I am cracking and I want to flee, but I still have to talk to Dr. McCormick before I leave. I have a plan for community engagement (Phase II) that will knock his socks off. I’ve planned a time to talk to him alone, near the end of the workday, because I am a coward.
At 5:58 PM, I tug open my office door and look to the left to see if Lucas is still here. His office door is closed, but the sight does little to calm my nerves. I tiptoe out into the hallway—carefully sidestepping the spot where the incident happened—and then I knock on Dr. McCormick’s door. He’s transcribing notes into his ancient computer but welcomes me in with a mustached-smile and an exaggerated wave.
“Heading out for the day?”
“In a second.” I smile and hold up another bag of cookies. “I wanted to give you these before you left.”
His eyes light up at the perfect blend of cinnamon and sugar. “More snickerdoodles?”
“My mom’s recipe,” I gloat. “I told her I needed to butter you up, and she said she knew just the recipe.”
I swear he blushes. “There’s a reason that woman was the top fundraiser at the Hamilton High bake sale while you were in school. I think I’ve purchased every damn doodle she’s ever baked.”
Yes. I remember.
He tears open the bag as soon as I bring it within reach and I use the opportunity to launch into my well-rehearsed speech.
“So I’ve been thinking about what you said the other week, about community engagement, and well, I took the initiative and booked a booth at Hamilton Founder’s Day Fair next Saturday. It’s up at the high school. We can do free blood pressure and BMI checks, low-cost flu shots, that sort of thing.”
He leans back in a chair so worn I fear it will keep tipping until he’s on the ground. Somehow, it stops just before he’s horizontal. He points at me with his half-eaten cookie and nods. “That’s fantastic. Our office hasn’t sponsored a booth like that in ages. It’s just the sort of thing I was looking for.” I beam, but then Dr. McCormick ruins my moment. “You’ll both go.”
“Oh.” I shake my head vehemently. “That’s not necessary. The fair really isn’t all that big. I’m more than capable of manning the booth all on my own.”
His gaze falls to my cast for only a brief moment, but it’s still long enough to tell me he doesn’t think I can manage the booth without Lucas’ help. If I could, I would gnaw the cast off with my teeth just to prove my capability.
“Oh I know you can, but I think it’s best if you both go,” he repeats, closing the discussion. “I trust you’ll give him all the details.”
And like that, my genius idea is splintered in two. I saunter out, dejected at the thought of having to share the booth with Lucas. Even on the way home, the promise of fried chicken can’t lift my spirits.
“I’ll just eat a salad,” I tell my mom.
She slams on the brakes and then threatens to drive me to the hospital for a checkup. I lie about having had a hearty lunch. Then, I zip my lips. I don’t trust myself; I fear thoughts about Lucas will slip out without my approval. I KISSED HIM, I shout in my head. Fortunately, she doesn’t push the issue. Even when she’s shampooing my hair in the sink later, she steers the conversation toward fluff.
“Did Dr. McCormick like the cookies?”
“He loved them.”
“Oh?”
She’s fishing.
“He raved about them. I’ve never seen him so happy,” I continue.
She glows, my exaggeration doing nothing to dilute the compliment.
“Mom, you’re getting shampoo in my eyes.”
“Oh! There—better?”
“No. Ow! Stop poking my eye with the towel.”
This is how my week has gone. First, the intrusive thoughts. Then, Dr. McCormick forces me to share. Now, I’m treated to melted corneas. My flimsy rock bottoms just keep giving way to deeper, darker depths. While Lucas is walking on clouds, I am a hundred miles below the Earth’s crust.
It isn’t until Madeleine’s call Wednesday afternoon that I’m reminded of the real rock bottom waiting for me. I am at a seafood buffet for a Hamilton Singles event. All you can eat, all you can meet. There is a bevy of both shrimp and men. So far, the former has held the lion’s share of my attention.
“Any good prospects?” Madeleine asks.
“Personally, I’m enjoying the coconut-crusted. Oh, and the scampi.”
“Human prospects, Daisy. Put the shrimp down, already.”
“Look Madeleine, the way I see it, I might meet a great guy tonight, but these shrimp are a sure thing. Take that guy there, he’s put away at least four plates. He’s getting his money’s worth.”
“Well for one, you’re a fifth of his size. Two, I think he’s under the impression that this is a speed-eating event.”
“Maybe we’re soulmates,” I croon. I am the heart-eyes emoji.
Madeleine has had enough of me. I know because she takes my plate and hands it off to a pimpled waiter with an exasperated sigh.
“There’s a nice guy who’s been asking about you. He’s over by the soft-serve machine.”
She nods in his direction and I get a wink and a smile from the lonely cowboy. Instead of a six-shooter, he’s holding a child-sized sugar cone. It ruins the appeal.