Текст книги "Finding Me "
Автор книги: Mariah Dietz
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
“Stop it, Max!” I yell, thrashing until he releases me. “I don’t want you to touch me!” I shove against his chest with both hands to free myself from where he has me pinned against the wall.
Rather than it creating space, he takes a step closer to me and grabs both of my wrists and holds them at my sides. “Talk to me,” he demands, his voice still calm. Too calm.
I stare at him defiantly, waiting for him to release his grip and let me go. I know that it’s useless to fight against him. There’s no way I’ll win.
“Ace, talk to me.”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity when someone cares about you.”
“YOU DON’T CARE!” I scream. Tears of anger and sadness escape my eyes in thick streams. “You don’t care,” I repeat, staring at his face through the blurriness of my tears.
“You’re the one that left, not me.”
“You hated me until my dad died.”
“You left me, Ace. You got scared and left me in the middle of the fucking night. I didn’t hate you. I needed to know what was going on! What was I supposed to do?”
“I wasn’t leaving you, Max! I was freaked out. I was twenty and you were talking about us moving in together, and all I could see was my future becoming what someone else expected of me. I felt like I was going to fail you. What was I supposed to do?”
“I wanted you to work for us!”
“I did, Max! Every day I worked for us! I gave you my freaking virginity!”
“You gave me your virginity!” Max repeats with a dark chuckle. “I gave you my fucking heart! You didn’t break me when you left—you destroyed me.”
“You gift wrapped your heart six months later for another girl,” I snap.
“What did you expect me to do? You moved across the country! You met someone new.”
“You let me go!” With each word, my volume lessens until it’s nearly a whisper, my tears coming in thicker streams. I’m crying so hard, I’m not sure what Max’s reaction is to my outburst. I’m still attempting to process the revelation myself.
As my body begins to slide down the wall, I feel his arms encircle me, and I welcome the comfort, crying a million tears for what we had, and what we both let go of.
I continue mourning as he holds me on the couch. I hear the soft rumble of his words that are imperceptible over my own grieving. Occasionally, my crying dissipates, and then a new wave hits me, and I cry for Sarah losing her unborn child and for Kitty being sick. I cry about loving Max and not being able to let him go, and for my father dying and not grieving properly when he did. I cry again for the pain that I’ve caused my friends and family, and the relationship that I now have with my mom. Each time a new wave of tears racks my shoulders, Max holds me a little tighter.
When I wake up, the clock on the cable box informs me it’s just before noon. I don’t know what time I finally fell asleep, but I know it wasn’t long ago, and my head aches with the excruciating pain that comes after you sob as I had.
I look over to see Max asleep on the longer side of the sectional, looking peaceful and content. I stare at him for a moment without the fear of being caught. His face has the shadow of stubble from not shaving for a couple of days, and his hair’s longer than I’ve ever seen it before, making him look slightly less intimidating. My eyes fall to his left hand and trace over the tattoo that’s just as apparent as it was the day we got them. Hers. The word feels like it’s mocking me.
I have to stand up to prevent myself from reaching out and following the contours of his cheekbones like I used to when he was mine and I had that right.
In the kitchen I fill a glass with tap water and rummage through the cabinet that I know they keep medicine in and find something to help with the throbbing in my temples.
The yearning to touch Max returns as I approach the couch and without reason or thought, I slide in beside him, pressing my chest to his.
Quiet murmurs stir me from my sleep, and I know from the giggle that one of the voices is Kendall. I yawn and nestle my face against my pillow, and realize with a jolt that it isn’t my pillow, but Max’s shoulder. My eyes fly open as I recall how I got myself into this compromising position. I remain perfectly still and work to devise a plan to sneak out unnoticed.
Max’s right arm is beneath me. His left, however, is draped around my waist and his hand currently rests on my right butt cheek. Max used to always intertwine our legs while we slept, usually securing his place by hooking his foot around my calf, just as it is currently.
I know Max is a fairly light sleeper, and therefore my chances of getting out undetected are low, but I have to try.
Slowly, I begin to pull my right leg out, causing him to stir nearly instantly when our bare skin pulls free from one another like removing a Band-Aid. In turn, Max tightens his grip on my backside, making me jump and his right arm to flex against my lower back, pulling me even closer to him.
I press my lips together, realizing what a dumb idea my dire need for closeness had been. I should have cuddled with Zeus. At least that wouldn’t have caused me to explain to my ex-boyfriend why he’s about to wake up with me glued to him.
