Hot Stuff

The timer on the oven sounds, and I spin on the ball of my foot in a move I like to kid myself looks like a pirouette by a New York ballerina.

It was one of my favorite things to do in New York—to go to the ballet once a year around Christmastime.

To be honest, now that I’ve moved away, I’m not sure why I didn’t do it more often.

One pull of the oven door reveals a perfect crisp on my roasted cauliflower and a bubble in the demi-glaze on top of my chicken.

Both are ready, so I grab a mitt from the counter beside the stove and pull my tray from the rack.

It’s taken me years to master the art of cooking for one—to cut down every recipe into existence into an amount meant for a single person. But I’m a snob when it comes to leftovers—I can’t stand them—and I’ve hardly ever met a recipe that doesn’t serve at least three to four people.

A quick glance at the clock makes me hustle up as I transfer the food from the tray on my stovetop to my waiting plate and grab the wine bottle from the fridge to fill my glass.

Plate arranged artfully, I walk on sock-covered feet into the living room and set up on my couch and waiting TV table, grab the remote from its spot in its stand, and turn the TV to TBS. Tonight, I’m taking a little trip down memory lane with The Wedding Planner.

J.Lo looks exactly the same, pretty much as though no time has passed, even though this movie came out ages ago, and I can’t wait for Matthew McConaughey. He’s kind of, sort of, a little bit scummy in this movie, really, since he’s engaged to Fran, but I know if he looked at me the way he looks at J.Lo, I’d get over that pretty quickly.

I pick up my fork and knife and cut into my chicken, putting a warm bite into my mouth just as the opening scene starts.

J.Lo is a total boss lady, kicking ass and taking names, and my cauliflower almost tastes like potatoes. All in all, it’s feeling like a pretty good night.

My smile is almost ornery as I look back up to the TV just as J.Lo sits down in front of her TV alone to a meal and Antiques Roadshow, the musical accompaniment of the scene clearly meant to paint a picture of loneliness or spinsterdom or something.

I glance down at my TV tray and my perfectly folded cloth napkin and my perfectly boring dish of single-serving healthy food. My wine is poured, and my remote is my only company.

J.Lo and her freakishly mirror image of me are my only company.

Not a boyfriend or a husband or even a girlfriend or a freaking dog. My wine and my movie, they’re the things I have to hold on to as I prepare to close the book on another workday.

But it doesn’t have to be this way, my mind taunts, my heart starting to race.

And instantly, memories of lunch rush inside my head.

I could go out on the proverbial limb—I could take the leap into the unknown and exciting—and use the number the very, very hot and charming firefighter so graciously put in my phone at lunch today.

I could let the possibility of something new and exciting guide me into something I’m incredibly tempted to do—take Garrett Alexander up on his date offer.

It’s not like I haven’t thought about him before. In fact, it’s pretty frightening the amount of time I’ve spent thinking about the larger-than-life man since I met him at his annual physical in September.

At times, I’ve even caught myself willing the year to go faster, to spin back around to September again just so he’d come in for another physical. And, after our Thanksgiving dinner together, I might’ve even grabbed his chart and followed through with making the little note that says he’s requested to stick with Dr. Lauren Carroll as his main physician at the practice.

Might have followed through?

Yeah. Okay. I did follow through. And yes, I know. It’s completely ridiculous.

But after he left my dad’s house on Thanksgiving night in a rush, I haven’t been able to get the nagging ache of never seeing him again out of my head.

And then fate handed me another opportunity. Another chance to make something happen on my own, and what am I doing? Sitting in front of my TV, eating chicken and cauliflower and getting my kicks from 2001 Jenny from the Block.

What is wrong with me? It’s like all those years I spent working my ass off in medical school have stunted me emotionally. Sure, back then, it made sense to solely focus on school and my career and not get wrapped up in dating.