by Nikki Chase
“And secondly,” I add, “do you think that excuses the fact that you went behind my back to pay Aiden’s mom money to take him out of the city?”
Dad stares back into my eyes. He’s showing no remorse. “I thought that might’ve come up,” he says calmly. “Despite the fact that she promised me over and over again, with tears in her eyes, that her boy was never going to bother you again, here we are. Don’t you think that says something about her character, and her son’s? They just took the money, hid it from you, and they’re still doing whatever they want, even though it goes against something they’ve already agreed to.”
“I think it speaks more about your character that you took advantage of a poor, grieving widow,” I say. “I’ll have you know that Aiden had no idea all those things ever happened, so you can’t blame him for going back on anything.”
“That’s what he told you,” Dad says, slowly shaking his head. “You’re naive if you think he was telling you the truth. He just knows exactly what to say to get into your bed. Don’t think I didn’t see the marks he left on your neck.”
“Dad!” I exclaim. “I didn’t ask for any comments on that.”
“He was lying to you,” he says.
“You don’t know that.”
“How did he even find you again? I’ll bet he’s planning to ask for more money,” Dad says.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why do you hate him so much? Why can’t you believe that he’s innocent? We met by accident, okay? He works at the same hospital. There. He couldn’t have gone through medical school and passed the interview just to find me. He didn’t even know I worked there until recently.”
“He works at your hospital?” Dad asks, frowning. “As a doctor?”
“He’s an intern, just like me. Does that surprise you? Did you think he was going to fail at life just because he didn’t have much money when he was growing up?”
Dad remains still, but it’s the pregnant pause before a storm instead of the quiet reflection of a man who’s seen the error of his ways.
My mind races through all the things I’ve said so far. Did I make the wrong move somewhere? Have I misstepped?
“You’re moving back to Vegas with me,” Dad says resolutely. His facial expression is calm but stern. It reminds me of when I was a little girl and he was telling me to come back inside the house because it was getting dark outside.
Except I’m not a little girl anymore. He seems to keep forgetting that.
“Dad, you can’t tell me what to do anymore. At some point you have to accept that I’m in control of my own life now,” I say.
“What a silly thing to say. You’ve always been in control of your own life,” Dad scoffs. “I’m just showing you that you’re going in the wrong direction. I want you to do well and have a happy life. That boy is trouble.”
“Why?” I ask as storm rages in my chest. “What’s so wrong with Aiden? I know you hated him because he was poor, but that shouldn’t be a problem now, right? He’s a doctor, just like me. Just like you.”
“I don’t care about temporary poverty,” Dad says. “But I do have a problem with my daughter being with a gambler.”
“What are you talking about? He’s not a gambler.”
“Didn’t you tell your mom and your sister that you met him at the casino?” Dad asks, cocking a self-righteous eyebrow.
“That was just . . . It was one time! He used one coin!” I protest. “By that standard, I’m more of a gambler than he is. I sat there for a long time before he came over.”
“His father was a gambler, and you probably know how that man got himself into debt and put his whole family in danger by borrowing from questionable characters. His wife and his boy had to suffer the consequences of his actions, long after he’d died. I’m not going to just watch while you willingly put yourself in that kind of a situation.”
“Just because Aiden’s dad was a gambler doesn’t mean that he is, too.” I can’t believe I have to spell this out.
“Scientific studies have found a link between gambling addiction and genetics. If the father was a gambler, the odds are high that the boy is—or will be—as well.”
“He’s a man now, Dad. You need to stop calling him a ‘boy.’ And you need to stop treating me like a little girl. I’m a grown woman now. I can decide for myself what my dating deal breakers are. And let me tell you right now, having a gambler in the family is not a deal breaker for me.”
“Sure, you can do whatever you want,” Dad says, almost mockingly. “But first thing in the morning, I’m talking to Dr. Harris, the chief physician at Oak Crest Hospital, and telling him about your boyfriend’s bad character.”