I slowly crane my neck to see if I can see how our legs have repositioned and notice the cranberry colored throw covering part of our legs. I’d been using that blanket last night—on the other end of the couch.
My thoughts of this morning fire back in rapid succession as I retrace my steps and come up with the confident conclusion that I’d left the blanket on the far side of the couch. Meaning that at some point Max had woken up and retrieved it before returning to cuddle with me in this too-small space.
Rather than slowly, I quickly try to pull my leg free, expecting more resistance than what I’m met with, causing my weight to shift backward and reminding me that trying to avoid inevitable and awkward situations like this is useless.
A small scream followed by a rather loud thud caused from me hitting the floor alerts Max, and has his body shoots up from the couch.
“Are you okay?” he asks, looking down at where I’m sprawled on the floor.
I nod quickly and climb to my feet, feeling my cheeks heat. “I’m okay.”
“You always have wiggled a lot,” Max says with a lazy smile on his full lips.
I’m not sure how to respond, so I simply nod again, wondering if he was awake through part of my failed escape mission.
“So how was hanging out with Sarah and Hank?” Kendall asks in a cheery tone as she walks in holding two pizza boxes.
My neck snaps to where she’s standing. The trigger for my dire need for snuggling up beside Max last night, hits me.
I sit back on the couch near Max’s feet, no longer feeling steady, and grip the bottom of my pajama shorts, rolling the hem between my thumbs and forefingers. I don’t want to share Sarah’s nightmare. It isn’t mine to share.
“It was…”
“It sucked,” Max says, moving to sit upright. “Some asshole was a total jerk to Ace at the bar last night so she and Sarah came home, but Sarah ended up not feeling well, so Ace had to take care of her.”
I glance at Max, overtly aware that he’s referring to himself as the asshole from the bar, since I hadn’t spoken to anyone other than the girl that was trying to discern if he was my boyfriend.
He looks at me and for the first time since I’ve been back, his face unguarded as he gives me a small smile. “She really helped Sarah a lot. It was a rough night.”
I glance back at my fingers that are now tying themselves in the tassels of the throw blanket.
“That really sucks. I hope she’s okay.”
I try to assure her with a smile, but I can tell with her answering expression she knows something more occurred.
“I figured since you guys were asleep at four in the afternoon it must have been a long night.”
“It is always wise to look ahead, but difficult to look further than you can see.”
–Winston Churchill
I awake to one of the neighbors mowing the lawn and consider the fact that there hasn’t been enough heat in Delaware yet to warrant lawn maintenance—a strong positive for living there. I wander into the kitchen, wondering if I’ll run into Max and how things will be after yesterday and the few hours that the four of us spent together watching movies and eating pizza like old times, laughing and teasing one another, almost as though the last year never happened. Yesterday had been such a short day, a part of me feels as though I wasted precious time sleeping.
“Hello, sleepyhead!” Kendall sings. Her smile is infectious, and as soon as I feel my matching grin, my heart aches with a sharp twist. I already know that going back to Delaware Monday is going to be difficult, but seeing my sister like this—like we’re still two halves of the same whole, and there isn’t a silent discomfort tainting our time together—inflicts the pain. How have I survived these past ten months without her? Without all of them.
“We’re heading to Abby’s, you need to get dressed.”
“I forgot!” The palm of my hand slaps my forehead as I look to see what time it is. We’re supposed to be at her apartment to help paint the nursery in less than thirty minutes. I stand up and head to my suitcases.
“I already texted her and told her we might be a little late. She said it’s fine.”
“Okay, I’ll hurry.”
The odor of bleach is nearly obscured by the coconut scented candle burning on the bathroom counter. I watch the flame dance for several seconds, transfixed by the movement and slight heat radiating off the wick. What is going to happen? Where do things stand with Max and me? Can we be friends? Do I want to be his friend? The memory of his grip on my wrists, and the look in his eyes as we faced each other early Monday morning makes my heart stampede in my chest. I press myself to recall what was said, and what wasn’t. I get in the shower and let the water help focus my thoughts, dissecting each of our intentions. I thought he was going to ignore me and let me go to Mindi and Kyle’s the following day, but Max knew I was hurting. He knew I wouldn’t be able to redirect my thoughts alone. Because he knows where I’m weak without me saying it and the levels of self-destruction I’m willing to go to, to avoid it—things I’m just now learning about myself. I’m fairly certain he always has. I just thought he stopped caring.
