nearly did that to Zack. It absolutely broke her heart when I told her that he was gay. Now she affectionately refers to him as my "homosexual friend" and she always asks about his love life whenever we get together."
"She sounds delightful. All of my grandparents are dead, so this will actually be kind of a treat for me," he said, rubbing his hand along my thigh.
"Let's reserve judgement until after you've met her, ok? She's super important to me, but, like I said, she can be a handful sometimes."
"Hadn't we better get going?" he said, looking at his watch. "It's nearly 11:30."
"Oh fuck, I completely lost track of time. Yes, we've gotta run. If we go for a walk in City Creek, we'll get all hot and sweaty, can I interest you in a shower later this afternoon?"
"You've got a deal, hot stuff, now get your ass up so I can get dressed." With this, he picked me up and practically threw me into the air, and walked over to front door, where he had left his overnight duffel bag. "I'm going to need some new clothes too," he said, "and I want to pick up my razor so that I can shave for work. Can we stop by my place when we're done?"
I called back to him as I was walking to the bedroom, "yeah sure, no problem." When I reached my room, I surveyed the chaos in my closet, and thought to myself, "I think it's time Mr. Andrew Robertson had a drawer or two." I bit my lip, and quickly got changed for the afternoon
***
We decided to drive my Subaru because it had four seats, and Max could still fit in the back. My Grandma was not terribly fond of Max, whenever he brushed up against her, she always withdrew her arms in on herself, like an attack from him was imminent. But, she knew that I loved him, so she tolerated his presence whenever we went out into nature for our walks. When we arrived at her building she was already waiting outside, clutching her purse to her chest like she was riding on a New York City subway, rather than waiting outside of the retirement community where she lived. For a 91 year old, she really was in excellent shape. She walked every day, twice a day, took only one medication for her thyroid, and she was still pretty sharp. Sure, she repeatedly told me the same old stories, but lots of my patients who were a lot younger than her did that too.
I pulled up to the portico attached to the front door of her building and got out to help her into the car. Andy also emerged from the passenger's side. I walked around to the bench where she was sitting, and bent over to give her a hug.
"Oh! hello dear," she said, "it's so nice to see you!" She embraced me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. She was dressed in a long, turtleneck sweater that was a brilliant Azur shade of blue and thick, long black wool pants. Her top was speckled with bits of old food remnants, that I suspect were too small for her to see, and her pants looked like they needed mending at the hems. I mentally chided myself for not seeing her more regularly so that I could wash and repair some of the clothes that she wore habitually.
"Nice to see you too Grandma," I said, rather loudly, since she was also deaf as a door nail, despite wearing $3000 hearing aids. "Grandma, there's someone I want you to meet, this is my good friend, Andy Robertson, he's going to go with us on our walk today and then have lunch with us if that is all right? Andy, this is my grandma Mary Ellen Anderson."
Andy stepped forward to shake her hand and she looked up at him and almost gasped. "But you're absolutely gorgeous!" She said, taking his hand and pulling herself up. "Look at the muscles on him Jen, he looks like a firefighter." At this, she actually reached out and put her hand on Andy's bicep and squeezed it, which caused me to giggle considerably. To his ever-lasting credit, Andy just stood there and let himself be felt up by my Grandma without saying a word.
"It's very nice to meet you Mrs. Anderson," Andy said politely.
Without taking her hand off of his arm, she said "Oh, you can call me Mary Ellen, I haven't been Mrs to anyone in 50 years!"
"How do you know my sweet Jen?" she asked, roping her arm into the crux of his elbow, so that he could assist her to the car.
"We actually met at the hospital," he said, moving slowly so that she wouldn't fall.
"Is this the gentleman with the erection?" she blurted out.
"Grandma, keep your voice down, people will hear you!" I said, standing on the other side of her as we walked over to the car.
"And so what if they hear me? It's true isn't it?"
"Yes," Andy said, "it's true. I also lacerated my scrotum a week later."
"That sounds marvelous dear," she said, as she reached for the handle of the car door, "you'll have to tell me all about it on our walk." She opened the car door, turned her bum to face the seat and sort of collapsed with an "oomph" into the front seat of the car, swinging her legs around in front. Once she was clear of the door, I shut it and looked at Andy who had a giant grin on his face.
"I love her," he whispered, widening his eyes and starting to laugh.
"You laugh now, buddy, but she's only getting started."
"Oh, I'm counting on it," he said, "I'm counting on it."
He opened the door to the back seat, and I moved around front to the driver's side, and once we were all settled and buckled I turned on the car and we were off to City Creek for our walk.
***
"So what is it that you do Andy?" Grandma said, as we were walking up the paved road that leads into City Creek Canyon.
"I'm an architect, actually, I specialize in commercial and residential properties that are made out of green materials and are what we call "passive," which means that they are so energy efficient they don't require much external electricity to warm or to heat."
