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“Yeah, he came in and told Brock something about visiting someone. He and Donny are probably looking into it.”
“I should text Donny.”
“You can if you want. Why don’t you just try to relax a little in the cafeteria for a while?”
“What about Maddie’s Diet Coke?”
“We’ll bring it when we come back. In the meantime, if she gets too thirsty, she’ll get up and find a vending machine.”
“Rory, you’re not acting like yourself.”
“I’m not myself anymore. My father’s lying on some OR table with his chest cut open and his life in the hands of a bunch of doctors who don’t know him and don’t care about him. And I found out today…”
“What?”
“I’m not pregnant, Callie.”
“Is that good news or bad news?”
I sigh. “Honestly? Both. Brock wasn’t ready for a baby, even if I was. But there was never a baby to begin with, so why did we worry?”
“It’s okay to feel a loss,” Callie says.
“What loss, though? I was never pregnant. It’s not like I had a miscarriage.”
We find the cafeteria and enter. The food service area is closed, but self-service is open. I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator unit and then a bottle of Diet Coke for Maddie.
“Do you feel like eating anything?” Callie asks.
“Not even slightly.”
“Neither do I, but we should. It will help the sick feeling.”
“Will it though?” I ask.
“One way to find out.” Callie walks up to one of the self-service shelves and grabs a couple of granola bars. “What do you want?”
“That’s a loaded question, Cal.”
“All right, let me bring it into context. What do you want from the shelf?”
I walk over next to her, grab a package of cupcakes. “This, I guess.”
“Sugar high. Good call.”
Callie grabs a Diet Coke for herself as well, and we pay for the items and find a quiet table. I open my package of cupcakes—the chocolate kind with squiggly white icing on top—and take a bite. Chocolate sawdust. Yum.
“Who do you think Lamone is here to see?” Callie asks.
“Hell if I know. At this point, Cal, I don’t give a shit about him anymore. Let him try to publish my pictures. I don’t give a flying fuck.”
“Rory, you don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I? With Dad up in the OR with his heart in some stranger’s hands, do naked photos of me really even matter?”
“Change of trajectory,” Callie says, “because we need to stay positive. Tell me something good. Tell me something that makes you happy. Anything.”
“Brock. Brock makes me happy. Brock loves me and I love him.”
