Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
“Go away! Shoo!” She flaps her arm around like she’s trying to get rid of a pesky fly.
“You’re mean,” I gripe.
She rolls her eyes and continues cooking.
Because the food looks and smells so delicious, I make an executive decision to wait until after dinner to start dropping truth bombs. Dad looks exhausted when he joins us in the dining room. His dark eyes are lined with fatigue, and he keeps rubbing them throughout dinner.
“Tough surgery?” I sympathize.
“Surgeries, plural. I performed back-to-back craniotomies—one biopsy and one tumor removal. And just when I thought I was done, a third patient was airlifted in with a subdural hematoma.” He goes on about each case in depth, which includes a shit ton of technical details. I don’t understand half of what he’s saying, but he seems content to just chat with me about it.
“I can’t imagine being in an operating room for so long,” I confess. “I’d probably fall asleep on the patient.”
“It requires great discipline.” He chuckles. “It’s funny—this was indeed a long night, but I’m nowhere near as wiped as when I was completing my residency or going through medical school.”
It’s the perfect opening.
Take it, Demi, take it!
But I’m a wimp. So I don’t.
Instead, I bring up the other reason I’m home. Better to start small, right? Revealing that I have a new boyfriend isn’t as extreme as telling them I’m switching career paths.
I clear my throat. “I wanted to talk to you guys about something.”
Mom scrapes back her chair and starts to rise. “Let me put everything away first.”
“No, Mom. Come on, sit down. We can do that after.”
“After?” She sounds horrified. Because in our house, you eat a big meal and then you clean it all up. But then she sees my grave expression and sinks back down, concern flickering in her honey-brown eyes. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything is more than all right,” I confess.
At the head of the table, Dad’s expression clouds over. Dammit. I think he knows what I’m about to say.
“I wanted to let you know…” I blow out a hasty breath. “I’m officially dating Hunter.”
Silence.
“Um. This is good news…?” I prompt, looking from one parent to the other.
Mom is the first to speak. “Okay. Marcus. What are your thoughts on this?”
“You already know my thoughts. I don’t think he’s good for her.”
She nods deliberately before turning back to me.
“And that’s it?” I exclaim in disbelief. “He says that and you just nod along like a little puppet?”
Mom frowns. “Demi.”
“It’s true. You haven’t even met Hunter!”
“If your father says he’s not good for you, then I agree with him.”
“You. Haven’t. Even. Met. Him.” I spit out each word through clenched teeth. Then I suck in several breaths, trying to calm myself. “Seriously, Mom. I’m so disappointed in you right now.”
Indignation darkens my mother’s face. She opens her mouth and I know the Latina temper is about to be unleashed. But mine beats her to it.
“You’re constantly letting Dad dictate how you think! You yell and scream and throw temper tantrums when it’s about your stuff. Your kitchen, your wardrobe, your interests. But when it comes to important things, he has the run of the house—and the run of your brain, apparently.”
“Demi,” my father rumbles.
“It’s true,” I insist, angrily shaking my head at her. “You haven’t even given Hunter a chance. I expected better from you. And you,” I turn toward Dad, “you did meet him, and he was nothing but nice to you. He wasn’t rude, he listened when you spoke, tried to pay for lunch—”
“Because he’s a rich boy,” Dad says snidely.
“No, because he’s a nice person. And I’m really, really into him.” Anguish rises in my throat. “You guys don’t have to like him if you don’t want to—that’s fine. But he’s going to be in my life either way. We’re dating now, and it’s serious between us. We’ve talked about going away for spring break, and maybe Europe this summer. Hunter will be in my life whether you like it or not.”
Dad is frowning. “You’re supposed to take Molecular Biology in the summer,” he reminds me.
Frustration seizes up all my muscles. For a moment I find myself too tense to move, let alone speak. I inhale again, willing myself to relax. I know from experience that temper tantrums don’t work on my father. He’s impenetrable to yelling. If you want to get through to my father, you need to use logic.
“I’m not taking that class,” I tell him. “I’m not interested in taking any more sciences.”
His brow furrows. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying my brain is going to explode. I don’t care about bio or chem or any of the pre-med courses I’ve been taking these past couple years.” I lick my suddenly bone-dry lips. “I won’t be going to med school after I graduate.”