Page 22 of Dr. Do-Right
“My assistant will keep an office there for meetings and the corporate bullshit. The clinic is outside of the loop, wherethe people who actually need my services live.” He swung his attention to me, eyes softening when he met mine. “We’re finished here. Want to go home?”
“Um…” my gaze flickered between my parents. They had their best schmoozing faces on, battle-tested to keep a smile on their faces no matter what tea was spilled or what drama went down.
“Don’t be silly! Marija, bring your friend over to our table. We’ll find room for you.” My mom smirked, probably already imagining the social coup of showing back up at her table with a celebrity.
It wasn’t uncommon for me to join them at these things. Even after they’d cut me off financially years ago, and withheld their affection for years before that, I was often still expected to join them at the big dinners and fundraisers. God forbid someone think we were less than the perfect, happy medical family.
The problem was, I didn’t want to go back to their stuffy little table and do a song and dance for their rich friends. I wanted to hightail it out of here and get Malachi out of his clothes as quickly as humanly possible.
Yet, even with such a powerful motivation to leave, I hesitated. When I’d become a nurse instead of a physician, they’d given up all hope that I’d live up to their ideal of what their daughter should be. Why would they continue to waste time and money on me when it was obvious I wasn’t going to meet their astronomically high expectations?
I could still hear my father’s voice, bellowing,“My daughter will be a doctor, just like me! Just like my father before me! If you’re not planning on becoming a physician…well, maybe you’re not my daughter at all.”
Time and a good round of therapy (at Malachi’s urging) had showed me it wasn’t my fault that my parents found me lacking, and I couldn’t concern myself with their feelings and reactions, when I was just trying to live the best life for me.
But, still…in our hearts, aren’t we all just little kids who want to be loved by our parents? There was a small, timid part of me that couldn’t help wanting to be that dutiful daughter, even now.
“Rija.” Malachi’s voice in my ear turned my head. My eyes connected with his and a heady mix of anger, support and…affection (love?) stared back at me. “I go where you go, Kitten.”
Oh, fuck, did I love this man. Who else on this earth could deliver such a simple show of support, while also galvanizing my spine?
It was one thing for them to drag me around like a little doll. But I’d break into the lion enclosure and offer myself as a fresh sacrifice before letting them get their claws into Mal.
“We’ll head out.” I gave them a tight smile without making eye contact. “Enjoy the rest of the evening.”
I’d barely stopped talking when Malachi whisked me away to the coat check. I fumbled in my clutch for my ticket and a few bucks for a tip. I could feel my parents’ eyes on my back. Hushed whispers echoed in the hallway. They were conferring.
“Ah, yes, the lovely woman in red. Did you enjoy the party?” The attendant took my ticket while Mal did something on his phone. Calling a car, hopefully. Or booking two tickets to Tahiti. I’d have to go international to avoid the reckoning my parents would lay down on me the next time I saw them.
“Yes, it was lovely.” I sounded so breathless, the man might not have even heard my response. My adrenaline was pumping, fight-or-flight kicking in. I’d been trained for nearly thirty years to do what my parents wanted. My body retaliated at my rebellion.
“Dinner, then? Soon? To celebrate your birthday.” Mal set a bracing hand on my back at the sound of my mother’s determined voice. “And you can bring your…friend.” She sounded like it was a done deal.
“I’m, um, not sure, Mom. Let me get back to you.” Avoidance was my friend. Easier to duck her ironclad will via text than in person.
“No, it’ll have to be next week. Sunday. Your father and I are booked solid, but we can make that work.”
“How fucking generous.” Mal’s voice was soft enough that it didn’t carry to where my parents still stood by the settlement desk. I gave him a look. He gave me one right back before raising his voice, calling back to my mother without taking his eyes off me. “Rija is working on Sunday.”
My mother scoffed at his words. “Rija leaves work at four. She can make time for a family dinner. I’ll make Bandeja Paisa. All your favorites!”
“Tamales.” Malachi finally turned to face them. Where was the coat check guy? I peered into the coat closet that was apparently Narnia. Anything to avoid my mother’s eyes. She was like Medusa. She’d freeze me on the spot.
“What?”
“Your daughter’s favorite Columbian food is tamales.”
A pause. I swallowed, wrapping Mal’s hand in mine, because this guy was facing Medusa head on and could still remember my favorite food.
“Of course, that’s what I meant,” Mom tittered.
“We’ll see you both on Sunday.” My dad’s voice was firm. Final. Malachi took a breath, probably ready to fire back something scathing that would make me want to rip his tux off right here in this hallway. The protective thing he had going on here washot.
But there, a beacon of hope in the darkness. My wrap.
“Yes, Sunday is fine. I’ll text you to figure out the time. Thank you!” I grabbed my wrap from the attendant and shoved a few dollars in his hands. “Have a good night!” I chimed to the general hallway as I rushed towards the doors. The coatattendant, the cashier lady, my parents. Good night to all, and to all a good night. I wanted out of here. Now.
Chapter 8
