“Hey, Rory,” Dr. Jones says when I go back to the nurses’ station. He’s sitting at the desk looking over files. “How was Miami?”
I open my mouth only to snap it shut and consider my words. “Do you want me to answer as the nurse who works with you, or the chick who spent the last few days with your friend?”
Dr. Jones looks up from the chart, smiling. “Both,” he admits. “While we’re here, be the nurse,” he adds quickly as Jane comes back to the desk, setting a notebook down.
“Here are her vitals,” she tells Dr. Jones, who looks them over and then writes out a few orders.
“Oh, Rory,” Jane starts, grabbing a red piece of paper from the desk. “Did you see this? It’s a fundraiser we do every year. You can buy roses and send them to people. It’s fun, and today is the last day to put in an order!”
“Ugh, I hate those,” I say without thinking.
“You do?” Jane almost looks offended.
“I guess I don’t anymore, but I used to. I never got any roses when our school did those.”
“Aww, that’s so sad. I’m sending you a rose for sure.” She gives me a wink. “You’re not supposed to know who it’s from, though.”
“Thank you. I’ll send you one too.” I take the red paper and write down the names of everyone I usually work with. It’s for charity, and I don’t want anyone to feel left out.
Putting the paper back, I go around the desk and sit at the computer next to Dr. Jones to get ahead on my charting.
“How’s Quinn feeling?” I ask once Jane has gone back to the PACU to do rounds. “Dean told me she’s having a rough time.”
“The nausea is worse this time around than any of her other pregnancies.”
“Poor Quinn. Oh, and congrats.”
“Thank you,” Dr. Jones says with a smile. “Two babies instead of one was a shock, but we’re really excited. This was going to be our last, so we’re going out with a bang.”
It’s weird sitting here talking to Dr. Jones like this. I feel like I have inside information on his family and I shouldn’t be privy to it. I wonder what Dean has told him about me, if he’s even said anything at all.
“I’m going home. Hopefully I won’t see you until the next shift.”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “Tell Quinn I said hi.”
“Will do.”
I finish my charting, check on my patient, and sit back down, resting my head in my hands.
“Want to take your lunch now?” Jane asks, startling me.
“Yeah.” I rub my eyes, thankful I didn’t put mascara on before I came in. “Please tell me there’s coffee in the break room.”
“There always is at night.”
“Good. Want to start an IV for me?” I hold out my arm.
“Ohhh, you have nice veins.” Jane grabs my arm and runs her finger over my arm. We joke about the weird things we notice as nurses, and then I go in and heat up my Ramen noodles, downing a cup of coffee in the process.
I’m dead on my feet by the time I leave the hospital, so exhausted I’m a little worried about driving home. I make it unscathed and move in a fog, feeding Figaro, stripping out of my clothes, and then collapsing in bed.
I sleep soundly until 1 PM and wake up groggy. I roll back over and stay in bed for another half an hour. Then I get up, shower, and do a speed clean of my apartment, including changing my sheets.
Taking a break, I scroll through Pinterest, looking for something to make for dinner. I go back and forth between doing something easy or pulling out all the stops. I don’t mind cooking, I mostly hate cleaning up after I cook.
I almost settle for tacos, but then change my mind. Picking my phone back up, I call Dad.
“Hey, sweetheart!” he answers.
“Hey, Dad. What’s the recipe for that chicken you made the night Mom was going to break up with you but then decided not to because the food was so good?”
Dad laughs. “That’s the story your mother told you?”
“Many times.”
“I’ll text it to you.”
“Thank you,” I say, letting out a breath of relief. “What do I make with it?”
“Pasta is always good. And it pairs well with red and white wines.”
“I have soybean spaghetti. Will that work?”
“Soybean spaghetti?” Dad echoes. “Why in the world do you have soybean spaghetti?”
“I’m trying to be healthy. It has more protein than regular noodles.”
“You kids and your health trends. Are you making this for a man?”
“Dad? Can’t I make good food for myself to enjoy. I’m going to share with Figaro.”
“Sharing with the cat, I’ll believe. But making Don’t Leave Me chicken makes me wonder.”
“Hah. So it was the chicken that made Mom stay with you!”
“Yes,” Dad says dryly. “That’s the only reason your mother married me, had four children with me, and is still married to me forty-five years later.”