I don’t remember this patient, but he reminds me of the shady IT guy who steals the dinosaur embryos inJurassic Park. Judging by his frosty reception, he’s probably one of the twenty-two complainants Dr. Srinivasan has heard from this month. I straighten to my full height. “Looking for Dr. Srinivasan—have you seen him?”
“Who?” The word punches out of the man’s mouth in that distinctly New Jersey way.
I clench my jaw. “Dr.… Appa.”
“Oh. Thegooddoctor. Yeah, he’s around here somewhere. Check inside.” The man sniffs. “Near thecheesecake.”
Ah. Diabetic Mr. Donahue. A giant brownie sits in front of him, and I glance at it pointedly, ignoring the kick of petulant hunger it causes in my own empty stomach, before resuming my search. But Dr. Srinivasan isn’t on the lawn, nor is he schmoozing with the unlikely mix of city council members and constituents on the front porch. I enter the house,looking for the so-calledgooddoctor who got too high to drive himself home.
“Dr. Srinivasan?” I call through the crowded living room.
“Babe,no!” a familiar voice shouts, then the room bursts into laughter. Spine tingling, I turn slowly and see approximately ten percent of the town’s D’Angelo population. Veronica’s laughing so hard, she’s dipped sideways into her sister Betty. Surrounding them are my cousins Frankie, Albert, Bianca, Gia, Adriana, and worst of all, the threeOhs: Marco, Aldo, and Ellio, who was named after a beloved frozen pizza brand. TheOhsand I used to play every day after school at Aunt Edna’s until they discovered pomade and girls and later formed their own janitorial services company and I went to medical school.
Veronica lightly dabs the laughter-tears away when she sees me. “Julie!” She frowns and grins at the same time, incredulous. “What’re you doing here?”
“Looking for Dr. Srinivasan.” I grit my jaw, preparing for the usual onslaught of family ribbing and knowing I’m too hangry to handle it well. My cousins exchange loaded glances but say nothing. “He texted that he needs a ride.”
Understanding washes over Veronica’s bronzed face, and maybe a touch ofoh, shit. After a second, she shoves a fishbowl full of cash at me. “Well, if you want to walk through the party, that’ll be twenty dollars.”
This party has acover charge? I start to argue, but my cousins are waiting to make fun of me for doing just that, so I whip out my wallet and deposit a twenty in the bowl, then stalk off.
I check the dining room next, then the kitchen, the hall, even a closet. I clench my fists to my sides, frustrated that I can’t find him and resentful to be surrounded by people having fun when I’m not and, more than anything,hungry. I work out too hard to weather calorie depletion this severe.
Worse, there’s a smorgasbord of baked goods in the middle of the dining room, arrayed in tantalizing heaps of simple carbohydrates glazedwith even simpler carbohydrates, with little artsy cards labeling each item. It seems to be an honest-to-goodness bake sale, which, weird. I hover in front of it, glowering at the bad decision I’m about to make to protect everyone here. They think I’m an asshole when fed? Ten more minutes of my plummeting blood sugar, and they’ll call the cops. I start to reach for a big, fudge-topped brownie when a plate of fulsome granola bars catches my eye. They’re the least tried item based on how tall the stack still is, but I can’t understand why. They’re thick and inviting, studded with raisins, pumpkin seeds, oats, and cashews with the sticky-sweet smell of fresh maple syrup lingering overhead. I squint at the card and read:Hemp Hemp Hooray! Protein Barsand exhale gratefully, reaching for one. Hemp seeds are a fantastic source of protein. There’s a suggested donation of ten dollars each for the food items, which is extortion, but I’m too hungry to put up a fight.
My teeth sink into the gooey granola bar, and an involuntary grunt issues from my mouth. Buttery with a touch of sweetness, the right balance of crunch and chew, infused with somethingtangythat I can’t place. It counters the sweet and salt perfectly. In three outrageous bites, I’ve finished the whole thing and feel immediately better. I happily plunk another ten-dollar bill in and eat a second one, which is even better than the first, somehow. There’s little bits of coconut, andahh, prunes? Is that the source of the delightful funky tang? Whoever made these is a genius.
My hand is reaching for athirdwhen I stop suddenly—I’m supposed to be doing something. I frown a bit. What is it? There’s a good, giddy feeling spooling through my whole body, making it hard to think. What am Iforgetting? My pulse speeds up uncomfortably. It feels important. What is it?
“Heyooo, Julie. Didja find Dr. Appa yet?” My cousin Marco appears next to me.
“That’sit!” I exhale heavily, then laugh as the mounting anxiety recedes within me like the tide. I pat Marco on the back, then lean in for a side hug, unaccountably grateful. “Thanks, man.”
Marco turns a puzzled face toward me as the hug continues. “Eh. Don’t mention it. Short guys are easy to lose in a party.”
I nod slowly. The wisdom of this statement isirrefutable.
Marco taps his chin, eyes darting between a sticky bun and a green-cream cannoli, then waves them off. “Ah, I better not.”
I point at the granola bars. “Those are the most delicious protein bars I’ve ever tasted. You’vegotto try one.”
Marco raises one thick, black eyebrow at me. It’s perfectly groomed, which started around the time he got his first serious girlfriend.
The thought plucks a note of melancholy in the center of my chest.
“I wish I had a girlfriend,” I murmur at the protein bars.
“D’jeet one of those?” Marco nudges me to bring me out of the mists of sadness that have claimed me as one of their wraiths.
“Huh?” It takes a second to translate the Jersey dialect—d’jeet, meaningdid you eat. I’m out of practice speaking my own language? Howsad. Everything is sosad. I clutch a hand to my chest. “Oh. Yeah. Two, actually.”
“Two?” Marco’s chin drops as both his brows lift high into his hairline. He’s got a great hairline, just like Uncle Rocco.
“You’re probably never going bald,” I muse.
Marco tips his head back and laughs so hard, it makes his chest rise up and down with eachhar, har, har. I watch it, mesmerized. It’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Now I’m laughing, staring down at my own chest. Am I doing it, too? Iam!
Marco slings an arm around my shoulders, little chuckles still rippling through him, and corrals me toward the backyard. “Come on, Julie. I’ll help you look for Dr. Appa.”