My thoughts travel to him consoling me on the couch, and I desperately work to place the words he spoke too softly for me to hear. My frustration is piqued as I reach forward to turn off the water in defeat. I have no idea what Max said to me. Why wasn’t I working harder to pay attention?
My thoughts ate up more time than I realized, and I rush to get ready, dressing in a borrowed pair of shorts from Kendall with red fingernail polish staining the green denim, and an old blue track shirt that I packed solely because I know how much Kendall wishes to burn it.
My hair is tied up into a knot as I head out to the living room to find Kendall, our purses in her hand, waiting to go.
“You packed the foot shirt?”
“It’s not a foot. It’s a shoe.”
“With wings!” Her voice is sarcastic, making my lips stretch into a grin. Kendall still has the ability to distract my frustrations, and help me find humor.
“I know how much you love it.”
“Always thinking of me.” Her hand falls to the middle of my back, and stays there until we reach the car. Once we’re buckled, her hand finds mine and we remain connected for the short journey to Abby and Jesse’s.
Kendall’s fist raps on the white apartment door. The warm winds tickle my bare legs, teasing of early summer weather though spring arrived for just a short stint and seems to be returning to winter back in Delaware. Jesse pulls open the door, releasing a deep breath.
“Ready and at your service, boss.” Kendall salutes him making me quietly laugh.
“Shhhh…” Jesse hisses. He reaches forward and grabs Kendall’s hand saluting him, and pulls her inside. “We aren’t supposed to paint the walls.”
“I thought that was a little odd,” Kendall replies, dropping her purse to the couch. “So why are we painting then?”
Jesse’s body lifts in a nonchalant shrug. “Because she wants the room to be pink. That seems like a pretty small request.”
“Ohhhh! Jesse, that is quite possibly the sweetest thing I’ve heard!”
Jesse’s eyes slowly blink and then his brows rise, his lips pressing in a firm line showing he isn’t appreciating Kendall’s words that are said with a slightly mocking tone, which I know to be sincere.
“It is sweet,” I add. “If I didn’t already like you, I would now for sure.”
“I’m glad to have your approval.” Jesse reaches forward and gently pushes me, making my shoulder sway against Kendall’s. “Now I need you to help me get her out of the nursery so we can paint it. I got the stuff with the lowest fumes, but everything still advises to have her out of the room.”
“I’m not going to paint. I’m just going to oversee.” Abby appears from the short hallway, her stomach looking less prominent covered in a loose sundress with bright shades of color spattered across the front. She’s smiling but I can see a train of objections she’s mentally calculating as she gets closer and hugs me.
“You can look at it when it’s done. You invited these two to make sure it was done to your expectations. It will be perfect, mi amor.”
“You really shouldn’t be around the fumes,” I add. “If you want us to change anything, we will. We won’t leave until it’s exactly what you want.”
“She knows. That’s why she wanted to be sure you would be here. You and Kendall don’t know how to allow imperfections.”
Kendall and Abby hug beside me, saying something that I can’t hear because Jesse’s words are replaying through my head. I feel like I am one giant imperfection that has made one imperfect decision after another over the past year.
My focus is brought to attention by Kendall clapping a couple of times and moving forward, followed by Abby and Jesse.
“So you’ve already painted?” Kendall’s eyebrows are scrunched with confusion.
“Only the base color for the three pink walls.” It’s my turn to be confused as I look to Abby for further information. “I changed my mind about the solid pink with the gray bottom and white stripe where they meet. I decided I want to do a gray wall, and then the pink walls will be striped.”
“Striped gray and pink?” Kendall’s tone shows how unfavorable she finds this idea.
“No. They’re going to be pink stripes. It’s nearly the same shade, but one is flat and the other glossy.”
I look over to Kendall and see that her eyes have gone slightly wider. Neither of us knows anything about painting. Kyle having worked in construction from the time he was eighteen, has always taken care of that, or referred a painting contractor if he didn’t have availability and my mom wasn’t feeling patient. She apparently doesn’t want to confess this to Abby, sensing her already unsteady mood.
“So we need to use tape, right? Painters tape?” Abby’s eyes move to Kendall, and her smile brightens.
“Yes. Jesse already painted the flat color, so you guys will help him apply the glossy pink.” She leads us into the nursery where three of the four walls are a soft baby pink, just as she’d explained. The floors are covered with tarps, and the single window is outlined with bright blue tape. The room isn’t very big. We can do this.
