Page 107 of Nine Months to Love
That’s a lie. She got it from the Food Network three years ago. I watched her practice it four times before a hospital potluck, scraping the less-than-satisfactory outcomes straight into the garbage can.
“Speaking of family,” Margaret says, passing the potatoes with a smile that makes my stomach drop. “Some would say that, given there’s about to be a baby, marriage is the next logical step.”
“Mom!” I cry out as my cheeks burn.
Stefan’s hand pauses halfway to his water glass.
“What?” Margaret blinks innocently. “I’m simply stating facts. You’re pregnant. Stefan is the father. In my day, that meant wedding bells.”
“Your day was the Stone Age,” I mutter.
“Don’t be dramatic, Olivia.” She turns back to Stefan. “I assure you, my daughter is a worthy investment. Don’t let the fact that you’ve had to bail her out a few times deter you.”
The chicken turns to sawdust in my mouth. “Mother?—”
“She has her challenges, of course. Too headstrong for her own good. But with the right guidance...” She trails off meaningfully.
Stefan sets down his fork. “Olivia doesn’t need guidance. She’s one of the most capable people I know.”
“How sweet of you to say.” Margaret’s smile sharpens. “Though we both know her clinic would have folded without your intervention.”
“That’s not?—”
“Oh, please.” She cuts me off without even looking at me. “Stefan saved your little practice. It’s ungrateful to deny it, Olivia.”
Dad shifts uncomfortably but doesn’t intervene.
“She’s too stubborn to just accept that she’ll make a wonderful stay-at-home wife,” Margaret continues, spearing a piece of asparagus. “She needs to stick to her strengths. Not all of us are made to be career women.”
“I graduated summa cum laude from Harvard Medical School,” I say quietly.
“Yes, dear. We all remember. You’ve mentioned it enough times.” She pats my hand condescendingly. “But academic success doesn’t always translate to real-world achievement, does it?”
Stefan’s knuckles are white around his knife.
“Perhaps Stefan could help you transition to something more suitable,” Margaret suggests. “Charity work, maybe. Something that won’t be quite so taxing.”
“Taxing?” I ask miserably.
“Well, you’ll have a baby soon. You can’t possibly think you’ll manage both motherhood and that clinic, can you? Something will have to give.”
“Margaret.” That’s Stefan speaking, and that’s the quiet, dangerous voice he uses when something absolutely cutthroat is about to happen.
She doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care. “I’m only being practical. Olivia has always had these grand ambitions, but look where they’ve gotten her. If Stefan hadn’t come along?—”
The slap of Stefan’s napkin hitting the table makes everyone jump. He stands, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor.
“Stefan, don’t—” I start, but he’s already moving.
“Dr. Aster.” His snarl is ice. Pure, crystalline, frostbite-on-first-contact ice. “Let me be very clear about something.”
Mom’s eyes widen. Dad sets down his wine glass.
“Olivia is brilliant,” he continues. “Graduating at the top of her class wasn’t about memorizing textbooks or sucking up to professors. It was because she sees things you are incapable of seeing. Medicine is about people, goddammit, not fucking handshakes and charity galas. She built her clinic from nothing—twice—because she actually gives a damn about what she does.”
“Stefan—” I try again, but he’s not done.
“She works eighteen-hour days. She works herself to the bone for her clients, again and again, because she has a fucking soul. She tries harder than anyone I’ve ever met. And she did all of this while you—” He points an accusatory finger at Margaret. “—told her again and again that she was failing.”
