Page 101 of The Thought of You

“I’m not surprised you can’t chew and talk at the same time.” Laurel swipes at the sleeve of her shirt. “You got tomato sauce on me.”

“Relax. What do you even need real clothes for? You live in nothing but scrubs.”

“When I’m a doctor, I’ll wear mostly scrubs, but there are so many things to do before then. I have to—” Laurel holds up her fingers as if to start listing all the things, but Lottie and Whitney cut her off.

“Please don’t start.” Whitney groans. “I did not sleep enough last night to hear your long list of words I’ve never heard of.”

“Besides,” Lottie cuts in. “We’ve heard it all before. I’d rather hear from Addie.” She pins her gaze on me.

“Hmm?” I swallow the last bite of my lasagna after having inhaled the delicious dish with the gusto of three sumo wrestlers. I was positively starving.

“Do you like to paint?” Lottie asks.

“I’ve never really painted, unless you count the finger-painting assignments we were given as kids.” I smile.

“What about pottery? Do you like pot?” Whitney pales. “Oh my gosh—I didn’t mean that. I was just?—”

“We know, sweetie,” Mrs. Conrad says, swooping in to put her youngest at ease.

“I haven’t tried that, either.” I frown.

“What do you do for fun? Gardening, perhaps?” This comes from Mrs. Conrad, and I stare a beat before I realize I don’t have much of an answer.

“I’ve never had much of a green thumb, not like my mom. When she stays in one place, anyway.” I clear my throat and quickly bypass my unintentional mention of Rain. “I guess I don’t have much time for fun. I’m always busy grading papers and volunteering at the dance studio.”

“She’s a phenomenal dancer,” Owen announces.

“That’s one skill I so wish I had,” Lottie laments.

I smile softly. “I do like to dance, but I mainly just practice once a week. I used to do it more, but like I said, I guess I just got busy.”

“Busy is good.” Laurel nods. “I am happiest when my schedule is packed. Makes me feel productive and useful.”

“You have no life,” Lottie jabs, then widens her eyes at me. “Not that you don’t have a life, either.”

“You’re kind of right, though.” I shrug and attempt to appear unaffected, but in truth, I am. It’s not because of Lottie’s joke, but because my life has been loaded with appointments and opportunities to get myself to where I’m going professionally.

What about my personal life? What about fun? I hang out with my friends and attend karaoke nights on Sundays, but those aren’t hobbies or pastimes just for myself.

The only thing I’ve done for myself recently is book a spa appointment out of town and sleep with my co-worker, neither of which I regret.

I should do more of those things, but I should also adopt a hobby.

As the conversation continues, I drift into the rhythm of their back and forth, as if I come to all their family dinners. Mrs. Conrad insists I call her Dorothy, and Mr. Conrad shares stories of my own father.

According to him, they were friends in high school, but I’ve never heard my dad mention him. It’s not too surprising, though. When we do get together, which becomes rarer and rarer every year, Dad mostly asks about me and my life. He’ll occasionally mention what new hobby his wife has undertaken and conquered, but he keeps his personal life under lock and key.

After we all devour a slice of pumpkin pie, I rise, my stomach full and satisfied. “I’ll get started on the dishes,” I offer, but Dorothy playfully swats my hand away.

“You’ll do no such thing.” She holds a finger up. “The Conrad Rule is that I cook, but the host washes the dishes.”

“And if we’re eating at Mom’s, Dad’s in charge of the dishes,” Whitney adds.

Bill takes a mini bow in his seat, and I nudge Owen in the shoulder, my smile widening as I say, “I like this rule. Lucky, lucky Owen.”

“I’m about to get lucky,” he whispers, coughing on the last word, and I glare.

I skim the room to confirm no one heard him, then mouth to him, “What is wrong with you?”

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