The Department of Lost & Found by Allison Winn Scotch Read Free Book Online Page A

WHEN he did it. But in the larger picture, I mean, I think I might get it. The truth is, Diary, we didn’t have much of a relationship going, even if we thought we did. And I know this now because my life hasn’t changed so much since he left. I still eat most of my meals by myself, I still confide more in Sal y than in him, and other than my rage, I still don’t miss him much when he’s gone. Huh. So go figure. Maybe if I get around to it, I’ l listen to his side of the story, too. But that’s my peace for now.
    And of course, as life would have it, as soon as I’ve made peace with one thing, another bat le arises altogether. See, Diary, I’ve been thinking about Jake. A wee bit too much. And I also think I might have a teeny, tiny crush on Zach. Oh, who I haven’t told you much about. See, the fact that he’s my ob-gyn should, I know, be enough to skeeve me out for, like, forever. I mean, Lila jokes that he’s been in more vaginas than the entire NBA (and she would know since she broke his heart into a billion pieces this spring when she up and dumped him without any warning). But he bears a striking resemblance to Patrick Dempsey, and, wel , he calls a few times a week to check up on The Department of Lost & Found
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    me, and when he does cal , it’s like I almost forget that I have cancer—which I know is stupid, since that’s the only reason he’s cal ing to begin with—but still. Let me be clear here, Diary: Zach looks nothing like your gynecologist, nor does he look anything like your previous gynecologist. In fact, with pools of green eyes, a lean runner’s body, and wavy hair that curls perfectly over his forehead, I’m not sure that he should even be allowed to be a practicing gynecologist, given that it’s highly probable that the bulk of his patients find him, just 35 years old, more arous-ing than their husbands. And for those ten minutes on the phone when he cal s, it’s like I’m a normal girl who might have a normal shot with a normal guy.
    So between my pathetic ruminations on Jake—Where is he?
    Is he banging groupies? Does he ever think of me? (and to answer some, if not all of these questions, I logged in nearly two hours on Google last night)—and my realization that despite my rising lust for my gynecologist, I cannot, nor will I ever, be his, it’s easy to see that I fell into a bit of a funk. All of which I raised with Janice at our next session.
    After assuring me that (a) I was still entirely sexually viable to men (snort, as IF, Diary!) and (b) my topsy-turvy emotions were perfectly normal, Janice did mention that she wasn’t sure about opening up the doors to my past via this very diary (remember, the hunt for my exes?) when I was already dealing with so much change, but she wasn’t there to judge. That’s what she said, “I’m not here to judge, Natalie, just to help.” As if that didn’t make me think she was judging. It’s like back in high school, when my mom would purse her lips and say to me, “Wel , if you think it’s the right decision,” when clearly, she thought it was entirely the wrong decision, and pretend that she wasn’t dropping a passive-aggressive bomb. But I told Janice that I felt like 50
    a l l i s o n w i n n s c o t c h
    sorting through my past might help me come to terms with the present, so she nodded and said, “Wel , that’s progress.”
    We spent the rest of the session talking about my theory that in every relationship—friendship, romantic, whatever—there is an alpha and a beta. Namely, one strong person, the rock, so to speak, and one weaker link, the one who does the leaning. By weaker link, I don’t mean to imply that they’re a less critical component: In fact, if you put two strong types together, they often combust, sort of like two opposing elements that explode in chemistry class.
    I wasn’t sure why my alpha dog theory had been weighing on me as of late, until Janice suggested that other than you, Diary, it would be