I turn toward the voice and a young woman in uniform points to the two-quart Rubbermaid clutched to my bosom. I twist away a little, but the sauce sloshes and she lifts her brows.
“Very little sauce. Mostly meat,” I lie. These are the sauciest.
“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to dump those in?—”
“I can’t! I need them for—I’m anemic! Low iron.”
Shit. People are now staring. The TSA guard pulls her walkie from her waist and goes to lift it to her mouth. I imagine five officers yanking the meatballs from my frozen grip, searching my cavities for smuggled extras.
“Ok. Ok. I’ll dump it,” I tell her as she presses the button, the static from her walkie pushing me toward the trash can. I could just eat one before I go. I turn to the person beside me and whisper, “Do you have a fork?”
The woman pulls her kids behind her and steps away from me.
Just dump the meatballs, Devon. Let them go.
Better now than later.
I pop off the lid and give them one last look, turn my face away, and drop them into the depths of the shiny black plastic-lined bin.
J.J.—formerly Dr. Hotass—formerly formerly Dr. Dick
J.J.—formerly Dr. Hotass—formerly formerly Dr. Dick: I know you said no contact, but I wanted to let you know I’ll be in Philly this weekend to pack up.
Brunch at Traversa on Saturday at eleven with Mer and Kev.
Then the ED ward in the afternoon with Syd. I’m taking her for dinner after.
I know Syd would love it if you could come.
I’d like it, too.
…
Chapter Forty-Five
Jeff
Lesson 46: Never underestimate the wrath of a loyal teen.
Sydney is so angry at me that she’s barely touched the sourdough grilled cheese hiding in the basket of fries before her.
“How can two highly educated adults be so stupid? Masters plus doctorate equals pair of dumdums.”
I let her rant and take a sip of my water as she twists at her eyebrow ring. Her hair is a new shade of red, a deep rich crimson that makes everyone passing our table glance her way. She never glances back.
“I don’t know, Syd. People get hurt and then they shut down. Defense mechanisms and all that.”
I reach for a fry in her basket and she smacks my hand away.
“You need to text her again. This is the last time you’ll be in Philly and she needs to get her ass in here and say goodbye,” sherants. “And she’s been ghosting me all week. Tell her that she doesn’t get to break up with me, too.”
I shrug and she sighs, lifts her sandwich to her mouth, and takes a huge bite. A line of cheese drips down her chin and she swipes it away with her napkin, then continues to glare at me.
“We had our goodbye and I can’t text her again. Once was already an infraction to her no contact rule. And I’m sure she’ll text you as soon as she can. We aren’t having a custody battle over you,” I say, attempting a small smile. It hurts my mouth, so I stop. It’s like Devon took that with her, too.
My apartment on Washington Square is entirely cleared out. My patients are divvied up and under the care of capable interns and residents. Syd and I made our rounds at the children’s hospital ED ward—sans Devon of course. Mer and Kev agreed not to mention her again when I threatened to leave Traversa today. They have booked flights out to visit in June and we’ve said our goodbye-for-nows. All the loose ends are tied and knotted. It’s like I was never even here.
The drive back to Chicago is going to be a bitch—alone with my thoughts of her. I downloaded all of the lectures in the Dr. Basantis series Devon had me listening to. That should help me keep my mind off of her.
