My stress level is at maximum capacity. My band is falling apart because I couldn’t make a decision that needed to be made before we even came to this festival. I should have kicked Tim out of the band months ago.
The career I worked for my entire life is falling apart, and I just fucked things up with the girl of my dreams.
18
Liz
Lashing out at Austin because of my own issues and insecurities was a completely horrible thing to do. I think about how unfair and selfish I’ve been the entire plane ride home.
I was in the wrong. He had every right to be angry with me for taking drugs from Tim. What the hell was I thinking? I still can’t believe I gave into the temptation, knowing it was such an ignorant thing to do. I’ve never researched the effects ecstasy has on the body because I’ve never even thought about taking it before. Now, the more I think about it, the more upset and paranoid I become. My entire body shakes while the thoughts swirl in my head like a tornado. I can’t tell if it’s a reaction to the chemicals leaving my system or my nerves.
Austin had one of the worst days of his life yesterday, and I couldn’t even get past my selfishness to console him. What kind of girlfriend am I? Is this the way I handle hardships? What does it say about our relationship if we both lash out and can’t stop to understand the other when we’re both going through a difficult time? It’s bound to happen again. Life is constant change, obstacle after obstacle. Maybe our bond isn’t as strong as I believed it to be. Maybe the similarities in our personalities are more troublesome than cohesive. Maybe we aren’t able to be there for each other.
The thought depresses me. It’s not true. We both needed to step back and talk about it as adults. I embarrassed myself and I took it out on Austin. He had every right to be pissed at me. He made complete sense when he said I should have gone to him and asked to smoked pot with him to get out of my head. I trust him. I know that he would keep me safe. We could have enjoyed the night; despite us both having career-devastating issues to work through, we could have tackled our problems together in the morning.
Instead, I fucked it up, thinking that I knew what was best for him. Why did I think I couldn’t tell him about leaving the fellowship? We’d talked about the next steps in my career. We’d come up with a plan that I was excited about. Then my ego got in the way, and all of the new ideas for moving forward fell by the wayside. I made a stupid decision because I still couldn’t accept that my career is over. And starting over sucks.
As soon as the wheels hit the runway, I pull my phone out of my pocketbook and switch it off airplane mode. I need to text Austin and apologize. Hopefully he’ll see me today. Hopefully, I haven’t fucked it all up with my bad decisions.
As soon as I have service, text messages pop up. Hope fills my heart that it’s from Austin.
No such luck.
Out of the three texts, two are from Mama asking where I am and why I’m not at brunch, which is a Sunday staple in our house, and the third is her telling me she’s worried and demanding I call her as soon as possible.
It’s my own fault. I’m the one who mentioned that I had Sunday off, which has been rare over the last few years. Working weekends—or at the very least, being on call—has been part of my life for years. I’d forgotten to let her know that I would be out of town and not able to make family brunch. Or, I purposely forgot because I didn’t want them to know I was going to the festival with Austin.
Tapping the screen with my thumbs, I text out a note to Mama.
Me: Hi Mama! Sorry I missed brunch. I’ve been out of town. On my way home now. Sorry I forgot to tell you.
Mama texts back immediately as if the phone is glued to her hand.
Mama: You had us worried, Elizabeth! You said you had Sunday off. I assumed you’d be here.
Me: I know, Mama, I’m sorry. Slipped my mind. How about I stop over for dinner tonight?
Mama: I just finished making an enormous meal no one showed up for. I’m not cooking again tonight.
Me: You don’t have to cook, Mama. We can have leftovers.
Mama: Leftovers? I sent the food home with Maria. At least her family will appreciate it.
My head is so messed up, I can barely think straight. The only time Mama uses leftovers is after Thanksgiving dinner. Her turkey sandwiches are another meal in itself.
Me: Pizza then?
Mama: Fine. I’ll invite your sister, as well, since she couldn’t be bothered to make it either.
Me: Emily?
Emily hasn’t been at brunch since she was fourteen. It seems silly that Mama would be annoyed at her. But the only Sunday brunches Maddie has ever missed are the ones where she was away at college.
Mama: Madeline.
Oh dang! Maddie didn’t show up. And she didn’t even tell Mama? That’s big time. Wonder what’s going on with her.
Me: My plane just landed and I’ve gotta grab my bag. I’ll see you soon, Mama.
Instead of waiting for her response, I shove my phone back into my bag.
Texting Austin can wait. I can’t think straight and I need to gather my senses and prepare for a difficult conversation with my parents. I have to come clean about my fellowship and residency. If I don’t tell them, they’ll hear it from someone through the grapevine of gossip, and that’s way worse to handle. Imagine their embarrassment if someone random broke the news to them. Seeing Mama scramble for composure and faking like she already knew, would be priceless, but I’m not interested in embarrassing my parents. Not when I’m an embarrassment enough.
All I can do is hold myself together and try not to cry in front of my parents. The only thing worse than being a disappointment is being a gigantic baby who can’t control her emotions about that disappointment.
* * *
“What’s wrong, Elizabeth?” Mama asks as I grab the salad dressing out of the fridge.
“Sorry?” I turn around and look at her.