My breath catches at my throat, but I try to keep a poker face. “You can’t just make Dr. Harris do whatever you want.”
Seriously. He can’t… right?
“Sure, Dr. Harris can choose to ignore my warning, but we all know how competitive internships at Oak Crest Hospital are. It wouldn’t be strange if Dr. Harris removes someone from the staff if he believes another doctor is more worthy of the position.”
“I can’t believe this.” I shift my attention to Mom. “You’re not going to say anything?”
“Your dad only wants the best for you,” Mom says softly.
“That’s true. I’m doing this for your own good,” Dad says, nodding in agreement.
Fuck! I want to tear my fucking hair out. My family is crazy. How is this normal?
“This is blackmail,” I say.
“In a few months, you’re going to see things my way,” Dad says.
“That’s unlikely.”
“Unlikely?” Dad raises a questioning eyebrow. “It worked when I saw signs of you detaching yourself from the family. I knew I could lose you if I didn't do anything. That's when I made the pre-emptive move to send that boy away. You started spending more time on the family and your studies, and now you’re well on your way to becoming a successful doctor.”
“What do you mean you knew you could lose me if you didn't do anything?” I ask suspiciously.
I was careful to hide my unhappiness at home and never shied away from my family. I knew the only way to make my parents see my relationship as a good thing was if I could balance my familial obligations and my time with Aiden.
I squint at my dad. If he’s capable of bribe and blackmail, he’s certainly capable of . . . “Did you read my diary?”
“All parents read their children’s diaries,” he says dismissively, with no hesitation.
“Oh my God. No, they don’t!” I can’t believe he’s defending himself.
My diary was full of private thoughts that I never intended to share with anyone. I did write some stupid shit about how I wanted to elope with Aiden, but I was never serious about it until one day Dad took away all avenues of communication with Aiden and—without my knowledge at the time—sent him all the way to a different state.
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is you’re moving to Vegas with me. I’ll prepare your transfer paperwork and you’ll be able to start working next week. You’ll like it there.”
“All you care about is winning, isn’t it?” I ask bitterly. “You don’t care about me.”
“On the contrary,” Dad says, “I’m going through all this trouble because I care about you. You don’t know what’s good for you, and it’s my job as your dad to steer you in the right direction.”
“Stop acting like you know what I need.” I protest.
“I’ll tell Dr. Harris you’re quitting,” Dad says.
“I’ll tell him I’m not.” I stare defiantly into Dad’s eyes.
“Then I’ll also tell him to fire your boyfriend,” Dad says without blinking. “Dr. Harris is excited about a new partnership between our hospitals, and he’s not going to jeopardize the deal for some intern.”
Shit.
I gave away my weakness.
I don’t care what Dad does to me; let’s face it, I’ll probably be fine without this job.
But I can’t say the same about Aiden. He can’t afford to lose this position.
Dad stares sternly at me. “And if you still choose to be stubborn, I’ll have to ask your boyfriend’s mom to pay back the money I gave her ten years ago. She signed a contract in black and white, saying she’d do that if her son ever made contact with you again. And obviously—” Dad stares at where the hickey should be covered by the skin-tone concealer on my neck “—he has made contact with you.”
I return Dad’s stare, but my teeth are gritted, and my lips are zipped.
Aiden can’t afford to lose his paychecks. And he definitely can’t afford to pay back his mom’s massive debt to my dad.
Shit, shit, shit.
“You’re flying back to Vegas with us, first thing tomorrow morning,” Dad says with finality.
Aubrey
I tiptoe into the kitchen and open the cabinet.
Of course, the chocolates are on the top shelf. Marcus gobbles down sweet stuff like the Cookie Monster. If he had his way, he’d be on a constant sugar high. But that’s as likely as Marcus moving into a garbage bin and living there like the Cookie Monster, because Hannah watches what he eats like a hawk.
Now the problem is . . . I can’t reach those KitKats and Reeses that are calling my name. After just a few days of living with Aiden, I’d already gotten used to having someone tall to help me reach things that are stored too high.
