Brain Games

25. Beat the Odds

All of Saturday I stay home and study, emailing Dr. Allen only twice with questions, not wanting to be too much of a bother. Regardless, at the end of each email he tells me to email him with any other questions I have. I don't know if it's a mechanical or genuine reply, but either way, I don't want to bug the man too much on his few days off, even if he's probably spending all weekend preparing for the surgery instead of relaxing.

Sunday afternoon, I decide it's time for a study break. To treat myself, I decided to go out and grab lunch to give my brain a much needed break and get out of my apartment to get at least some sort of exercise and a change of scenery.

I throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, slip on some flip flops and grab my keys. Exiting my apartment, I nearly trip over the box placed in front of my door with a bow on it.

Curious, I pick it up and bring it inside, setting it on my counter. I carefully untie the bow before tearing into the wrapping paper, finding a brand new coffee maker underneath.

Shocked, I grab the small envelope taped to the top of the box, pulling out the card inside.

Delilah,

I thought you might need this for Monday. Good luck on the surgery.

-Brad

Some odd emotion floods my chest, and I look to our connected wall, as if I can see right through it.

I stare for a while, trying to digest whatever emotion I'm feeling over his nice gesture. I debate if I should knock on his door, thank him, but something gnaws at me, telling me not to.

Leaving the coffee maker on the counter, I walk back out into the hall, hesitating at his door. I attempt knocking several times, but pull back at the last second every time, ultimately walking away.

I walk down the street to a little mom and pop deli, grabbing lunch to go. I take my food to an empty bench at the edge of Central Park, sitting down to eat and people watch for a while.

What was meant to be a nice, relaxing lunch turns sour when all my brain can fixate on is Brad. I keep mulling over if I should thank him today or not, or just wait until I see him tomorrow at the hospital.

Ugh. Why am I over thinking this?

I sit at the park for thirty minutes, finishing my lunch before heading home. I take my time walking back, still deciding if I should stop at Brad's door or not.

By the time I ride the elevator up to our floor, I've made up my mind.

Walking down the hall, I stop at his door, knocking before I change my mind. I wait for a while, knocking again when there's no answer. I wait about thirty seconds, until I realize he must not be home.

I'm instantly relieved, as well as disappointed. Conflicted, I go back to my apartment and plop myself down onto my couch that's crowded with books and notes for the surgery.

Where is he?

Calm down. Its Sunday, he probably has errands to run like everybody else, I remind myself. 

I nibble at my lower lip. I know I don't need to know where he is, nor should I care, but the nosy part of me wants to know. Really bad.

With a groan, I try my best to push him to the back of my mind for these last few hours of studying before turning into bed early to try to get some ample sleep, knowing I probably won't be sleeping well tonight in anticipation.

Monday, I wake up before my alarm clock, wracked with nerves and excitement. I practically jump out of bed, race through a shower and throw on some clothes just so I can scan through my notes one last time.