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There is no way in hell I can ever show my face around here again.
—
While the incident from the gym weighs heavily on my mind, I don’t have time to dwell on it, because as soon as I get home, I’m summoned to dinner. While everything todaysucked, I have bigger problems now because tonight, for the first time in seventeen years, I’m going to disobey my parents. I’ve had nightmares about this exact moment but here I am, sitting at the mahogany dinner table that’s been in our family for generations, about to tell them I’m ending three generations of Robertson tradition. Mom watches me fidget as I tug at the collar of my shirt. The grandfather clock behind her ticks in time with each beat of my heart.
“Something wrong with your dragon roll, Lori?” she asks, placing more on one of the heirloom china plates handed down from her great-grandmother. In the center of each, there’s a hand-painted bluebird in midflight. I never thought I’d be so envious of a plate.
“Nope, it’s great,” I say, stuffing a piece into my mouth to prove my point. It tastes like ash, and I take a sip of water to wash it down. We’ve had sushi three times this week because the Japanese restaurant is open late enough to cater to Mom’s schedule, but that’s not the issue.
“Have you gotten your summer work schedule yet?” Dad asks me, refilling my crystal glass.
“Yes. They sent it two weeks ago when school ended.”
Since I turned fifteen, I’ve been a part-time lifeguard at the community center and occasionally teach swimming to local kids. It’s not the most exciting job, but better than being forced to go to summer science camp.
“Email it to me,” Dad says. “We can plan a day around it to tour the campus again. Plus, I’ve been eyeing some volunteer opportunities at the hospital I think you’d be great for. Nothing major, mostly in the office, but it’s important for you to get some experience in a hospital setting.”
This is it. The opening I’ve been waiting for. A bead of sweat drips down my forehead, and I wipe it away. “Actually . . . about that . . . I . . .”Deep breaths, Lori. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Creepily in sync, my parents’ heads swing over to look at me, and I shrink into my seat.
My parents, Paul and Mary Robertson, are both heart surgeons at the top of their field, and all my life I’ve heard about how I’m going to follow in their footsteps and be an amazing surgeon like them. Like their parents. Like their parents’ parents. We’ve watched educational television after dinner, had conversations about tricuspid valves and atrial fibrillations, and they’ve even made me practice suturing supermarket chicken.
I’ve been told that I was going to be a surgeon since before I even knew what a surgeonwas. So, for them, my life is going exactly as they planned, especially once they saw my early acceptance letter to Life Sciences, one of the hardest programs to get into at the University of Toronto. They even googled “surgeon family photoshoots” to get inspiration for all the cute photo Christmas cards we’d send out each year in matching scrubs, with stethoscopes dangling from our necks. The thought terrifies me.
“What were you thinking?” Mom asks, setting her chop-sticks down to fix me with a stare. Her gaze is intimidating.
Her eyes are the exact same shade of blue as mine, but they’re surrounded with lines from years of stress.
I’ve rehearsed this speech many times in my head. “It’s not a big deal, but before I become a doctor, I think I should have more real-world experience.” I sip my water, peering at them over the edge of my glass. The fact that they’re not smashing their spicy salmon rolls to bits or grounding me for eternity must mean I’m doing a good job, so I push ahead, a tiny bit more confident. “I want to defer my admission to next year, so I can take this year off to backpack through Europe.”
Okay, maybe I wussed out on the wholeI don’t think I wantto be a surgeonannouncement, but baby steps.
The air thickens as their silence persists. All I hear is the throbbing of my pulse in my skull and the incessant ticking of the grandfather clock. Right before I crack from the overwhelming quiet, Mom and Dad glance at each other, then erupt into laughter.
“Yeah. Good one, Lori,” Mom says, then sips her wine.
My voice is shaky when I say, “I’m not joking. That’s what I want to do.”
Mom sets her glass down, then brushes aside some nonexistent crumbs on the white tablecloth. Dad’s face is unreadable. “I wouldn’t be alone, obviously,” I add, trying to convince them before they shut it down outright. “I’ve done a lot of research. There are lots of gap year programs online. Some of them even give college credit. Studies show that students who defer for a year end up being more successful at university. I’ve printed out some sample itineraries for you to look at. Here’s the best part, I have more than enough money saved up to pay for it myself,andI’ll earn more lifeguarding this summer.”
Mom sighs as if praying for the patience to deal with me, and my breath catches in my throat. “That all sounds magical and wonderful, but you know most people who take a year off don’t return to school,” she says.
“That’s not true—”
Dad tosses his linen napkin over his plate. “Look, Lor, getting an education is more important right now than traveling.
You’ll have plenty of time for that once you finish med school.”
He points to the picture of his mother, Lorraine Robertson, sitting on the fireplace mantel. It’s in a heavy golden frame, and he touches it every time he passes by. “Your grandmother would be so proud of you. You know how hard she worked to become one of the first female surgeons in Canada, and now you’re carrying on her legacy.”
My stomach twists. I’ve always felt all this pressure to be like her. I’ve been hearing about how hard she worked, and how accomplished, smart, and passionate she was since I was old enough to hold her heavy picture frame in my little toddler hands. She died before I was born, but she’s been a constant part of my life, always around, always haunting me, her eyes following me as I walk by, accusing me.Why don’t you wantto carry on my legacy? Why are you such a disappointment?I try to avoid this room when I can, avoid a picture that should hold no power over me but somehow controls my fate. But since we eat all our meals here, that’s virtually impossible unless I snag the seat facing away from the fireplace.
“Don’t you think I deserve a little break before I hop into ten or more years of schooling?” I plead, confidence draining from my voice. It’s a losing battle, and the room is closing in on me.
“You have been working hard,” Mom says, “but you need to do well on the MCAT or you won’t be accepted into medical school after your undergrad, and all of that hard work will have been for nothing. This is not the time to slack off, Lori, not even for a single summer. This is a time for working, volunteering, and studying.”
I swallow hard and weave my hands together under the table to stop them from shaking. The rest of my life looms in front of me, so I make one last-ditch attempt. “But what if I don’t want to go to med school?” I blurt, shocked as the words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
