and scream and throw temper tantrums when it’s about your stuff. Your kitchen, your wardrobe, your interests. But when it comes to important things, he has the run of the house—and the run of your brain, apparently.”
“Demi,” my father rumbles.
“It’s true,” I insist, angrily shaking my head at her. “You haven’t even given Hunter a chance. I expected better from you. And you,” I turn toward Dad, “you did meet him, and he was nothing but nice to you. He wasn’t rude, he listened when you spoke, tried to pay for lunch—”
“Because he’s a rich boy,” Dad says snidely.
“No, because he’s a nice person. And I’m really, really into him.” Anguish rises in my throat. “You guys don’t have to like him if you don’t want to—that’s fine. But he’s going to be in my life either way. We’re dating now, and it’s serious between us. We’ve talked about going away for spring break, and maybe Europe this summer. Hunter will be in my life whether you like it or not.”
Dad is frowning. “You’re supposed to take Molecular Biology in the summer,” he reminds me.
Frustration seizes up all my muscles. For a moment I find myself too tense to move, let alone speak. I inhale again, willing myself to relax. I know from experience that temper tantrums don’t work on my father. He’s impenetrable to yelling. If you want to get through to my father, you need to use logic.
“I’m not taking that class,” I tell him. “I’m not interested in taking any more sciences.”
His brow furrows. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying my brain is going to explode. I don’t care about bio or chem or any of the pre-med courses I’ve been taking these past couple years.” I lick my suddenly bone-dry lips. “I won’t be going to med school after I graduate.”
The ensuing silence is deafening. Nobody says a word, and yet my head is a cacophony of noise thanks to my shrieking pulse. Dad’s shock is unmistakable, but I can’t tell if he’s angry.
“I’m not going to med school,” I repeat. “This is something I’ve been thinking about since…well, pretty much since I started at Briar. I want to go to grad school, get my master’s, get my doctorate. And while I do that, I can get a counseling degree and actually see patients—”
“Clients,” he corrects stiffly. “There’s a difference.”
“Fine, whatever, it won’t be patients. It’s still people—people I’ll be able to help. That’s what I want to do,” I finish, and when I realize my shoulders have sagged in defeat, I force myself to straighten up. Because fuck that, why should I be defeated? I’m proud of this decision.
Dad flicks up one bushy eyebrow. “What does your new boyfriend think about this?”
“He supports me one hundred percent.”
“Of course he does,” Dad sneers.
“Marcus,” Mom says sharply, and I look over in gratitude. Maybe what I said got through to her a little.
“Is he the one who talked you out of going to med school?” my father demands.
“No. I told you, I’ve been struggling with this forever. I make my own decisions—Hunter just supports them. Unlike you.” My chest clenches with disappointment. “Anyway. This is why I came home today. I wanted to tell you guys, in person, about the two very important life changes happening for me right now. I’m with somebody new and I’m pivoting career-wise. I’m sure there are lots of interesting specialties within psychiatry, but that’s not the path I want to take.” I pause. “Oh, and since I’m being extra honest right now—I don’t like hoop earrings and I gave Pippa your birthday present because I’m never going to wear those earrings.”
The dining room falls silent.
Mom rises and starts gathering up the dishes. Without a word, I help her. As we trudge silently into the kitchen, I notice that her eyes look moist.
“Are you crying?” I ask in concern.
She blinks hard, and her long eyelashes shimmer with tears. “I’m sorry, mami. I didn’t realize… I…” She pauses, then tries again. “You know your father, Demi. He’s an alpha male. And you’re right, I defer to him a lot and I’m sorry for that. I should be forming my own opinion of your new boyfriend.”
“Yes,” I agree.
She rubs her knuckles beneath her wet eyes. “The next time you’re in the city, why don’t you bring him and we can go out for lunch or dinner?” she suggests, her voice soft. “How does that sound?”
“It sounds wonderful. Thank you,” I say gratefully.