Page 147 of The Play

Which means I’ll either be at Hunter’s game tonight, or I’ll be dead.

TJ: Well, good luck with that. Doesn’t your dad hate him?

ME: Don’t know if he hates him, per se. But he does disapprove.

HIM: Same thing.

ME: No it’s not. But it doesn’t matter. Hunter is my bf, and Dad will just have to deal. Anyway, gotta go! Just got to the station xo

I tuck my phone away and slip on my parka in preparation of leaving the warmth of the bus. The air is frigid as I walk through the bus station toward the taxi and ride share lines outside. There’s a taxi right there and it’s too cold to wait for an Uber, so I hop into the back of the cab and provide my address.

Mom told me that Dad had pulled an all-nighter at the hospital and only got home at ten-thirty this morning. That means I’ll most likely be dealing with Grumpy Papa today. It’s not ideal, but I can’t schedule my life around my dad’s various moods.

When the taxi reaches my brownstone, I take a deep breath before getting out of the car. I need to gather every ounce of courage I possess, because my father won’t be happy to hear what I have to say today. But Hunter was right—Dad’s not going to disown me. I know in my heart he won’t. He might huff and puff, but he’s not blowing any houses down.

I just need to stick to my guns, and not let him bulldoze me, especially about medical school. It’s time for me to stop being Daddy’s Little Girl and be my own woman.

As usual, numerous aromas greet my nostrils when I stride into the house. “Mom?” I call.

“In here.” She’s in the kitchen, where else?

I pop through the doorway and almost collapse in a puddle of ravenous drool. She’s pan-frying chicken with peppers and peas, and the spicy smell draws me toward the stove.

“Oh my God, Mom. Please move into the Theta house with me,” I plead. “You could cook for us every single day. Breakfasts, lunches, dinners.” I shiver in pure joy. “I’d be living the dream.”

Mom snorts.

I wrap my arms around her from behind, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Then I try to steal a piece of chicken and she smacks my hand with her spatula.

“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.”

---