Page 8 of Where She Belongs
Another one pops up.
Tristy:
Please tell me she’s ok. She’s still typing.
Tristy:
OK she just sent me this long text that ended with I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR. WTH is going on on your flight????
I glance at Andrea, still typing, then back at my phone. How do I tell Tristy her mother needs to blow off steam after being given the news that her ex-husband just brought his mistress to their daughter’s wedding?
I sigh and type back to Tristy:
Your mom’s fine. Just processing the news. We’ll be there soon.
I put my phone away and turn to Andrea. “Hey,” I say , touching her arm. “Maybe take a breath?”
She looks up at me, her eyes blazing. “I’m fine. I’m just letting Tristy know that everything is okay and that I’m looking forward to celebrating her special day even if her stepfather brought his mistress. Besides, who says I can’t attend a wedding by myself?”
“True, and I think you’ll be just fine.”
“Of course I’ll be fine,” Andrea scoffs. “I don’t need a man to complete me. Ever.”
THREE
“You sure you’re okay?”Gabe asks, looking worried as we step off the plane.
After wearing a path in the airplane aisle working off my righteous feminist energy, I’m almost feeling human again. The cramped quarters and recycled air had done little to soothe my nerves, but the walk had at least burned off some of my anger.
Well, almost.
“I’m fine.” I try to sound more confident than I feel, my earlier I-am-woman-hear-me-roar manifesto having fizzled into a more realistic can-I-really-do-this-alone realization. But I’m holding onto my dignity, no matter what. I am enough… even if I have to keep reminding myself every thirty seconds.
So what if I’m attending my daughter’s wedding without a plus-one? Since when did showing up at destination weddings alone become such a crime?
Though without my white coat and the familiar sterile walls of my clinic, I feel exposed. Vulnerable.
It’s easier being Dr. Martin, the woman who can rattle off treatment protocols and navigate complex patient cases without breaking a sweat. But here, I’m just Andrea—divorced, dateless, and desperately trying not to overthink everything like I usually do when I’m not hiding behind my credentials.
Gabe certainly isn’t worried about it. Heck, he’ll probably have three wedding dates by mid-week. I bet he’s already got the flight attendant’s number—and I’m pretty sure they would’ve fit just fine in that airplane bathroom.
“Why don’t I get our luggage while you find Tristy and Tyler?” Gabe offers as I hand him my claim ticket. “I’ll be right back.”
As I watch him walk away, I’m actually glad he was on my same flight. How I would have handled the news that Simon brought Kitty if I’d traveled by myself, I can only imagine. Without the protective shield of patient charts and medical conferences, I’d probably be a complete mess.
At least at the clinic, I know who I am—the doctor who graduated summa cum laude, who publishes research papers, who mentors residents.
Here, I’m just… me.
But Gabe is with me and for that, I’m grateful. It feels good to let someone take over sometimes and that’s exactly what he does for me—give me the illusion that he’s taking charge simply because I’m tired of being in charge all the time.
Before I can feel any more sorry for myself, I spot Tristy’s familiar face in the crowd, and suddenly my heart swells.
That’s my daughter, I want to scream to everyone.MY daughter. And I’ll do anything to make her happy. Heck, even learn how to dance some popular Internet dance if she wants.
Tristy looks radiant, glowing with the happiness that only a bride-to-be can radiate. And a successful independent woman, for that matter, having found success before she met Tyler.
For a moment, all my worries and insecurities melt away. Who knew my daughter would end up racking up millions of likes for posting silly videos of her lip syncing and dancing to hit songs—and getting paid handsomely for it? I still don’t understand how it all works but it doesn’t matter.
