Fools Rush in(48)
2. Cook.
3. Sponge mop kitchen floor if needed.
4. Set table.
5. Shower/hair/makeup/clothes.
Now, what to cook, what to cook? The ever-important first meal I would cook for my boyfriend. Because, after Friday night, I think I could definitely consider myself Joe’s Girlfriend.
Having learned many painful lessons about ingredient substitutions, I knew that I would have to follow directions meticulously. I wanted to find something delicious, not so hard as to cause mayhem and despair, but difficult enough to impress subtly. Not too garlicky, I thought, rejecting all things Italian. Perhaps something that could stay in the oven warming, like a casserole. But not a casserole. Too mom-ish. Hmm. Hmm. Nothing too cliché, too old ladyish, too spicy, too bland or too messy.
After poring over my three cookbooks for a couple hours, I finally decided on the following meal to win Joe’s heart via the gastric route: mixed green salad with raspberry vinaigrette, shrimp étouffée over rice, broiled summer squash and zucchini with parmesan, finished off with blueberry pie.
Joe loved shrimp, as I had witnessed many times at restaurants over the years. The summer squash-zucchini thing would be nice, since it was seasonal and colorful and the pie…well, what man doesn’t love blueberry pie? All in all, I didn’t think those dishes would be too hard. After I read and reread the recipes, I decided the only thing I might have trouble with was the pie crust.
But never fear! My mom was a master baker, and I imagined she’d love helping me put a pie together. I gave her a call, and sure enough, she was delighted to be needed.
Though it was now after eight o’clock, I popped a Tom Petty CD into the stereo and set to work, cleaning, scouring, chiseling the mysterious charred remains of some long-ago dinner from the bottom of the oven. I threw the curtains in to wash and assessed my napkin and place-mat options. Clearly I would have to buy more…would I have time for a quick trip to Sleet’s Hardware, where all the really nice kitchen stuff was sold?
It was after midnight when I finally went to bed, but I was pleased that everything was going according to plan. Just as I started to doze off, I jolted awake with an unpleasant thought…work! Shit! I would have to take off work, because clearly I wouldn’t be able to get everything done otherwise. A guilty wave cramped my stomach. I was a doctor, after all, and calling out so I could prepare for a date was just awful. Stupid. Moronic.
However…it was just once. The means to an end. I deserved to have a life, right? I had vacation time. And it wasn’t like patients were asking for me in particular. Granted, I wasn’t giving a lot of notice, but Cape Cod Hospital would send another doctor up to cover for me. Juanita had said so at the orientation.
Telling my conscience to take the night off, I focused on Joe. Once we were an established couple, I wouldn’t have to go to these lengths anymore. It was just this once. I stuffed the guilt into the dirty-laundry area of my soul and moved on.
I would have to call Juanita. I got up, fumbled in my desk and located her card, then taped it to my phone so I’d remember to call her first thing. Luckily, Dr. Bala was scheduled for the second shift tomorrow. I’d try to leave early, and definitely would have to take Friday and Saturday off…. Saturday, because I might be dressed in only a sheet with the object of my love in bed next to me, and obviously I wouldn’t want to be dashing off to work. As I got back into bed, I went over my conversation with Juanita in my head.
“Hi, Juanita, it’s Dr. Barnes from the clinic…I’m making dinner for my boyfriend and need a few days off.”
Hmm. Though it was the truth, it lacked a certain something. Maturity, perhaps?
“Hi, Juanita, it’s Dr. Barnes. I have a slight emergency here and can’t come in to work for a couple of days.”
No. Growing up Catholic, I was taught not to say such things, because God would be irritated with my lie and make it true. Now, as an almost thirty-year-old adult, I could intellectually dismiss this argument—God wasn’t hanging around waiting for me to tell a lie so He could strike me down—but just in case God was having a slow day, I figured I should work on something else.
“Hi, Juanita, Millie Barnes. I’ve had something unexpected come up here and need to take Friday and Saturday off.”
That was more like it. Not a lie, not full disclosure. Inspiration struck: I would call her now and leave a message on her voice mail! That way (A) it would seem urgent, as it was now one in the morning, and (B) I wouldn’t have to talk to her. Brilliant. I got up yet again, made the call, and finally padded back to bed.
The next day I set about accomplishing the items on my agenda. After work, I bought groceries, stopping at no fewer than four markets in all (basic food, liquor, seafood, farmers). Once back home, I stashed the food and decided I had time for a quick run. I pulled on an old T-shirt (Guinness for Health) and began stretching the way Sam had taught me. At the thought of my brother-in-law, I sighed.
It was hard to accept that he and Katie wouldn’t be a couple, and yet, a small, selfish pleasure glowed in the knowledge that he remained unattached. Sam had a way of making people feel so enjoyed somehow—myself most definitely included. All through those long, miserable adolescent years, I’d always felt good around Sam, never awkward, never unattractive, just welcomed and funny and smart.
Would I ever be able to feel that way with Joe? As thrilling as it was to be near the Golden One, dancing through my self-created hoops was a little difficult. Still, my Joe strategies were working—this would be my third date with him in a week. The power of research, I commended myself. The naturalness would doubtlessly come with time.