Page 34 of Fighting Words

“Does Andrew?”

I could barely swallow past the lump in my throat. “No.”

She looked at me sadly. “I won’t tell you you’re making a mistake. It’s your life. It’s just really frustrating. I took a lot of time away from my family to help you study for the GRE and prep your applications. Was that all a joke to you?”

“No!”

Her frustration rang through every word. “I mean, why not just tell me you were going to apply to other programs?”

Guilt hit me like a heavy anvil, constricting my chest.

“I’m sorry about all of this. I didn’t mean to waste your time,” I said in a rush, worried my voice would crack and the tears would come and never stop. “I just didn’t know how to tell you guys.”

The next few weeks were some of the toughest in my entire life.

Andrew broke up with me the first time over that Columbia letter. When I showed it to him later that night, he felt just as betrayed as Emma had. He felt like by keeping this secret from him, I’d lied, and he took Emma’s side, blaming me for wasting her time. We had a huge blow-up fight, him accusing me of being a different person, someone he didn’t fully recognize anymore. We didn’t talk for three months.

My family was mad at me, Andrew was nowhere to be found, and I was totally on my own the day I started graduate school at Columbia.

They didn’t come around overnight either. In fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever be fully forgiven for changing career paths in the 11thhour. It’s such a complicated mess, the fact that I chose to do something outside of medicine, the fact that I kept the truth from them for so long. They take it as a personal betrayal that I don’t want what they want.

So it’s astounding to hear Andrew excited about me being in England for work.

“I talked to Emma yesterday, at Dave’s birthday dinner,” he tells me now. “You remember him? He went to college with Lincoln and me.”

“Oh yeah? That’s nice.”

“It was good to see her.”

Emma’s husband, Lincoln, grew up with Andrew. They’re the reason Andrew and I met, and even after years of dating Andrew off and on, it still feels like there is Emma and Lincoln and Andrew, and then there’s me, on the outside of their friend group looking in.

“She was confused about why you were in England,” he admits.

“I emailed her about it,” I say, sounding more defensive than I’d like. I just hate feeling like Andrew isn’t on my side when it comes to my sister.

“Yeah, she mentioned that. I guess maybe you didn’t tell her much about what you’re doing there though?”

I picture them standing together talking about me at the dinner party. I don’t know why it bothers me so much.

“There’s only so much detail I can go into.”

He chuckles. “I know, hey. I told her what I knew, and she seemed impressed. How have things been with you two?”

Ever since that day at the coffee shop, Emma has kept me at arm’s length, and it still bothers me. It feels like a long, drawn-out punishment when she doesn’t return my phone calls or when she responds tersely to my text messages. I’ve apologized to her countless times, trying to break through this weird tension between us. Still, it just doesn’t seem to be enough.

I don’t want to tell Andrew the real truth of it though, because I’m worried he’ll judge me for the current state of our relationship and blame me for the disrepair.

“It’s good. You know how it is, she’s so busy and now I’m here…”

Sensing that I’m uncomfortable, he changes the subject, telling me about a new hire at his firm who’s made a horrible impression with their boss. It feels good to talk about mundane life stuff with him. We don’t address our relationship or lack thereof, but even still, when I hang up, I’m left staring down at my phone with so much turmoil. I’m not even sure exactly where it stems from: me missing Andrew, me missing home, my anger with Emma and my family, my hopelessness pertaining to Nate and this project—the threads are all tied together in a knot, impossible to pick apart.

The feeling hangs over my head the rest of the afternoon. I stay at the coffee shop for a while then I bundle myself back up and head down toward the grocery store. Martin is behind the counter watching football. He nods at me when I walk in.

“Alright?”

It’s like we’re old friends now.

I nod and make my way to the candy section where I grab a Cadbury chocolate bar off the shelf. Then I think better of it and grab four more. Can I afford to go on an all-out chocolate buying spree? Not exactly, but I need something to help smooth the waters with Nate when I get home.

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