I awake to my phone ringing on my cherry wood nightstand. Disconnecting the charger from the port I tap the green button and wait for the call to connect.
"Hey ma," I groggily answer.
"Jessie, I'm sorry did I wake you?" She asks.
"It's fine, what time is it?" I ball my fist and rub at my right eye.
"4:17" she says over the line.
"AM?"
"Pm honey, rough shift?" Asking concerned.
"Something like that," not wanting to reveal what really went down last night. It's not a secret but I don't feel like getting into it with her.
"Well, I was just calling to see if you were still coming over for dinner tonight. If you're not up to it, I completely understand. I could Uber Eats you something. You've got to get some meat on those bones."
As if on cue my stomach rumbles reminding me I haven't eaten in a while and could really use a home-cooked meal. My fridge is becoming noticeably scarce, leaving me to rely on less-than-decent cafeteria meals at the hospital. So yeah, I nitpick at the plate or get too busy to finish or even disregard eating at all sometimes so I've lost a little weight, big deal. I've been a size six most of my adult life and may have dropped a size recently which is giving my mom an unnecessary scare. When I was thirteen I was young and dumb, fell victim to the normal young teen image issues, and wanted to look like the girls in magazines, I mean who didn't? Little did my naive young self know that those girls in the magazines didn't even look like that, they were heavily photoshopped. I was occasionally bulimic for a single summer when I would eat too much or have something really unhealthy and didn't want the extra calories. My older sister Nicole caught me once, tattled to mom and dad about it and they lost their goddamned minds. Mom sobbed like a baby, Dad of course cared but expressed it more on the angry side wondering where he went wrong as a parent and they forced me into counseling for a year. Ever since that day Mom has been hyper-aware of my body and food consumption whenever I'm in her vicinity. She doesn't think I notice her glancing at my plate at our family dinners but I do. I know she cares but I'm twenty-eight now and it's completely unnecessary to be this overbearing about the matter after all this time. I next level don't want to go to a family dinner but I've skipped the last handful of them so…
"Yeah, I'll be there," I try my best to sound cheerful.
Whipping the weighted cream colored comforter off of myself, it falls halfway to the floor and leave it because why the hell not? I live alone, I don't need to impress myself, I don't care about making it if I'm just going to be leaving and going right back to it after this dreadful dinner. Blonde strands fall across my face and I'm positive I look a mess because I fell asleep with wet hair. Lazily trekking to the bathroom I assess my god awful appearance. My hair sure as fuck looks like mice could be living in it. My eyes are puffy and my warm beige skin is looking more porcelain and pale.
I opt for a three-strand braid in my hair, which accentuates all the different shades of blonde I have going on. A healthy dose of concealer is doing wonders for under my eyes, I apply black mascara and a touch of eyeliner to my waterline to make my blue eyes pop. Some blush added to the cheeks and lastly a natural lip color and voila! I don't look half dead anymore.
Speaking of half dead…
I scavenger hunt for my phone for a good five minutes until eventually finding it snuggled into the comforter, the floor part of it of course, touché.
Scanning the several unread messages I find Charlotte's, immediately rolling my eyes as I read it.
Char: Girl you didn't tell me John Doe is hot as sin. If I weren't getting married next month I'd be all over that!!!
That's the update I get? Not that he's alive, he's dead, anything of significance? Nope! He's just hot.
Me: seriously char? A real update would be nice.
Throwing my phone back on the bed, I rummage through my closet searching for a conservative outfit until ultimately giving up and throwing on once snug jeans that are now a little loose around the waistband and an old purple and grey UW college hoodie. I'm fully aware that ma, dad, and Nicole will be dressed to impress for no good reason but whatever at least I'm making an appearance this time.
Just before heading out to dinner of hell I take hold of my purse that I left on the ground by the front door and hear the ding of an incoming text.
Char: Sorry don't have much of one. He was still in surgery when I left. I go in at 7 so I'll have more info soon.
I decide not to respond and just wait until 7 when rotations start, until then, dinner disasters await me.