An hour goes by as we discuss the benefits of horizontal and vertical stripes. It’s another two hours until we finish measuring and marking the walls. We’re applying our second line of tape to the wall when Abby changes her mind and decides she prefers vertical stripes. Kendall’s eyes close, and I feel my head fall back on my shoulders, but Jesse releases a deep breath and nods.
“Sure, babe. Vertical it is.”
“It took us forever to measure the wall and figure out the spacing,” Kendall whines quietly to the two of us.
“Welcome to my world. You should try going to dinner with her and see how many places you pull up to before she picks one. Or crib shopping. That was fun.” Jesse grabs the end of the painters tape and pulls it free from the wall. It’s amazing how it takes only a second to undo what had taken us a couple of hours.
“We need Jameson,” I admit. “This should be simple, and yet I keep forgetting what side of the line the tape goes on, and I feel like every time we measure the wall we get another number.”
“He’s supposed to be off early today. They had some retreat this morning, so they’re only working a half day.”
“Call him!” Jesse exclaims, looking relieved by the prospect.
Kendall digs in her pocket and retrieves her phone. I start erasing pencil marks as she quickly sends out the world’s longest text.
“Should we paint the last wall gray while we wait?” As I ask, I head over to the white wall that has four patches of gray painted in large splotches.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Let me just check with her first, make sure she hasn’t changed her mind again.”
Painting this small of a wall isn’t grueling or strenuous, but I feel nervous and flustered about every detail. We had started without adequate paint on our rollers, which required us to go over them with an extra coat. Then we overcompensated to make sure we didn’t make the same mistake and learned it causes drips. The open window makes one section dry faster and the paint there is lightening, so now it looks like a completely different color.
“How did you guys get so much paint on yourselves?” My head turns toward the door at Jameson’s voice, and my breath catches. Max is beside him wearing the same pair of old shorts he mowed the lawn in Sunday morning, and a shirt that says Jameson Whiskey across the front. Max’s eyes are on me, his lips turned slightly upward with a relaxed grin.
Kendall’s hand lands firmly on my butt, and she releases a laugh. I turn at the waist to see her gray handprint.
“You know these are your shorts, right?”
“That’s even better. My own handprint on my ass.”
I shake my head and put down my roller before turning to the wall to inspect our work once more. “Do you guys think it looks even? I feel like the right corner is darker.”
“The paint looks the wettest there. We have to wait until it’s all dry,” Jameson says, stepping closer inspecting our work. “You guys did pretty good. I’m impressed.”
“Jesse got called in to work right when we got started,” Kendall explains. “I’m glad you guys could come because this wall took us forever. Two perfectionists that don’t know what they’re doing is the exact recipe for an anxiety attack.”
Jameson smiles, taking a step closer to Kendall. His thumb follows a gray streak of paint running down her temple. “You guys did great, babe. Abby is going to love it.”
Kendall’s body relaxes against his, and he brushes a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. I turn back to the gray wall as he leans forward to kiss her. This couldn’t be any more awkward.
“So she wants vertical stripes, huh?”
“Spaced four inches apart,” Kendall answers Jameson.
He blows a low whistle as he looks around. “Max, you want to help me measure and mark while the girls tape?”
“Let’s do it.” Max’s answer is that simple, like he doesn’t find this arrangement uncomfortable. Am I the only one struggling to know what is a memory and what is reality? Unable to always decipher if Max is truly relaxed and smiling, or if I just want him to be.
Max and Jameson move and work seamlessly with one another. Each knows what the other needs or expects without verbalizing it. I briefly wonder if that’s what it’s like to watch my sisters and me when we’re doing something familiar. If so, it’s kind of beautiful.
Kendall and me taping however is not beautiful. Multiple times we have to pull a piece off the wall after realizing we started on the wrong side of a pencil mark again, or because we have a crease from trying to straighten a line.
“Ace, what are you doing?” I look up at Jameson from where I’m lying on my belly, scrutinizing the wall for a marker.
“I can’t find where the dot is.”
“Why are you laying down to tape?”
“Because when I stand up, I keep applying it so that it leans right.”
“And laying down helps that?”
“Kendall suggested it.” My eyes turn to see my smiling sister.
“And after twenty-one years, you still fall for her brilliant ideas?” Jameson grins and shakes his head. “This is you two TP’ing that house all over again.”
