Page 59 of Still The One

After a few more questions, I stand in the middle of our nurses' station, with mostly empty patient rooms all around the big rectangular desk.

'Attention, co-workers!' I say, clapping my hands. Since I seem to be the talk of the ER, I feel like I should kill this rumor now. 'Please, keep your gifts.' I toss the cash donated onto the counter before me. 'Genevieve here' – I ‘accidentally’ whack her on the back of her head, causing her coffee to drip from her mouth and dribble down her front – 'forgot one teeny tiny word when discussing my situation without my permission:ex. Foster is myex-husband.'

'Your ex? Why you taking care of him then?' Catalina asks, clearly confused.

'Yeah, Eve, why not kick him to the curb?' Gen asks, getting back at me for the slight violence.

'Because at one time, I loved this man enough to marry him, and that seems important,' I huff.

'Do you still love him?' Chris asks, as if any of this is any of their business.

'I—'

Do I?

Noooo.

'She hesitated!' Catalina exclaims, pointing my way. 'You love him.'

‘I don’t know what I feel for him, but it’s not love.’

‘You sure about that?’ Gen asks, looking up at me with puppy dog eyes, insinuating love is my exact emotion. ‘You did just take off weeks to pamper him.’

‘There has been no pampering. And yes, I’m crystal clear in how I feel about Foster. We are just friends. So, can we move on now?’

My co-workers all watch me momentarily, and then just like a flip was switched, they go about their business, pretending none of it happened. Thank God.

‘Honey, I’m ho—’ I stop midway through the door, smelling something far better than the tuna melt I had for lunch in the hospital cafeteria.

When I spot Foster, he’s standing in my kitchen, unbagging Chinese food containers onto the counter with one hand. Phil’shot pink floral print leggings on Foster make me laugh. I bet he’ll be glad to be home and wearing his own clothes.

‘What’s this?’ I ask, confused.

‘It’s your first day back at work and I didn’t want you to have to worry about feeding me. So I ordered in.’

‘You ordered in?’ I repeat his words, setting my bag near the front door and meandering into the kitchen. ‘Dinner?’

He nods proudly. ‘And dessert.’ He points to the pink bakery box, still unopened. ‘And wine.’ His gaze moves to my sink that he’s filled with ice currently chilling two bottles of rosé. ‘That Instacart makes life too easy.’

‘Wow,’ I say, legitimately surprised. ‘No one ever does this for me. Usually, I walk into an empty apartment.’

He nods, a frown on his face. ‘I figured as much, but after what you’ve done for me, this is the least I can do.’

Is this what just friends do? Sure, I’ve had dinner at Kait’s or Phil’s dozens of times, but they’ve never shown up at my apartment while I’m at work to make my night easier. I don’t really know what to say about this.

‘You kept up on your meds today?’ I ask.

‘I did. Actually, I missed the first dose ’cause I slept through my alarm, but I realized my pain wasn’t as bad even being late, so I’m dialing back the morphine because I feel pretty good. Obviously, not good as new’ – he motions to his arm still strapped to his chest in the sling – ‘but better.’

With my help, we get the takeout boxes, a bottle of wine (and a single glass for me), and the box of doughnuts to the coffee table where we each grab a set of chopsticks and choose an entrée of the many he ordered.

‘How was your day?’ he asks.

‘Myday?’ I ask, like there’s anyone else in the room he could be talking to. I heave a sigh. ‘Long, chaotic and annoying.’

He raises a single eyebrow curiously. ‘Is that normal?’

I shake my head. ‘My friend Genevieve – you guys have never met – “accidentally” told everyone I’ve been home taking care of my injured husband.’

---