Page 45 of Not My Finest Hour

“Not yet. He needs to hear it first.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t eat?”

“No, I didn’t. I kept waiting for him to show up, and when he didn’t, I didn’t want to be the sad girl eating by herself, so I left.”

“Okay, I’m making you dinner then. What do you want?”

“Carbs, and lots of them,” I say with a smile, the first time I’ve smiled all day.

Fern answers my call for carbs, and in less than thirty minutes, a bowl of steaming pasta is put in front of me.

I look down at the bowl, then look up at her. “You made pepperoni pasta?” She nods. “I haven’t had this in ages.”

In front of me is a bowl of elbow macaroni with tomato sauce, pepperoni, and melted mozzarella cheese. It’s nothing special, and probably something a five-year-old would come up with. But it’s total comfort food and right now that’s what I need. It’s something we used to make as kids because it was the one meal we could make for ourselves without screwing it up.

“I thought you could use it,” she says, assuming her position on the couch.

“Thank you, really,” I say, my gaze meeting hers. “This is exactly what I need.”

She shrugs. “What are big sisters for?”

Halfway through my bowl of pasta, there’s a knock on the door. Fern stares at me, waiting for me to get up and answer it.

“It’s probably for you anyway,” she says. “It wouldn’t be Brett because he’s out of town this weekend.”

“Fine,” I say, setting my bowl down. “I’ll get it.”

Sure enough, when I open the door, it’s Justin on my front porch. In one hand, he’s got a bouquet of flowers, and in the other, a pint of ice cream. I try to keep a straight face, but this gesture is just too sweet. But before I let him in, he needs to explain himself.

“I’m sorry the flowers aren’t the best, but at this time of night, it’s all I could get. And I figured you would’ve had dinner already, but I was banking on you not having dessert.”

I don’t say anything and make no move to let him in. Just to make sure he knows how annoyed I am, I cross my arms over my chest.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he says, the expression on his face looking somber. With his hunched shoulders and weary eyes, he looks tired and spent. But I’ve also had a rough day, with mine being more of a mental stress. “We had a very long and complicated delivery at the hospital, several of them actually. It hasn’t been a great day, but that’s no excuse for not responding. I should’ve at least sent a text.”

“Well, you’d better come in before that ice cream starts to melt. I can’t bear the thought of wasted ice cream,” I say, a small smile touching my lips.

He wraps his arms around me, still holding the flowers and ice cream. I feel him relax when he’s holding me, like he’s relieved, and this hug is the best thing to happen to him all day. When he lets me go, I take the ice cream and put it in the freezer. He follows me in the kitchen and hands over the flowers once I find a vase.

“So, tell me, how terrible was it at the restaurant? How long did you end up waiting?”

“A little over an hour.”

His face falls instantly, and he shakes his head in disgust. “I’m so sorry. I hate that you waited that long. It’s my fault. I should’ve stepped away to text you.”

I don’t have it in me to be mad anymore. I knew going into this relationship that his residency would keep him busy and have him working long, odd hours sometimes. I just have to remember that it’s not forever. “I’m over it. Sure, it was more than a little awkward sitting by myself at a table for that long, and probably all the staff pitied me, but things happen.” I walk by and motion for him to follow. “Come back to my bedroom. I have some news I need to share with you.”

He follows me back to my bedroom, and I have him sit down on my bed while I stand. I’m too nervous to sit and end up pacing back and forth.

“How’s Jack doing?” I ask. The day that Justin had to leave to go to the hospital, he told me later in the day that Jack had just sprained his ankle. There was some bruising on his back and legs, but no broken bones. He’s lucky because with his age, it could’ve been much worse.

“He’s doing better. He’s able to put a little pressure on his ankle now, so he’s making progress.”

“That’s good. Are you going to have to go back up there soon?” I’m stalling. I know it, and judging by the expectant look on Justin’s face, he knows it too.

He shakes his head. “No, my mom can handle it from here.” He pats the spot on the bed next to him. “Will you sit down next to me? You look nervous, and it’s making me nervous.”

I sit down, but my leg starts bouncing, all my nervous energy needing someplace to go. I take a deep breath, and open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

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