“Do you think neurology is okay with this?” Layla whispered to me.
They had to be since most of the staff was filling a plate with food. “I’m sure if this was an everyday thing, they would put the kibosh on it, but one day is probably okay.”
“Meg talked to the head guy of the hospital,” Greta interrupted. “He told her pretty much the same thing you said.” Greta winked. “It also helped that Meg personally brought him a plate full of food just for him.”
By the time I was halfway through the line, my plate was full, and I couldn’t fit anything more.
“You’ll have to come back for seconds,” A woman laughed from behind the table. “Though you did make it further along than most do. One guy only made it a quarter of the way before he had to grab a second plate.”
“That’s because you guys made too much food, Meg,” Greta pointed out. “You’re gonna have to let the whole floor eat if you want to get rid of all of this.”
Meg shrugged. “It’s the least I can do. I’m worried about Easy, so I cooked. All the families here are worried about someone, so now they can eat and try not to worry.”
“It’s like a service we’re doing.”
I turned to the side and was stunned by the beautiful woman in front of me.
She held her hand out to me and smiled. “I’m Bristol.”
“The mafia chef,” Layla whispered.
Greta choked on the carrot she had popped into her mouth. “Mafia chef,” she wheezed. Meg reached over the table and slapped her on the back.
Bristol rolled her eyes at Greta and smiled wide. “I’m just a private chef,” she corrected Layla. “I do feed the mafia, but I don’t care who you are as long as you like what I make.”
“Fair,” Layla whispered. She gulped and nodded to her plate. “All of this looks delicious, and I promise I will like it all.”
Greta straightened and placed her hand over her heart. “Because if you don’t like it, she’ll sic the mafia on you.”
Bristol threw up her hands in the air. “I am not going to sic the mafia on anyone,” she cried.
“Yet,” Greta mumbled.
“Uh, why don’t we go find a place to eat?” I suggested. I was sure neurology didn’t want everyone chowing down in their waiting room, even though they were getting fed, too.
Layla and I took the elevator down one floor and headed to an alcove of chairs by a window that overlooked the parking lot. Greta, Meg, and a couple of biker guys also came with us.
“How much longer do you think Easy is going to be in surgery?” Meg asked me.
I hadn’t even taken a bite yet, and I was getting asked things that I had no clue about.
“Oh, uh, I can’t really say for sure since I’m not there, but his surgery will probably take five to seven hours.” I knew that was a pretty big gap, but I did not want to get anyone's hopes up that it was going to be quick.
Meg nodded and leaned against the window. “Lo was in surgery for what felt like an eternity. Dr. Gus saved Lo, and he’s doing Easy’s surgery, too. Makes me feel just a little less worried since that man can do miracles.”
Dr. Gus was an amazing surgeon, and Easy was in the best hands.
“You think they could give us some updates or something,” one of the guys sighed. I had seen him before, but I didn’t know his name.
“Nothing has changed on the screen in the waiting room?” I asked.
“Gwen said it shows ‘surgery’ next to his name on the screen. He went from ‘presurgery,’ to ‘ready,’ and then to ‘surgery’ pretty quickly, but nothing has changed since.”
“I’m sure he’ll change to ‘post-op’ pretty quickly,” Layla advised. “I know a couple of nurses who work in surgery. I can reach out to them and see if they know anything.”
“No, no,” Meg shook her head. “We don’t want you poking around when you don’t need to now. We wouldn’t want you to get in trouble or anything.” She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “Now, if it’s five hours from now and we don’t hear anything, then I am going to take you up on poking around.”
“Fair enough,” Layla laughed. “I’m here until seven. Just let me know if I need to do some poking.”
