much raised by their housekeeper, Francie, and us.
“It’s been Emily and me ever since I can remember. She’s been like a fixture in our house growing up. I guess I’ve always taken care of Emily, from the very beginning.” He could see how unimpressed I was with this story, pausing to see if he should go on.
“She’s very pretty,” he said, “different than you, cute, not as tall, serious and levelheaded…”
“I’m levelheaded.”
“She’s not as adventurous as you.”
Big-breasted? I wanted to ask.
“Why hasn’t she been to the hospital? Where’s she been all summer?”
“She met her parents in Italy. We were supposed to go together.”
“But instead you traveled all the way to the Valley to meet a fifteen-year-old.”
“Yeah, I guess I did. Except now she’s sixteen.”
“What a difference a day makes. Is she smart?’ I asked, thinking that was the one thing I might have over her.
“Let’s just say that she finished first in our med school class, but we were neck and neck for a while.”
“Oh,” I said, deflated, “I didn’t realize she was there with you.”
“Yeah, we’re both doing our pathology rotation.”
I mumbled, “The friend who lured you from your dream,” but he didn’t hear me because he was busy explaining how he was going to work for her family’s pathology lab—one of the most prestigious in Boston. BrinkerHarte , I heard him call it.
“That sounds really great,” I said, hating Emily Cohen for keeping that last candle on my cake lit. “It must be nice to have everything so mapped out for you; no need to worry about any unforeseen obstacles.”
He eyed me with what I now understood to be the suspicious brow . “I’ve always been very methodical, and I can deal with unforeseen obstacles.”
“Qualities you’ll put to good use when you’re laboring over your research.”
“Emily’s uncle is one of the leading pathologists in the country,” he lamented.
“You don’t look like the type that gets swayed by other people’s choices.”
“I’m not being swayed. I want to do this. I’ll be good at it, and I stand to make a lot of money.”
“Do they even know you had a plan of your own?”
“It’s important for the two of us to do this.”
“Why?”
“It just is,” he said, “I’m really all she’s got.”
“So you'll set aside your dreams to sit in a stuffy path lab to please your girlfriend and her family?”
He gave me a sheepish smile. “It's adorable that you care.”
“I don’t care at all,” I snapped, moving away from the table and the close proximity of his charm. “I'm actually disappointed in you. You’ll never be happy. Finding that place inside where you can sit comfortably in your skin is worth more than all that other stuff.”
“You're going way deep on me,” he said, studying my face, caught up by the depth of my emotions.
Then he wrote, I like when you get all hotheaded . On its own, this sentence would have had a profound effect on me, but when compounded with his spoken words, “That’s something that nags at me and leaves me open to regret, not the regret of being a pathologist,” I realized just how many levels were at work in our conversation.
“Besides,” he continued, “your definition of happiness might be different from somebody else’s.” This wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I wanted to forget ideology and have him write more insatiable things to me on the table, but he didn’t. My words had reached a place in him that was tightly guarded. We were different people from different worlds. I couldn’t expect him to understand the fragility of life and how something you love can be snatched away from you. I thought that his father’s prevailing illness would have sensitized him to this, but maybe it was having the opposite effect. Maybe it was too much to bear, knowing that he was in the process of losing someone he loved.
“My father’s dead, Jonas.”
He moved around in his
“It’s been Emily and me ever since I can remember. She’s been like a fixture in our house growing up. I guess I’ve always taken care of Emily, from the very beginning.” He could see how unimpressed I was with this story, pausing to see if he should go on.
“She’s very pretty,” he said, “different than you, cute, not as tall, serious and levelheaded…”
“I’m levelheaded.”
“She’s not as adventurous as you.”
Big-breasted? I wanted to ask.
“Why hasn’t she been to the hospital? Where’s she been all summer?”
“She met her parents in Italy. We were supposed to go together.”
“But instead you traveled all the way to the Valley to meet a fifteen-year-old.”
“Yeah, I guess I did. Except now she’s sixteen.”
“What a difference a day makes. Is she smart?’ I asked, thinking that was the one thing I might have over her.
“Let’s just say that she finished first in our med school class, but we were neck and neck for a while.”
“Oh,” I said, deflated, “I didn’t realize she was there with you.”
“Yeah, we’re both doing our pathology rotation.”
I mumbled, “The friend who lured you from your dream,” but he didn’t hear me because he was busy explaining how he was going to work for her family’s pathology lab—one of the most prestigious in Boston. BrinkerHarte , I heard him call it.
“That sounds really great,” I said, hating Emily Cohen for keeping that last candle on my cake lit. “It must be nice to have everything so mapped out for you; no need to worry about any unforeseen obstacles.”
He eyed me with what I now understood to be the suspicious brow . “I’ve always been very methodical, and I can deal with unforeseen obstacles.”
“Qualities you’ll put to good use when you’re laboring over your research.”
“Emily’s uncle is one of the leading pathologists in the country,” he lamented.
“You don’t look like the type that gets swayed by other people’s choices.”
“I’m not being swayed. I want to do this. I’ll be good at it, and I stand to make a lot of money.”
“Do they even know you had a plan of your own?”
“It’s important for the two of us to do this.”
“Why?”
“It just is,” he said, “I’m really all she’s got.”
“So you'll set aside your dreams to sit in a stuffy path lab to please your girlfriend and her family?”
He gave me a sheepish smile. “It's adorable that you care.”
“I don’t care at all,” I snapped, moving away from the table and the close proximity of his charm. “I'm actually disappointed in you. You’ll never be happy. Finding that place inside where you can sit comfortably in your skin is worth more than all that other stuff.”
“You're going way deep on me,” he said, studying my face, caught up by the depth of my emotions.
Then he wrote, I like when you get all hotheaded . On its own, this sentence would have had a profound effect on me, but when compounded with his spoken words, “That’s something that nags at me and leaves me open to regret, not the regret of being a pathologist,” I realized just how many levels were at work in our conversation.
“Besides,” he continued, “your definition of happiness might be different from somebody else’s.” This wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I wanted to forget ideology and have him write more insatiable things to me on the table, but he didn’t. My words had reached a place in him that was tightly guarded. We were different people from different worlds. I couldn’t expect him to understand the fragility of life and how something you love can be snatched away from you. I thought that his father’s prevailing illness would have sensitized him to this, but maybe it was having the opposite effect. Maybe it was too much to bear, knowing that he was in the process of losing someone he loved.
“My father’s dead, Jonas.”
He moved around in his
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