I dig down inside me, try to gather up the darkness within into a ball, and let it out with a big exhalation.
I wanted a break from thinking about him. And yet here I am, thinking about him.
I look more closely at Hannah’s boxes, plastic packages, and jars.
Nutella—that will do.
There’s no bread, but that’s okay. I’ll just eat the whole thing straight from the jar.
Nutella in hand, I open a drawer and grab a butter knife. Hmm… screw it. I put the butter knife down and take out a big soup spoon instead.
My eyes sting. I can’t tell if it’s from lack of sleep or from having cried so much. I managed to keep it together at the airport and in the plane, just because I didn’t want to give my dad the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart and cry like a little girl—although it wasn’t like he couldn’t see my colossal eye bags or the redness in my eyes.
Now that they’ve dropped me off at Hannah’s and left me alone, it feels like my tear ducts aren’t functioning. They worked way overtime last night, and now they’re on strike.
Everything hurts. I’ve been slouching my shoulders, trying to keep myself small. My skin feels so tender. I feel like any contact with anything could cut into my flesh.
But where it really hurts is deep inside me. It’s like someone’s reached into my chest cavity and squeezed everything, compressing my lungs and my heart. It’s hard to even breathe.
I recognize the symptoms. This may not be a medical diagnosis, but I believe I’m suffering from a case of broken heart. Unfortunately, I don’t know what to prescribe myself. There’s no cure that I know of, but—I don’t know whether this is a good thing or a bad thing—it’s not deadly.
Honestly, I feel like I might as well be dead. The world is black and white, and nothing matters.
I glance at the two big, dark-green wheeled suitcases blocking the front door. I guess those are going to annoy Hannah when she gets home, but I can’t bring myself to care.
I don’t even know which room I’m sleeping in tonight, so I’ll have to wait to unpack anyway. I didn’t even want to pack, but my mom did it for me, dumping stacks of clothes into my bags.
I open the Nutella jar, scoop up a big blob of the sugary spread, and stick the spoon in my mouth.
Am I doing the right thing?
I’m not talking about the Nutella—that's obviously a bad decision.
I don’t care what Dad does to me. But he’s threatening Aiden now—his job, his future, his mom. I can’t make him give all those things up for me. That would be selfish.
He’s worked so hard to finish med school and get an internship. If he loses this position, it could potentially ruin his whole career.
Medical internships are crazy-competitive. Graduating med students basically have to apply to this nation-wide residency program that matches them to available internship positions. This is a rigorous process that can involve traveling to multiple cities all over the country to attend interviews.
If a student doesn’t get matched, he has to wait for the next year to re-apply. But it’s often harder the second time around because medical facilities tend to prioritize new graduates.
In other words, if Aiden loses this internship, the impact on his career could be disastrous.
And if, on top of that, Dad makes Aiden’s mom pay him back the money he gave her . . .
The sound of keys jingling just outside the door brings me back to reality. That’s probably Hannah, I realize with relief. I need someone to talk to. Someone who’s on my side.
Hannah’s always been the good girl. It seems so easy for her to follow our parents’ crazy rules. She even met her husband through Dad.
Despite how strict our parents can be, Hannah’s always been this happy-go-lucky girl. I don’t know how she does it. I can’t imagine how I can be happy under Dad’s iron thumb, but Hannah’s doing it. Dad’s always trusted Hannah more, though, so maybe it’s easier for her.
Whatever it is, she obviously knows something I don’t. Maybe she can think of a way for me to knock some sense into Dad.
I hear the door hit my bags. “Hello?” Hannah yells out. “Is anybody in there? Mom? Dad?”
“It’s me,” I say, as loudly as I can muster.
“Oh, Bee!” Hannah exclaims excitedly. “You wouldn’t believe what happened at the school today. God, sometimes I wish I wasn’t a stay-at-home mom, just so I’d have an excuse to get out of these stupid parent involvement activities,” she says as the door clicks shut.