My head is pounding and I can barely keep my eyes open. I wonder if crashing hard is part of the effects of coming down off ecstasy. I should’ve done the research before I headed over to my parents’ house.
I never should have offered to come over for dinner, but I felt an obligation. Ever since Maddie’s party, when they both made it clear that they weren’t happy with me dating Austin, I haven’t spent as much time around them.
It’s annoying that they won’t even give him a chance. They have to see how happy I am with Austin. Yet instead of caring about things like that, they push me toward boring guys I have no attraction to. How is someone I don’t even like being around a better option than a kind, hardworking guy—who happens to be a tattooed musician?
“You look like death. Are you sick?” She touches a lock of my hair, still wet from the shower I’d taken twenty minutes before I left for their house.
The disappointment shows in her disgusted frown. Southern ladies do not leave the house with wet hair or a plain face. I’ve known that since I was a little girl. Even in case of fire. You stand there and let the flames surround you while you finish your hair and makeup. Maybe by that time a good-looking fireman will have appeared at your window to save you. Because all women want—no, need—is to be saved by big strong men.
Which is heavy sarcasm, obviously.
“No. I—”
Internally, I wrestle with whether to tell them I was at a music festival with Austin. I already know they’re going to be pissed. Better to come clean than get caught in a lie. I don’t want to lie about my relationship with Austin anymore. I want to be able to bring him around my family again—someday.
“Austin played a huge music festival in Atlanta yesterday. I just got home this morning.”
“I thought we talked about him, Elizabeth.” Mom sighs.
“We did talk about him. I told you how well he treats me and how kind he is and how happy I am to be with him.”
“That’s very nice, but he’s not someone you could have a future with.”
“
Why not?”
“We discussed this.”
“Because he doesn’t come from money? Is that the problem?”
Mama rubs her face with both hands. “Yes, Elizabeth. That’s exactly why. He will never fit into your life. Do you remember what happened at your sister’s party? Do you think he likes feeling out of place?”
She stops talking when Daddy enters the room. I wonder why because she usually doesn’t filter herself around Daddy.
“Please take this to the dining room.” Mama thrusts a huge bowl of salad at me. I grab it out of her hands and head out of the kitchen. After setting it on the table, I go back to see if there’s anything else I can help with.
I stop before I enter the room because she’s talking about me. Let’s hear what she has to say to Daddy about Austin.
“It’s getting to be too much. She hasn’t spent any time with us recently. Now she’s sneaking off to music festivals. You know that means they spent the night together.”
“Don’t be naive, Cookie, she’s twenty-six years old. Let her get him out of her system.”
“What about the auction? It’s her big event and she doesn’t even know what’s going on with the planning. How do you think it’s going to turn out if she hasn’t paid any attention to it?”
“She’s got a lot on her plate, but she always makes it work, don’t worry.”
“You don’t think she’ll bring him, do you?”
“Shhh, Cookie.” Daddy lowers his voice and I have to take a step closer to the door and lean over to hear. “Don’t worry. She’d never bring him to something like that. She’ll realize that someone like him doesn’t fit into her life. It’ll all work out.”
“I thought you took care of it, Harris?” Mama says in an angry whisper. “I thought his mother took the money to get him to stay away from her.”
What the heck?
“We’re all on the same page, Cookie. She said everything was taken care of. I can assure you that she doesn’t want her son with Elizabeth just as much as we don’t want her with him. He feels inferior when he’s around her—and us.”
He pauses and I hang on every second of silence. “Elizabeth is a distraction. Austin doesn’t really feel anything for her. She’s a conquest unlike any he’s had. At least he’s smart enough to realize that.”
A conquest. I’m just a conquest?
My stomach tightens and I swallow hard, trying to push back the anger and confusion.
If I was just a conquest, why would he tell me he loved me? Why would he waste so much time with me? I’m not exactly the coolest person to be seen with.
“I wish she were thinking straight. It really chaps my rear that she’s throwing everything away for this guy,” Mama says.
“Don’t worry. He’s going on tour soon,” Daddy says, using his fingers to put ‘on tour’ in air quotes.
“What does that mean?”
“It means he’s leaving town.”
“Oh, thank the good Lord for small miracles!”
“We’ll have our level-headed girl back soon.”
“I hope so, Harris. This injury has really taken a toll on her. I’m questioning her choices. Should we suggest a therapist?”
Daddy crosses the room and puts an arm around Mama’s shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “Let’s hold off on that. Once this phase is over, she’ll be back to her old self.”
“I hope so.”
I don’t know if my parents could be any more dramatic about me dating someone. It’s as if I’m going through a horrible illness.
A beat passes before I call into the kitchen to make my presence known, “Anything else I can help with?”
I figure announcing myself is better than barging in. They’ll get paranoid, wondering if I heard anything. Daddy’s always been a very private person. He has most of his discussions behind closed doors—including those with Mama about our family. Choices made for us to keep up appearances. Or stop us from embarrassing the family.
This should have been one of those conversations. I’m obviously embarrassing the family.
No wonder Emily wants nothing to do with us.
