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But it fades, and then her expression turns sad again, and she rips another sliver off the paper towel she’s slowly turning into confetti. “So, you’re saying you question stuff about your life, too?”
I finish off my brownie and sip my milk. “Yeah.”
“Like what?”
“Like going all in on med school. It requires you to ignore life for a big chunk of time. I put my head down and did the work, and I’m glad to have the job I do. But part of me questions what life would be like if I didn’t sink all those years into my profession.”
“What do you think you missed out on?”
“My twenties, basically.”
Her eyes dart against mine, looking to see if I’m joking.
“I’m serious,” I tell her. “Not trying to be dramatic or anything, but you asked.”
“Dang. That’s heavy. A whole decade…”
I shrug. I’ve gotten used to the state of my life, and it doesn’t bother me to say the facts aloud. Actually, it’s a relief.
“I guess there are pros and cons to everything,” I say. “It’s like I said, we make the best decisions we know how to. I really am glad I’m a doctor. Yeah, I don’t know how to fly fish and I missed my dad’s fiftieth birthday party. I’m not married, no kids, and I barely know how to sand a banister. But I get to help people. Like stressed-out film writers.”
She nods. “Youdidgive me sage advice. But am I going to be able to follow it? That’s a different question. I’ve tried meditating. It always makes me hungry.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Like, I sit down and then about two minutes later I think,Hm. I could use a snack.Then I spend the rest of the time figuring out what I’m going to eat.”
“Okay, so you’re not on track to be a Buddhist monk. How about walking?”
“Oh, Outlaw and I did that today. Invigorating, yes. Relaxing? No way.” She sips her milk. “Hey, what about you? Have you checked your blood pressure lately? Maybe you can figure out all the relaxation hacks and pass them on to me. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
“Unfortunately, I have no hacks to pass on. My carpentry projects help, but I’m not in the clear. Still mildly hypertensive. Maybe this is how it starts. Soon we’ll both be pushing around walkers.”
“Hey, speak for yourself, Old Man Landry. I refuse to begin my decline when I haven’t even hit my stride yet.” She bites her lip, then stares down at her pile of confetti and pushes it away from her. “I won’t give in. Yet.”
“You have that look. The one you get when you’re coming up with a plan.”
She stays silent. That’s another clear sign she’s in planning mode.
I keep mum, giving her time to think.
When she meets my eye, her green irises look mischievous. She’s going to dare me to do something—I can feel it.
“What if…” She narrows her eyes. “No. You’re going to think this is stupid. Then again, you were the one who started it in the first place. And you did own Kermit the Frog slippers…”
“Now I know what you’re thinking.”
Checkers.
She’s thinking about our weekly game. And if the glint in her eye means what I think it means, she’s imagining a big comeback.
“Where?” I ask.
“The diner. It closes at eight p.m. on Friday evenings. We could use it after hours. People could play in the booths.”
“Board gamesdoencourage mindfulness,” I say. “They require the player to be present. Easier than meditating, which is difficult for the untrained snackaholic.”
She reaches for another brownie. “Who you callin’ a snackaholic?”