I push off the ground with my hands. “Not even close. We’re completely sober and doing something to help,” I object.
“And dressed,” Jameson adds.
Max turns away and coughs. His palm hits his chest a few times and his head shakes. I wonder if he’s trying to forget the memory, or if I’m just being selfish thinking his reaction has anything to do with the conversation at hand. It’s possible he only took a breath in wrong.
“This nothing,” Kendall says, smiling mischievously. “Your birthday last year, when I convinced her to go skinny dipping in the lake was noteworthy, this is just mildly amusing.” Her eyes quickly dart to Max and then return to the wall.
“The bear, that’s right.” Jameson’s head shakes and the tape measure snaps as it contracts. He climbs down the ladder and gets on his knees beside me and runs the tape along the trim.
“You mean the perverts,” Kendall corrects him.
Jameson’s lips tug up into a grin as he leans forward and marks the wall. “Landon was telling Wes that story when we were out last weekend.”
“For what purpose?” Kendall sounds slightly indignant.
I reach toward the wall with the tape and Jameson stops me by placing a hand on my wrist. “Other side.”
“It’s a good thing my brain understands science.” Jameson smiles too broadly for my lame excuse and then turns to Kendall.
“I don’t know. I came in on the tail end of it.” He sits back on his heels and watches me hand the tape over to Kendall, already on the step ladder to run it to the ceiling. “You guys are doing really good, but you should try going floor to ceiling this time.”
I laugh and my face heats. I don’t know if we’re excusing common sense because we’ve never done this and are so intent on making it perfect, or because the guys have us distracted. I’m fairly certain it’s the latter, at least for me.
We’re moving to open the gallon of satin pink paint, when Abby walks in. “I ordered pizza. Max, do you mind picking them up?” She runs a hand along her stomach.
“Out!” Kendall demands. “We just had this conversation!” It’s been over an hour, but we’ve had to remind her to stay out repeatedly all afternoon.
“I’m hungry though,” she whines in reply.
“Sure, I’ll go. Where’d you put in the order?” Max rubs his hands across his stained shorts, leaving a smear of light pink paint.
“Antonio’s of course. You probably need some help. Ace, you should go too.” Abby’s implication is so blatant I would laugh if it wasn’t me she was putting on the spot. Instead, my chin juts forward and my eyes widen.
“That’s a good idea. Your seats are slick and it would suck to get pizza sauce all over.” My mouth opens to protest at Jameson’s comment. He has been spending WAY too much time with Kendall.
“We’ll see you guys in a few. Don’t worry; we’ll wait until you’re back to paint.” Kendall smiles, portraying a false illusion of charm and innocence.
“Oh, and no caffeine.” Abby’s hands wrap around my shoulders. She walks me toward the doorway where Max is standing rigid, his hand gripping his keys, and eyes wide with uncertainty. I think we’re both fearful that if we keep spending time together, things are going to blow up.
His throat clears and my cheeks heat. He’s going to say this is a bad idea. He should say this is a bad idea. So should I. But, this feels like another rejection—it stings. “You guys have to get better at this.”
My fingers toy with the hem of my shorts. Having Max clarify their intentions—though subtly—makes this situation even more uncomfortable.
Max’s eyes turn to me and he inclines his head to the door. “Pizza.”
Walking the short distance through the apartment and down to the parking lot, time slows down, allowing me to fixate on the fact that I look like a mess, and feel like I’m walking too straight. I slump my shoulders slightly to try and look more relaxed and then feel even more awkward, and straighten again and feel even more rigid.
He unlocks the truck with the press of a button and unlike he did when we rode in his Jeep together, he doesn’t come to open the passenger door. I’m still debating if I wanted him to when I notice a water bottle lying in the middle seat. It was mine. I carried it in here from the hospital Sunday. I never would have remembered it if I didn’t see it again, that entire night is sort of a blur, but at some point, someone had passed it to me while we waited for the doctor. I don’t remember carrying it out. It’s still mostly full, showing proof I barely touched it. Did I carry it out?
The truck starts with a soft rumble. It sounds so different than his Jeep. My mind turns with the gears. What do I say to the guy that was everything and is now supposed to mean nothing to me? This silence is unbearably uncomfortable. I can’t stop from guessing what he’s thinking. Is he wishing I wasn’t here? In his truck? In California?
“So, how’s medical school?”
