Page 5 of Take Me to the Wedding

This was a different attitude from before… the boyfriend. Miles, who didn’t seem to care about things like passing classes and planning for a good future. I looked down to find that I’d shredded a bunch of tissues into confetti on my kitchen counter as I talked.

I suppose that was better than nail biting or drinking, but still.

“I want to save up until I can pay for the class I have to retake,” Wynn said. “And I want to stay here.” There was a long pause. “With Miles.”

Shred, shred, shred, shred, shred.

I supposed I should be glad she’d taken the perfume job. That one would be in addition to her job waitressing at a very chichi restaurant in downtown Madison. But would her grades suffer even more? When she first got the waitressing gig, I practically broke out in hives every night thinking of her walking out of the restaurant alone and taking public transportation home late at night.

So I’d bought her a used car, even as the dollar signs racked up. So many dollar signs that they appeared in my dreams at night. I’d been supporting both of us on a resident’s salary, loans, plus all the moonlighting jobs I could find, including one spending weekend nights at a local psych hospital doing admission physicals on patients. Despite all that, the expenses felt endless.

That’s okay,I told myself. It wouldn’t last much longer. After one year of internship and three years of anesthesiology residency, I was now in a fifth year of training, a special year of pediatric anesthesiology fellowship—and I was finally applying for a real job. After years of sacrifice, real income was just around the corner.

“Don’t worry about me,” Wynn said. “I’m fine. Maybe I’m not as smart or as independent as you, but I’m finding balance. I’m learning how to studyandhave a social life.”

That was a hit directed at me—the fact that I’d studied and worked my way through college. Even in med school, I worked as a phlebotomist from four a.m. to seven a.m. four mornings a week. My sister was now telling me I was one dimensional. Unbalanced. And too independent. She probably wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t have a choice. I chose to tamp down the insult even though it hurt a little. “Youaresmart. And I’m glad you’re finding balance.”

Not worry? Impossible. And her tone—so disdainful! I bit my tongue as I thought of more disasters. Was she using birth control, like I’d preached many times? But if I said that now, I was afraid she’d hang up.

I agonized. I shredded. I was wasting the whole fricking box of tissues. But it was better than losing my mind. No lab job, no calculus retake, no return home to be with me for the summer.No, no, no.

“You’re using birth control, right?”

That was met with dead silence as I’d predicted. Ihadto ask. If I didn’t and something happened, I’d never forgive myself.

“Yes,” she finally answered, exasperation in her voice.

“Okay, just checking.” I tried to strike a more positive tone. “Maybe I’ll drive up for lunch or dinner next week,” I said. “Would that be okay? We can go somewhere cute to eat.” I paused. “Miles can come too.” That last part cost me two more Kleenex, but I said it.

“Yeah, but I—uh—I’ve got exams. I’ll text you when’s a good time, okay?”

“Okay.” I disguised a little more hurt. She’d been putting me off for the past month or two. When she was younger, she’d been filled with adoration for me, wanted to spend every moment with me. But she was an adult now. And now our relationship was fraught with all these other things. “You sure everything’s okay?”

Actually, she sounded fine. I was the one who was not okay.

“Sam, I’m doing great. Don’t worry so much, okay?”

The floor creaked again under my pacing. Thump thump thumpsounded from below my feet.

That would be Mrs. Von Gulag, my elderly landlady, who lived below me. To be clear, that noise was her broom handle—and her temper—hitting the ceiling.

I glanced at my watch. Nine on the nose. Her way of signaling me to stop pacing, walking, talking, and also breathing, since it was her bedtime.

“Okay,” I conceded. “I just— I love you. Make good choices,” I snuck in at the last minute.

The line went silent. Wynn took a breath, gathering patience, no doubt. I should’ve left out the Jamie Lee Curtis line.

Oh, but I had so much more I wanted to say.Make other friends. Don’t let anyone distract you from your goals. Work hardand thenplay hard.

I knew that sometimes I sounded pushy, and I tried to keep my mouth shut. But sometimes I just couldn’t.

You know why? Because I was frightened. I didn’t want her dreams to get derailed. I wanted her to have every chance, every opportunity. I wanted her to have an easier way than I did. And I wanted my hard times to be worth something. Like, I’d put in the suffering for both of us, and now it was over, and she’d never have to experience it.

“Love you too,” she said in a cautious tone. “Talk soon.” Then the call ended.

I sat down on the cute futon, totally distressed. If only Oma were around, she’d manage to laugh this off somehow. Make me tea. Sit down beside me and put her arm around me and surround me with her love. But there was no Oma. There was just me, alone in the cheapest (but safest) apartment I could find.

Oh, I had good friends. But trying to talk to them about parenting matters was… difficult. They were always supportive, but it was like asking a Burger King employee to create for you a James Beard recipe. No experience.

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