Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Dr. Lane?” The voice of the senior doorman in my building wakes me from my cough-syrup-induced haze, and I realize I had answered my vibrating phone.
I don’t remember picking it up and doing so, but my body was probably moving instinctually. I blink my eyes open slowly as the twilight peeks through my half-drawn curtains in my bedroom.
“Yes, sorry, hello, Mr. Stanley. I’m here.” My voice sounds almost as bad as I’ve felt the last few days.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am. I have a food delivery here for you, but the restaurant didn’t know your condo number. Did you order something?”
Food order? I didn’t order anything, but the thought of food—especially some soup—makes my stomach growl for the first time in two days.
“Sorry, Mr. Stanley, I think they have the wrong…” Address? But they don’t have my condo number. “Where is the order from?”
I hear Mr. Stanley say something to someone else before he speaks. “It’s from Spoon and Smash, ma’am.”
My favorite spot? Well, maybe in my haze I did order something, but that is quite alarming if I have no memory of it whatsoever.
I need to drink a large glass of water and eat some solid food.
“Right, sorry, I must be confused from the cough medicine. I’ll accept the delivery. Did they need me to sign anything?” I try to suppress the cough unsuccessfully that breaks through.
“The Spoon and Smash delivery driver said everything was taken care of. I can run this up to your door if you aren’t feeling well, Dr. Lane.”
The fact that this order is coming directly from the restaurant makes me feel a little more comfortable about it, but I’m still completely confused.
Mr. Stanley delivers the soup with a soft knock, and I thank him before sitting at my kitchen island to open the delivery bag.
Inside is a bowl of my favorite chicken and rice soup, one of their famous baguettes, which is somehow still warm from their oven and smelling like heaven, along with one of their homemade dessert bars.
On the packaging slip is a note with a phone number below it: “It’s not homemade, but I promise it’s better than anything I could make you. Hope you feel better soon. Ryan”
…Ryan?
The only Ryan I can think of that would do this is Ryan Callahan, but … why would he send me food from one of my favorite restaurants while I was home sick? How did he know I was sick—or where I lived?
What is happening right now?
Forcing myself to not overthink this to death, and grateful I don’t have the energy to dissect all of this, I lean into my instincts and grab my cell, typing out a message quickly.
Me
Hi, Ryan. I just received a very sweet and thoughtful delivery. How did you know I was home sick?
Ryan
Hi, Harlow. Glad it arrived. Walker mentioned it this morning when he had to reschedule our lunch date. I thought it might be helpful for you not to have to cook so you can just focus on healing.
Me
It’s very helpful and kind. Thank you.
Helpful, yes. Foreign concept … also, yes.
No one has ever taken care of me like that when I was home ill, maybe a nanny when I was a young child, but I can’t recall.
When I was nine years old, I needed to have my tonsils removed, and my mother was livid that I needed surgery when she had planned to attend fashion week.
We lived in New York City, so she didn’t need to travel, but it would have interrupted her plans.
I overheard her tell her friends that I had insisted she still go and I would be fine with the nanny to look after me and how proud she was of me for being so mature.
I was nine.
I didn’t want to be mature. I wanted to be taken care of.
Thankfully, the nanny at the time was a nicer one compared to some of the others, but she couldn’t hide the disgust on her face at my mother leaving me in the hands of someone else’s care when I required surgery.
My father could have stepped up, but his standard excuse was that childcare wasn’t really his thing.
No, Ward Lane’s thing was much more aligned with any social event or high-profile activity where he could be seen and adored for all the wonderful things he and my mother do for others.
I grew up with very philanthropic and financially generous parents. However, it was never from a pure motive, but rather much more done so that others could see and praise them. It was social capital.
It would have been nice if they actually cared about causes outside of themselves, or—heaven forbid—their own child.
Ward and Astor loved to talk about their child prodigy and how proud they were, but they were always quite bothered if anything scheduled in my life disrupted theirs.
Award ceremonies? They loved them. Study sessions that I needed rides to when I was a child?
Extremely annoying. It bothered them so much that I had my own driver by the time I was eight, not because of a status or security issue, but because it was easier for my parents, who didn’t work or have professional obligations outside of the home.
As an adult myself, I cannot fathom expecting a child, let alone my own child, to be carted around one of the largest cities in the world with a driver and their nanny.
I shake my head slightly to pull me out of the thoughts and back to my texting conversation with Ryan.
Ryan
Hope I didn’t overstep, but you did say it was your favorite.
Me
You didn’t overstep. It’s just a bit of a foreign concept for me.