Max’s head turns and his eyes focus on me for a second before he turns back to the road. I keep my attention on him, confused by his delayed response. Of all topics, this seems like a safe route. “I have my own set of flashcards.”
I smile out of relief more than humor. “I used the wrong set of flashcards to study for a test last semester.” I shake my head and release a short breath. “It’s amazing that I passed it.”
“I bet you got an A on the paper, didn’t you?”
I glance at Max and he’s looking at me. His head shakes and a soft chuckle mingles with the music. “You’re the smartest person I know. You’re astrophysicist material.”
“Says the guy studying to be a brain surgeon.”
“Neurosurgeon.”
My laughter fills the truck. It’s not even that his joke was all that funny, but having an easy conversation with Max makes laughing easier. Better. When my laughter fades into a smile I expect to feel the same stab of nostalgia I experienced earlier with the knowledge that I will miss this, but I don’t. I simply appreciate the moment, and attempt to stretch it. “Do you remember the Maximus flashcard?”
Max’s truck pulls into a parking spot, and he shifts into park before turning to me. “I remember everything.” His tone is solemn, but his face is relaxed. I keep his stare without abashment. I want to stay here and continue to draw out this moment. To feel this emotion that’s flushing through me, warming me, and filling me with something I have forgotten about. I don’t know how to describe it: it’s not the same comfort that I get from being around my sisters, or the adrenaline I receive when I reach that point while running; it’s a rightness, a completeness that makes my heart swell and my smile broaden. My head starts to race with interpretations of what this means, but a fog fills my thoughts because I know. My heart understands exactly what he’s saying to me … I think.
“I do too.” My admission makes me feel brave.
My phone rings, and we’re back in his driveway almost two years ago when his phone rang, back to where neither of us knows how to say the right thing to one another, but this time it’s both of us walking a gray tightrope, one that felt less intimidating to cross because I could see him at the other side.
His eyes close and he looks embarrassed, or possibly ashamed. It awakens old tendencies, making me question the reality of the moment. My phone rings again, and Max’s entire body shifts away from me. Opening the door, he climbs out in one fluid movement.
I don’t know if I can go out there and face him right now. I feel as though he’s rejecting me all over again, and it makes my eyes and throat burn. I need to stop being so sensitive. There’s nothing to reject. He’s already moved forward.
My hand fishes out the offending phone to shut it off when I see it’s Abby calling.
“Hey.”
“Sorry, would you mind asking for some parmesan cheese and some extra garlic butter? You know, the good stuff to dip our crusts in?”
My hand closes the truck door behind me, and my feet navigate their way up to the storefront. “Parmesan cheese and extra garlic butter, I’m on it.”
A cooler breeze blows against my bare legs as Max holds the door open for me. I haven’t worn shorts in so long every gust of wind seems to be catching my attention this week. My eyes move to the counter of the pizza parlor, unable to look at Max with the unease still prominently flowing through me.
“Harper?”
My eyes slide to the far end of the counter. Melissa’s eyes are bright and friendly. I think I’m smiling as I move closer to her.
“Hey.”
“How are you?” Her question triggers thoughts of Kitty. I’m still angry about our conversation the other night, I’m even more afraid of her prognosis. It’s bothered me greatly how accepting she seems to be of her fate.
My cheeks feel uncomfortable as I try an assuring smile. “I’ve been well, thanks. How are you?”
“Good. Really good. I switched majors after last year. I have been hoping to run into you on campus. I thought after our class last year with Professor Parker, I would see you in some classes this year. I’m taking his Issues in Applied Ethics and Mr. Grant’s Conceptual Foundations in Modern Science this semester.”
“Wow, that’s really awesome, Melissa. You were so great in philosophy it doesn’t surprise me at all to hear you’ve chosen to go into it. You’re going to do great.”
“Did you continue with it?”
I feel Max’s shadow behind me like a physical weight as she looks to me for an answer. “I actually decided to go into medical science.”
“Really? That’s exciting! And really impressive! I mean, that’s big! Are you enjoying it?”
“I don’t know.” My answer surprises both of us. I have woken up asking myself this question every single day since Kitty and I discussed my reasoning for going into the field. I have enjoyed learning more about the human body, I have loved working at the lab with Fitz, I appreciate the experience I received with working with the doctors before him, however, the passion I have felt when learning other subjects in school has been absent. I really haven’t addressed it, I attributed it to still not being fully comfortable and in the right mindset for learning. Lately I haven’t been so sure.
