Page 123 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

Then I thought of finding the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. And maybe they would be serving breakfast and I could get something to eat while I waited.

But then I would have to leave the waiting room and risk missing a nurse or doctor coming to tell me how Peter was doing.

You could order pizza.

Are there any pizza places open at four in the morning?

There’s the all-night pizza place by your apartment, but do they deliver all night?

Their pizza isn’t that good.

Am I even hungry?

Why do I always think of food during crises?

Food was always comforting. When nothing else seemed to help and the whole world was falling apart, food was there for me.

Why do I not have a weight problem?

Obviously, in the past, when I couldn’t afford food, I would be skinny.

I eat all the time now.

I should really try to be healthier. Peter and I should always try to be healthier for each other. That’s what good partners do—they make sure they stick around for as long as possible for the other.

Right?

What am I going to do if Peter…

“Are you Mr. Bradshaw?” I jerked at the sound of a man speaking.

Jerking my head up to attention, I found a man in scrubs, a surgical mask hanging around his neck, and a surgical hat still atop his head staring at me. He was looking down at me sternly, which made my gut wrench up in knots.

“Um,” I said, “Mr. Barbier. Enzo. Enzo Barbier. Peter Bradshaw is my husband.”

The man’s stern expression brightened and he clapped his hands together.

“Wonderful,” he said. “I hate having to look all over the hospital for family.”

I didn’t care about his professional problems. I wanted to know about Peter.

“I’m Dr. Sharif. Your husband did as wonderful as any patient I’ve ever had, Mr. Barbier,” he said, smiling broadly. “Peter’s in recovery right now. A little giddy from the anesthesia, but otherwise just fine.”

A heavy breath I hadn’t known I was holding escaped from me and I found I had to hold back the tears that had been lining up to escape my eyes.

“He’s…he’s okay?” I asked.

“He’s great,” the doctor assured me. “You did the right thing getting him here as quickly as you did. That appendix needed to come out now.”

“It was so sudden,” I whispered.

He nodded solemnly. “That’s the thing with appendicitis. It can strike like that.” He snapped his fingers. “You did the right thing getting him here. Sometimes patients just need some antibiotics and we can schedule a surgery for later if needed. Other times, it’s a severe and acute case like Peter’s and we have to act right away.”

Nodding, I did my best to control my breathing.

“Can I…can I go see him?” I asked. “Now?”

“I don’t see why not,” the doctor said cheerfully, “just give us a few minutes to make sure he’s cleaned up and settled in a recovery bed and a nurse will come get you.”