Ryan
Having someone send you food when you’re sick is a foreign concept… or someone being helpful toward you outside of needing something from you?
Me
…Is it terrible if I say both?
Ryan
It’s not terrible if it’s the truth. But if it is true, get comfortable with the idea.
Me
Of soup arriving at my door?
Ryan
Of someone wanting to help you, just because you’re you and you need it.
Me
That ‘need’ word is a big one for me.
Ryan
I get it, and we can call it something else, but if I see you need something and I can help, then that’s what I’m going to do.
Me
Can I ask why?
Ryan
You can ask, I don’t know if I have the answer quite yet. But we can start with that’s what friends do?
Me
Are we friends?
Ryan
Oh, that feels like a very low bar. At the very least, we are absolutely friends, Harlow Lane.
Me
You full-named me.
Ryan
Wouldn’t that have a G in it?
Me
You’ve seen my business card, huh?
Ryan
Actually, the nameplate on your door at the office.
Ryan
What does the G stand for? Gabrielle? Gwyneth? Goldilocks?… The last one would be entirely ironic with how dark your hair is.
Me
It’s Gisela, but actually, I legally have two middle names. I just don’t use the second one. Dr. Harlow G. M. Lane just felt pretentious… and a bit like an auto dealership.
I stir the soup to allow it to cool down a bit more and can’t help but touch my cheek with my fingers.
I’m smiling.
It’s not a big goofy smile, but this gesture and texting conversation is refreshing and … nice.
He’s nice.
A bit bossy, but in a nice way.
And I don’t think I mind that as much as I would have expected.
Ryan
There might be a joke in there about you missing your calling as an auto dealership tycoon, but it doesn’t work so well with the fact you’re like a real-life superhero already. Pretty hard to top that one.
Me
lol hardly a superhero, sir. No, maybe like their sidekick that does that data work at headquarters.
Ryan
Hey now, don’t insult nerds. I love nerds.
Me
Is it because you are, in fact, a nerd yourself?
Ryan
Are you shrinking me right now, Doc?
Me
I should say never, but I can’t always turn it off.
Ryan
Fair enough—and yes, I’m a nerd too. It’s one of the reasons you like me so much.
I laugh out loud and have to cover my mouth when it turns into a cough.
I am forced to step away from the counter and refill my tumbler with fresh ice water.
The flu sucks, but at least my cough seems better today than yesterday.
A few sips of cold water and I pick up my phone to respond, only to see that my brief absence was noticed.
Ryan
Was that too much?
Ryan
Did I lose you?
Me
No, sorry, I was literally laughing out loud, and it turned into a cough attack.
Ryan
Are you ok? Do you need cough medicine? I can have some delivered.
This man. He is at least forty-five minutes away in Forrest Falls, and I just know that if I said yes, he would have cough medicine delivered to my front door simply because he thinks I need it.
I don’t need more cough medicine, but I’m starting to wonder if what I really need—and want—is more of Ryan in my life.
Me
I’m good, the soup is wonderful though. Thank you so much. How did you know this was my favorite? Did Viv tell you?
Ryan
No, you did.
Me
What? When?
Ryan
When we met.
Me
And you… just remembered?
Ryan
Yep.
Me
…Why?
Ryan
I was intrigued by our conversation, so I made a note in my phone to try the restaurant next time I was in Nashville.
Me
And have you been?
Ryan
Nope. But how about this… when you’re feeling better, would you like to join me and introduce me to your favorite soup and sandwich spot?
Me
That sounds nice.
Ryan
I can be nice.
Me
You also apparently can be a little bossy.
Ryan
That too.
Ryan
So… is that a yes?
Me
Yes.
Ryan
Fantastic.
Me
Thank you again for the food. That was incredibly kind of you.
Ryan
Were you able to eat some of it?
Me
Yes, and I’m still working on it. I might save the dessert bar, but I appreciate that too.
Ryan
I’m glad to hear you’re feeling a little better then. Walker mentioned that you weren’t eating.
Me
Did he now?
Ryan
He said you were out sick, and it sounded like the flu. He worries about you.
Me
I know he does. He’s a good friend.
Ryan
He takes care of his people.
The simple statement shouldn’t warm my heart as much as it does, but as someone who didn’t have the typical experience of a supportive and caring nuclear family, that small statement means more to me than the awards I’ve been given over the years.
I have accolades and awards in droves, but people? That’s somewhat new.
I have people. Aisha. Walker and Viv. Savannah. Tara. Kelly. Mason. Christine.
I belong to people.
And maybe, just maybe, I can add Ryan to that list.