"Did you hear that Jen, he's an architect! Isn't that lovely?" Grandma said, looking over at me on her right, but still holding on tightly to Andy's arm, who was on her left. Again, strictly speaking, she didn't really need any help walking, but I knew that once she got sight of his biceps we'd have to pry them from her cold, dead hands.
"Yes, Grandma, I know, I've actually met him before today. We know each other pretty well, in fact," I teased.
"Well now, Andy, what do you make of my sweet Jen, then? Isn't she incredible? She's so beautiful and so smart and she's a doctor, did you know that Andy? Well I guess of course you must, because that's how you met her, with that giant erection of yours!"
I couldn't help it I actually broke out in a fit of laughter; Andy was smiling too.
"Yes, I did know she is a doctor. But I agree Mary Ellen, that she is very beautiful and very smart. She's also an amazing dancer and a very talented singer," Andy said, sincerely.
"Have you met that lovely young man she dances with? He's a homosexual, you know? Just gorgeous, isn't he?"
"Yes, I've met Zack, I like him very much. He's actually sort of dating my brother."
"Oh!" she said, "is your brother a homosexual too? How marvelous!"
"Zack is actually going to go out to New York to visit Andy's brother in a few weeks," I said.
"My daughter lives near New York," Grandma said, "but she'll be coming here for Christmas."
"I should very much like to meet her," Andy said.
"She would like you very much. She's never really liked any of Jen's other beaus before. But you're different. She would like you."
"What makes you say that?" Andy said, turning to Grandma so that she could properly hear him.
"Well for starters, you're gorgeous, with that curly brown hair and these enormous muscles," she said, giving his biceps another squeeze. "But it's not just that. Our Jen, she's got a head on her shoulders. It would take a very sharp man to be able to keep up with her. That's always been the problem I think, with her other men, they were just intimidated by her intelligence. But you, well, it seems like you like that sort of thing, don't you? You find that sort of thing attractive, I dare say."
"Indeed I do Mary Ellen, very much. I'm surprised to hear that you think other men have been turned off by it." Andy stopped for a moment, and turned to Grandma, "I do believe that I am a very lucky man, to have caught your granddaughter's attention."
"Yes, yes, well, I suspect that had something to do with the erection my dear..." Grandma said, patting the arm of his that she was holding on to, she started slowly ambulating again.
"And how are things going at work Jen? Still working hard, I trust?" Grandma turned to face me, and I smiled.
"Yes, everything is going just fine. All work and no play. Well, you know, very little play. Andy and I have gone on a few dates, and one hike. I've got another week of nights coming up this week, though, which I'm not very excited about."
"You work too hard, dear!" she said, "I wish that you could have a little break! You could come and visit me more often."
"I'm sorry that I haven't been more frequently, once this block of nights is over, I promise that we will resume our old schedule of lunch once a week."
She nodded, patting my hand this time, then walked forward, holding on to nobody.
"Are you getting tired Grandma, do you want to turn back?" I asked. Max sat for a moment next to Andy now that we weren't moving anymore. He wasn't allowed off leash in City Creek, so Andy had been managing him (primarily because he wouldn't listen to me and he practically anticipated Andy's every heart's desire).
"Are we still going to go to lunch, my dears? What is your pleasure?" she asked, looking at both of us.
"Absolutely, we can either go someplace nearby, but we'd have to get takeout because they won't let Max in, or we can quickly drop him off back at my place, and then go some place closer to you. Which would you prefer Grandma?"
"Let's take the beast home," she said, "then we can have a nice chat and a lovely cup of coffee."
With that, she turned around, and completely unassisted, started walking back to the car.
***
In the end, lunch with Grandma hadn't been all that dramatic. She continued to fawn over Andy's muscles, and made one or two more comments about 'erections' and 'homosexuals,' but for the most part we actually had a lovely conversation. She told Andy a few stories about me when I was younger ("you should have seen her bedroom when she was in high school! Every inch of every wall was covered with quotations and words and sayings. When we moved out, we had to pay painters to cover it all up and it required three coats of paint!") and Andy told us about spending summers in Scotland when he was a boy.
At the end of our lunch, I made arrangements to see her again the following week for lunch and we drove her back to her apartment. When we arrived, Andy quickly got out of the back seat and gallantly opened her door, putting out his hand to help her up. I could tell that she was tickled to death with this because she positively giggled. He even went as far as to walk her inside. When he came back out he was laughing and shaking his head, but there was a smile on his face.
"Oh God," I said, "what did she say to you."
"It was nothing," he said, "only, that I was to take good care of you."
"Well, you can probably tell where I get my sass from."
"Sure, and your good looks," he said, as we both got back into the car and he was putting on his seat belt.
I gave him an inquisitive side-long glance. "You checking out my Grandma?"
"Just an observation. She was obviously a handsome woman, smart too. I can't believe she's 91 years old," he said turning to face me, but there was no hint of guile in his voice. He was serious.
"Well, thanks for coming," I said, "it meant alot to me, and lord knows it meant a lot to her too."