“Mom, I’ve got to go. I’m working.”
“When are younotworking?”
“Love you too,” I said. “Give my best to George.” I hung up and shoved the phone into the pocket of my scrubs.
“Mommy dearest?” Peyton asked as she came into the staff room.
“Yup.” I rubbed the spot above my left brow. I hadn’t needed that conversation after the week I’d just had. I hadn’t slept well in days. Even though I’d climb into bed exhausted, my mind didn’t play by the same rules as my body. Instead, I lay awake, my head full of thoughts of Boxer, churning like the drum of a washing machine.
He’d kissed me and then ghosted me.
And I was stupid enough to admit that it annoyed me.
More than annoyed me.
I sat down on a couch in the lounge and opened my plastic container. “Dang, I forgot a fork. Will you hand me one, please?”
Peyton went to the drawer and pulled out plastic silverware. She came over and plopped down next to me to peer into my container. “What did you bring?”
“Italian.”
“Yum.” She looked me up and down. “When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”
I paused with the fork halfway to my mouth.
“If you have to think about it, it’s been too long. Come over to my house. I’ll cook for you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, eating a bite of cold lasagna.
“You didn’t even bother heating that up,” she said with a rueful shake of her head. “It’s also much more fun to cook for two, so you’d be doing me a favor.”
I swallowed and then nodded. “Then I’d be glad to accept your invitation. Can I bring the wine at least?”
Peyton smiled. “Absolutely.”
I looked down at the food in the plastic container. It was cheap. Disposable. I’d throw it away after a few uses because it would inevitably stain from oils in sauces and stews.
Why did I feel a kinship with a dumb plastic container?
“Linden?” Peyton asked.
“Huh?” I looked up at her.
“Are you okay? You tuned out for a second.”
“Do you ever reevaluate your life?” I asked.
She looked at me. “Reevaluate how?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” I forced a grin and went back to eating.
“It’s notnothing, never mind.”
My pager vibrated against my hip, and I looked at it. “I’ve got a consult in the ER. Gotta go.” I shoved my lasagna at her. “You finish it. You’re practically drooling over it anyway.”
She grinned. “I’ll eat it, but we’re not done with this conversation.”
“After a bottle of wine, I’ll spill my guts,” I assured her.