I decide that it wouldn’t be completely irresponsible to order in tonight. I can have the stir-fry tomorrow night. I call in my usual order at the Thai place down the block and spend the next twenty minutes passing my phone from one hand to the other, pondering who JD might really be.

That woman I met at Chelsea market before Christmastime? I got her number, didn’t I? She was a self-published author who had been interested in my design services for her next book. What was her name again? Jackie? Jessica? But I’m pretty sure she’d been wearing a wedding band so that probably means she wouldn’t have stayed up into the wee hours of the night halfway flirting with me, right?

I check my phone and don’t find a Jackie or a Jessica. So, I guess it could be her.

My doorbell rings and I grab cash from my wallet. When I swing open the door I’m surprised to see that instead of the usual delivery kid, it’s actually the Thai restaurant’s hostess who is standing there. She has long, pretty hair and a nervous smile.

“Hi, your brother’s not delivering tonight?”

“He’s out on a delivery and your order was up, so I thought I’d just run it around the corner for you.”

“Thanks.” I hand over the cash and a nice tip and take the food. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

“Mmhmm.” She’s looking down and playing with the zipper on her raincoat.

It’s time for her to go now, but she’s still just standing there. I hesitate with my hand on the door. Finally she sighs and rocks back on her heels, her eyes still bottoming out somewhere around my throat. “Have a good night.”

And then she’s hurrying back toward the elevator and disappearing behind the sliding doors.

I look at the Thai food in my hand and back at the elevator. At the Thai food and at the elevator.

Hmmm.

I think about messaging JD and asking if she just delivered me my dinner, but 1) I’m not sure if this messaging thing was a one-night-only type of deal, and 2) I’m scared of how many points she might deduct if that’s a wrong guess.

I eat my dinner slowly, quietly, at the dinner table, refusing to let myself multitask. One of the best ways I’ve found to manage my chaotic brain is to only let myself do one thing at a time, focusing as best I can on that single task. But my phone is calling my name from the kitchen counter.

After dinner I go for a run, do ten minutes of stretching, shower, pick up clutter in my living room, vacuum, and answer four different work emails.