I enter the kitchen as if nothing is wrong, as if my heart hasn’t been torn apart, hearing that Daddy paid my boyfriend’s mom to keep him away from me. As if hearing that all I am is a silly distraction for the only man I’ve ever loved isn’t breaking me into a million pieces inside.
“I think we’re all set, dear,” Mama says, lifting her fingers to her fix her immaculate hair and stepping away from Daddy’s embrace.
“Hope you’re hungry,” he says. “Your mother outdid herself on this meal.”
“Harris,” Mama warns. Daddy’s joke about her ordering pizza doesn’t take well with a proud Southern woman.
“Come on, Cookie! I’m kidding,” Daddy says, grabbing the pizza box before following me into the dining room, where I’ve already set the table.
“She made the salad,” I offer quietly even though the last thing I feel like doing right now is standing up for either of my parents. I pull my chair out and sit, though I’m not hungry in the slightest.
“How’s physical therapy going?” Mama asks, as she scoops a heaping portion of salad onto Daddy’s plate.
“About the same.” I can’t lie to make them feel better. I can’t pretend anymore. As of this moment, I have nothing left.
“What do you mean?” Daddy nods slightly to tell Mama he has enough. She passes me the salad bowl and puts two slices of steaming cheesy pizza in front of him, before taking her seat at the table. It doesn’t seem weird that she plates his dinner for him. It’s kind. And it seems to make her happy. Doesn’t mean I think all women should do that.
Even though my parents pushed me into a career in medicine, one of Mama’s top priorities was teaching me how to take care of a family. Because I’ll be doing it all: Working eighty hours a week. Making dinner. Taking care of my husband. Taking care of the kids. Running the entire household. It’s all on me.
And it sounds absolutely dreadful.
It’s at this exact moment, I decide I’m done. I’m done busting my ass to attain someone else’s definition of the “ideal” life.
“It’s not getting any better. I’m not going to be able to perform surgeries again.” It’s blunt, but it’s honest.
“Elizabeth! Don’t talk like that!” Mama scolds.
“I’m telling you the truth, so you’re prepared when Dr. Crowder and Dr. Sharma and Vik all tell you the same thing. It doesn’t matter who my physical therapist is. I can function normally, but I will never be able to do anything as specialized as surgery again.”
My parents are speechless. I’m not sure if it’s because I finally admitted my greatest fear or because they’re coming to terms with the fact that this is the end of their daughter’s prestigious career.
Either way—the silence is thicker than morning fog in London.
I spear a piece of romaine with my fork and bring it to my lips. That’s when I realize, I can’t do it. I can’t sit in their presence, knowing what kind of plan they orchestrated. I can’t look them in the eye and make small talk, knowing they used their money and influence to squash the only thing that brought me any kind of happiness over the last few months, as the life they wanted me to have came crumbling around my feet.
“What’s going on with you, Elizabeth? What do you mean you won’t be able to perform surgery?”
“I can’t completely grip the scalpel or the laser. I can’t hold it tight enough.” To demonstrate, I lift my knife and hold it against a slice of pizza as I would a human body. The only way I could cut the pizza is with a really sharp blade because my grip sucks and I can’t press hard enough. “And when I try—every time I try—my hand shakes too much. I cannot get control when it comes to making precision cuts. My hand recovered quickly, easily, for everyday tasks, but I cannot go back to surgery.” I toss the knife onto my plate with force, causing a loud clunk.
Mama gasps.
�
��I’m not going to be the prestigious surgeon you can brag about anymore.” I push my chair back from the table and stand. “That’s my reality. I have to start over. What will you tell everyone? How does it feel to have a failure as a daughter?”
“Elizabeth, stop this nonsense,” Daddy says. He rises from his seat and moves toward me. He places his arm across my shoulder, trying to comfort his hysterical firstborn.
“It’s not nonsense. I was dismissed from the fellowship and my residency weeks ago. I’ve been finishing up with patient care. How do you think I had this weekend off?”
My parents are silent for a full minute. Then Daddy says, “We know how devastating this must be for you.”
His actions and words should be comforting coming from a parent, but I see through it now. It’s all fake. It’s another way to control me.
I shrug his arm off. “Do you? Or are you projecting your feelings onto me? Are you talking about how devastating this is for you?”
“This is exactly why we didn’t want you spending time with that musician, Elizabeth,” Mama interjects. Everyone assumes Daddy is the hard-ass because of how ruthless he is in business, but they’re wrong. Daddy was always there to give us a hug or an encouraging word—even if it’s fake.
Not Mama. She is cutthroat. She’ll tell me to suck it up through clenched teeth and a plastic grin. She’s never been the warm and fuzzy type.
“You’ve always been focused. The Elizabeth we raised would be seeking solutions. Maybe you can’t go back to surgery, but what can you do? They can’t cut you out of the fellowship; that doesn’t require you to perform surgical procedures. Ugh! You started hanging around that lowlife with no goals and you lost yourself.”
“He’s not a lowlife!” I yell. “He’s genuine and kind and passionate. He’s driven and smart. He’s traveling the country, opening up for one of the most popular bands in the world. He is more successful than I am right now! More successful than I’ll ever be!”
OPEN YOUR HEART: Material Girls 1 Page 21
