all-nighter at the hospital and only got home at ten-thirty this morning. That means I’ll most likely be dealing with Grumpy Papa today. It’s not ideal, but I can’t schedule my life around my dad’s various moods.
When the taxi reaches my brownstone, I take a deep breath before getting out of the car. I need to gather every ounce of courage I possess, because my father won’t be happy to hear what I have to say today. But Hunter was right—Dad’s not going to disown me. I know in my heart he won’t. He might huff and puff, but he’s not blowing any houses down.
I just need to stick to my guns, and not let him bulldoze me, especially about medical school. It’s time for me to stop being Daddy’s Little Girl and be my own woman.
As usual, numerous aromas greet my nostrils when I stride into the house. “Mom?” I call.
“In here.” She’s in the kitchen, where else?
I pop through the doorway and almost collapse in a puddle of ravenous drool. She’s pan-frying chicken with peppers and peas, and the spicy smell draws me toward the stove.
“Oh my God, Mom. Please move into the Theta house with me,” I plead. “You could cook for us every single day. Breakfasts, lunches, dinners.” I shiver in pure joy. “I’d be living the dream.”
Mom snorts.
I wrap my arms around her from behind, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Then I try to steal a piece of chicken and she smacks my hand with her spatula.
“Go away! Shoo!” She flaps her arm around like she’s trying to get rid of a pesky fly.
“You’re mean,” I gripe.
She rolls her eyes and continues cooking.
Because the food looks and smells so delicious, I make an executive decision to wait until after dinner to start dropping truth bombs. Dad looks exhausted when he joins us in the dining room. His dark eyes are lined with fatigue, and he keeps rubbing them throughout dinner.
“Tough surgery?” I sympathize.
“Surgeries, plural. I performed back-to-back craniotomies—one biopsy and one tumor removal. And just when I thought I was done, a third patient was airlifted in with a subdural hematoma.” He goes on about each case in depth, which includes a shit ton of technical details. I don’t understand half of what he’s saying, but he seems content to just chat with me about it.
“I can’t imagine being in an operating room for so long,” I confess. “I’d probably fall asleep on the patient.”
“It requires great discipline.” He chuckles. “It’s funny—this was indeed a long night, but I’m nowhere near as wiped as when I was completing my residency or going through medical school.”
It’s the perfect opening.
Take it, Demi, take it!
But I’m a wimp. So I don’t.
Instead, I bring up the other reason I’m home. Better to start small, right? Revealing that I have a new boyfriend isn’t as extreme as telling them I’m switching career paths.
I clear my throat. “I wanted to talk to you guys about something.”
Mom scrapes back her chair and starts to rise. “Let me put everything away first.”
“No, Mom. Come on, sit down. We can do that after.”
“After?” She sounds horrified. Because in our house, you eat a big meal and then you clean it all up. But then she sees my grave expression and sinks back down, concern flickering in her honey-brown eyes. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything is more than all right,” I confess.
At the head of the table, Dad’s expression clouds over. Dammit. I think he knows what I’m about to say.
“I wanted to let you know…” I blow out a hasty breath. “I’m officially dating Hunter.”
Silence.
“Um. This is good news…?” I prompt, looking from one parent to the other.
Mom is the first to speak. “Okay. Marcus. What are your thoughts on this?”
“You already know my thoughts. I don’t think he’s good for her.”
She nods deliberately before turning back to me.
“And that’s it?” I exclaim in disbelief. “He says that and you just nod along like a little puppet?”
Mom frowns. “Demi.”
“It’s true. You haven’t even met Hunter!”
“If your father says he’s not good for you, then I agree with him.”
“You. Haven’t. Even. Met. Him.” I spit out each word through clenched teeth. Then I suck in several breaths, trying to calm myself. “Seriously, Mom. I’m so disappointed in you right now.”
Indignation darkens my mother’s face. She opens her mouth and I know the Latina temper is about to be unleashed. But mine beats her to it.
“You’re constantly letting Dad dictate how you think! You yell