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Me: Because of the plans you guys had?
THE Garrett Alexander: Because after last night, I added another person to my list of who to miss.
Oh. My. God.
That kind of message after only one date should freak me out, big time.
So why on earth isn’t it?
The following Monday, I arrive at work feeling like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck.
The mental gymnastics my mind has engaged in over the past forty-eight hours have wreaked havoc on my overall alertness and ability to function.
Bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived, I stumble my way into the doctors’ office through the back door and tote my bags of packed lunch, change of clothes, and a couple case studies into my private office and dump them on the surface of my desk.
I’m dragging, but I’m also hoping, with a sufficient infusion of coffee from the break room, I will once again be alive.
I root through my mess to find my lunch bag and then retuck my shirt into my skirt before heading out the door and back down the hall to the break room.
Nurses and office staff wave and say good morning, and it’s all I can do to curve my lips up into a half smile in response.
Garrett’s been gone since Saturday, off fighting a raging fire in the national forest, and I haven’t heard a word from him since our brief text exchange before he left.
I know it’s a part of the deal. Hell, I’ve literally lived the wildfire situation my whole life with my dad, but my internal monologue did not get the memo.
She’s been all over the place, the finicky bitch, and as a result, I spent the majority of the weekend glued to the TV, trying to catch a glimpse of any tiny shred of information about the fire itself or the men out there fighting it.
I tried to convince myself that it’s my dad out there too, and it’s natural to be worried. But I have to admit, I’ve never been like this before. And he’s been doing this job since before I was born.
Thankfully, I can smell the coffee from the hallway as I approach the break room, so I know I’ll be able to down a cup quickly, just to regain some faculties, even if it’s absolute swill.
I’ll be concerned with the quality for the second cup, but now—now isn’t the time to be choosy.
I round the corner into the room, my laser beams engaged and zeroed in on the coffeepot in the corner.
That’s probably why when Rebecca speaks from the interior corner, a simple, “Hey, Lauren,” I startle so badly I almost fall down.
No joke, I think I may have hyperextended my knee.
“Ow, ow, ouch,” I say, hopping around like a one-legged bobcat.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Rebecca asks, concern making her put her own mug of coffee on the counter and shove away from it.
I hold up a hand. “I’m…okay. I think.” I test putting weight on the leg, and when it holds, I smile victoriously. “See? I’m fine. The leg works. We’re good,” I ramble.
Clearly, Rebecca doesn’t know what to say in return, so she just goes back to her abandoned mug, picks it up, and takes a swig.
I realize pretty quickly that the least awkward thing I can do is procure a mug of my own.
Standing straight, I go slowly, setting one foot in front of the other like a real live girl who’s walked before. My knee feels tender—I definitely tweaked it—but I don’t make any more ninety-degree turns toward the floor, so I count it as a win.
Rebecca clears her throat as I pull a mug down from the cabinet over the coffeemaker and set it on the counter to pour the liquid resuscitation.
What I don’t do is start pouring. I need to have both my eyes on the activity when I do it in order to avoid third-degree burns or something equally as tragic, and the sound that came out of Rebecca’s throat made it pretty clear she was after my attention.
Dr. Harbrook is demure—classy.
She isn’t the kind that would be clearing her throat to hock a loogie.
I turn to face her, and the inquisition in her eyes is playfully mischievous.
“What’s up?” I ask, casually terrified.
She smiles, biting into the flesh of her bottom lip with excitement. “Come on. You have to know I’ve been waiting in this break room for you for the last twenty minutes…”
My eyebrows draw together, and she rolls her eyes.
“Lauren! What happened with the guy?”
Oh my God. How did I forget she was there for the whole lunchtime encounter?
At the thought of Garrett, I smile; I can’t help it, and she launches forward like a lioness on its prey.
My hip bumps into the counter and the mug I just took out of the cabinet, and for the second time, I’m glad I didn’t go ahead and pour the coffee.
