“He’s good.”
She nods a few times and then stands up from her chair and goes around the back to her desk. “I’d like to discuss your work at the lab today.” Her movement had provided me with a false sense of security. Generally, when she introduces a subject that I don’t want to discuss, she remains in her seat with her green eyes blazing holes in me as she gives me her silent, knowing looks.
“It’s going well.”
“I want to discuss why you chose to focus on aortic aneurisms.”
My jaw goes slack and my skin prickles with goose bumps, even though it’s always too warm in here, even for me. I hear Kitty moving some papers around, but I don’t watch her. Controlling my emotions right now takes every ounce of focus that I have.
Thousands of thoughts and set responses drift through my mind before I finally take a deep breath in preparation of my words. “My dad’s death gave me a direction. I never knew what I wanted to do other than help people. Studying aortic aneurisms gives me an opportunity to potentially help a lot of people.”
“Do you think he’d want you to be doing this?”
“This?”
She raises an eyebrow at me. She used to allow me to play dumb and eat up time to sort through my thoughts and create responses. She doesn’t look at all willing to do that right now.
“Living in Delaware, studying how to prevent what killed him?” I ask, taking on her role.
“Moving away from your family and changing your life so drastically, while spending most of your time focused on how to conquer something that conquered him.”
“He always supported my decisions.”
“If he was here now, would you still be here? Still studying aortic aneurisms?”
“I told you, his death gave me a focus.”
“Or an excuse.”
My jaw clenches as I glare at Kitty. Mentally, I’m throwing a tantrum, screaming at her.
“Even if you’re able to establish a theory or definition of what causes them, or how to prevent them, it’s not going to bring him back, Harper.” Her words soak into me slowly, too slowly. I don’t know how she has so much control over my emotional responses, but it feels like she knows exactly how to play me to make me talk, and to listen.
“Your dad loved you, Harper. I know this without ever knowing him, because you make it very apparent with your pain in getting over his death. I know that you had a very special relationship and you loved him very much, as well.” Her chin drops as she stares at me. It isn’t in a challenging manner, but like she’s waiting for me to be able to take in everything she has just said.
“I want you to spend some time over the next week considering what he would think if he knew that you were over here, away from your sisters and mom. Away from all of your friends. I also want you to consider what he’d say to you spending all of your time feeling guilty over something you shouldn’t. You couldn’t have stopped him from dying, Harper.”
The door is barely visible as I pull it open and leave. I know our time isn’t over, and that this is the second time that I’ve walked out on her and she can technically inform my professor, Dr. Kahndri, and my school that I’ve done this and it would force me to start taking required counseling sessions, but I don’t care. I need to get the hell away from her and allow some of these raw areas of my memories and heart some reprieve.
I consider calling in sick to work. The last thing I want to do is discuss how things went this morning with Kitty, and I know that Fitz will ask; he always does. However, knowing that calling in will only wave an even bigger red flag, I go.
Although I’m fifteen minutes late for my shift, the lab is empty when I arrive, so I take a seat and pull out my phone to reply to a text Kendall had sent me last night. Returning to Delaware after Christmas was difficult. Saying goodbye to all of my sisters once again had started to make me feel the emotions that I had somehow managed to avoid with my initial trek across the country.
Me: Sorry, I was asleep early last night. How are you?
Kendalclass="underline" I was worried U wld B. Sorry :( Where should I send ur album?
When I moved my sisters had bombarded me with questions about where I was living. It wasn’t in the “let’s talk about designing your bedroom” sense. It was “we’re coming to get you now,” and I fought it by not responding to their calls and messages. They could have found me; it wouldn’t have been hard. They all knew where I worked, and I’m sure someone would have helped them as soon as they saw one or all of them, since they likely would have shown up with the entire cavalry. Now they seem resigned to the fact that this is something that I am going to do, and even if they were to show up tomorrow, I know now that I wouldn’t allow them to sway me into going back. I need to do this. Kitty convinced me of it this morning. I need to understand things and prove to myself that I can do this on my own. It’s not for anyone else. It’s for me that I need to do this.
I text her my address as Fitz enters with a white bag stained with grease and a drink tray.
“Muffin, muffin?”
“Those are some really greasy muffins.” I say, warily eyeing the bag.
Fitz gives me a wide grin. “Yeah, they’re way better than muffins. I got donuts!” He sets the bag down on my desk, along with the drinks, and anxiously rubs his hands together. “These are the best donuts you’ll ever eat. They sell out like every day. I stood in line in the snow with twenty other desperate people for these delicious delicacies.”
It’s freezing outside. I’ve never experienced this kind of cold where it feels like you can’t physically breathe and your face and hands burn. I thought the Thanksgiving Day parade was cold. It wasn’t. I enjoyed the snow’s appearance for the first couple of days, and have since been working on not considering it as a strong reason to return home.
I pull out a donut covered in coconut flakes and take a big bite. I don’t know how Fitz manages to stay so thin because he seems to know where all of the best desserts and treats are in town.
“Amazing, right?”
I nod in agreement because it is. It’s light and airy with the right amount of sweetness in the dough, and an ever-so-slightly crispy shell, and the most delicious raspberry filling I have ever tasted. It’s not a glob of thick raspberry jam that you usually find, but a still warm and slightly runny center that tastes like fresh raspberries. I feel slightly dazed by it. “Seriously, I might be convinced to go stand out in the snow too if they’re all this good.”
Fitz’s smile is filled with relief as he passes me a coffee. “They have really good coffee too. You’re so going to get acclimated to this weather.”
I feel my first laugh of the day flow out of me with ease, relaxing my muscles that I didn’t realize until now were still taut.
“How did things go this morning?”
“They were good. I think it made me realize that I’m here for the right reasons. I’m here for me, and accomplishing things that are important.”
Fitz nods a couple of times, holding a chocolate donut shining with icing and enough sprinkles that no one would be able to turn it down.
I don’t explain to him how I came to this conclusion. If I told him what Kitty said to me, there’s no way he’d allow me to explain my revelation without attempting to play devil’s advocate and asking me three thousand questions about if this is really what I need. And right now, that’s the very last thing I need.
“Don’t worry about failures, worry about the chances you miss when you don’t even try.”
–Jack Canfield
The following Monday, Fitz suggests—of all things—that I go with him to a local sports bar to watch a pay-per-view boxing match that’s supposed to be a big deal in that world. My distaste for fighting hasn’t lessened, but since returning home after Christmas, I find myself craving interactions so I don’t hesitate, or even complain.