“I swear the worst thing about being a parent is other parents.” Her heels click-clack on the wooden floor as she walks down the hallway. She stops in her tracks when she sees me slouched on the sofa with a spoon stuck inside my mouth and a jar of Nutella in my hand.
“What’s wrong?” Hannah asks as her eyes fill with concern.
Oh, boy. Where do I even start . . . ?
“I didn’t know you were coming back with Mom and Dad . . .” Hannah approaches the sofa slowly, as if I was some wounded wild animal. “Wait a minute. Didn’t Mom and Dad just arrive in San Francisco yesterday?”
“Mm-hmm.” The spoon handle goes up and down as I nod.
Hannah lets out a big sigh as she takes a seat beside me on the sofa. The cushion dips under her jeans-clad butt. She rubs my arm soothingly. “Did something happen?”
I nod again.
“It’s still a few hours until I have to pick Marcus up. I’ll make you something, and then you can tell me all about it, okay?” She quickly adds, “If you want to, of course.”
I nod again.
While Hannah goes to the kitchen, I shovel another spoonful of Nutella into my mouth. My sister’s a bit of a health nut, so she’s probably going to bring out some sugar-free, gluten-free, fat-free, salt-free abomination. (I still have nightmares about her cauliflower “rice.” Just because the cauliflower is chopped up really small to resemble rice doesn't make it a rice dish.)
When Hannah comes back, she’s holding two clear glasses of something frothy and creamy. It's brown-ish, so at least it's not a kale smoothie like she served me last time.
“Try it,” she says, smiling as I gingerly take one glass off her hand.
Cold condensation covers the outer surface of the glass. I take a sip. “This is… an ice cream float?”
“It's good, right?” Hannah asks, wearing a smug expression on her face. “It's frozen vanilla yogurt and beer.”
I take another sip of the sweet, creamy, cold beverage. This is exactly what I need. I didn't expect this, but it's a nice surprise. Maybe Han
nah's eased up a little on the healthy eating. Or maybe she's correctly guessed that I have an emergency on my hands.
“What happened?” Hannah asks as she sits down. “Was it Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, man. Glad I had some of Earl's beer and Marcus’ yogurt left. From the way you look, I can already tell this is bad.”
“What's wrong with the way I look?”
“You always wear black when you just don't care anymore. Normally, you’d be in one of your pretty dresses or skirts—the ones with pockets. I don't know how you manage to even find women's clothes with actual pockets.”
I check myself. I am wearing an old pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt.
“Also,” she adds, “your hair's a mess, and your eyes are all red.”
“Geez, thanks for the confidence boost.” I take another sip of Hannah’s delicious concoction and get up. “I have to use your bathroom.”
I just remembered I haven't peed since the plane landed. I do my business in Hannah’s spacious, impeccable bathroom with the pretty emerald-green tiles and black-and-white photography on the walls. I wash my hands with the fragrant liquid soap and turn off the tap.
. . .
Weird. It won't stop dripping.
I twist the tap again.
No matter how hard I twist it, the water won't stop. Stubborn fucking drops of water.
Anger rises within me. What is wrong with this thing? Other than this, Hannah's bathroom is perfect.
I inspect the tap more closely, but it looks fine. It's freaking gleaming.
What was it that Aiden did to fix my kitchen sink? I’m pretty sure he just tugged on some things and twisted a few other things.
What is wrong with me? Why can't I fix this?
As I catch my own reflection in the bathroom mirror, I realize I’m crying. Fat drops of tears race down my cheeks.
I can't fix it. Not like Aiden can.
I can only try to not inflict more damage. That's what I’m doing right now. Damage control. I'm doing the right thing.
I’ll stay here for now and finish my internship, then I’ll find a job somewhere far, far away, not just to get away from my family this time, but also to get away from Aiden. Because I swear to God, if I bump into him one day, even if it's just for a minute, even if it's another ten years from now, I’ll shatter into pieces. I’ll throw myself at him and try to steal him away from his wife and kids if he has them by the time we meet again.
