“So, I had more realistic goals. There’s nothing wrong with that,” I snap.
“And did you ever wonder why you avoided boys like the plague up until now?”
“I know exactly why. Because I’m shy and because—”
“Boys suck the brains out of girls . . .”
“And make them crazy.” I finish my father’s warning with a sad smile. Dad started warning me of that around the time that Kacey’s hormones started raging. He said my grades would suffer if I fell into the same trap.
“I think your reaction to the opposite sex is less about your shyness and more a subconscious mindset to avoid straying from this life plan you believe you must follow.” Subconscious mindset? Unease slips through my stomach like a snake, sending shivers up my spine. Is he saying that Kacey is right? That I’m . . . sexually repressed?
I lean forward and let my chin rest in the palms of my hand, my elbows set against my knees, as I think. How could Dr. Stayner find fault in who I’ve become? If anything, he should be pleased. He said it himself! I turned out so well. I know my parents would be proud. No, there’s nothing wrong with who I am.
“I think you’re wrong,” I say quietly, staring at the ground. “I think you’re looking for things to diagnose me with. There’s nothing wrong with me or what I’m doing.” Sitting up straight, I take in the campus surrounding us—this beautiful Princeton campus that I’ve worked hard to make sure I attend—and I feel anger surge. “I’m a straight-A student going to Princeton, for Christ’s sake!” I’m borderline yelling now and I don’t care. “Why the hell would you show up at seven a.m. on a Saturday after I just started college to tell me my entire life is . . . what . . .” I swallow the sudden lump in my throat.
Dr. Stayner takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes yet again. He remains completely calm, as if he expected this reaction. He told me once that he’s used to being yelled at, so not to ever feel guilty about it. I sure as hell don’t think I’ll be feeling guilty after the bomb he just dropped on me. “Because I wanted you to be aware, Livie. Fully conscious and aware. This doesn’t mean you should stop doing what you’re doing.” He shifts slightly so that he’s facing me. “You’re a smart girl, Livie, and you’re an adult now. You’re going to be meeting people and dating. Working hard to achieve your goals. And, I hope, going out and having some fun. I just want to make sure you’re making your choices and setting your goals for you and not to please others.” Sliding back against the bench, he adds, “Who knows? Maybe Princeton and med school are what you really want. Maybe the man who makes you happy for the rest of your life is also the one who your parents would have handpicked for you. But maybe you’ll find out that’s not the right path for you. Either way, I want you to make your choices with your eyes wide open rather than on autopilot.”
I don’t know what to say to all of this so I stay silent, staring at nothing, confusion and doubt settling heavily on my shoulders.
“Life has a funny way of creating its own tests. It throws curve balls that make you do and think and feel things that are in direct conflict with what you had planned and don’t allow you to operate in terms of black and white.” He gives my knee a fatherly pat. “I want you to know that you can call me anytime you want to talk, Livie. Anytime at all. No matter how trivial or silly you think it is. If you want to talk about school, or guys. Complain about your sister”—he says that one with a crooked smile. “Anything at all. And I do hope you call me. Regularly. When you’re ready to talk. Right now I assume you want to pour that coffee over my head.” Standing up with a big stretch, he adds, “And all conversations will be confidential.”
“You mean you won’t be enlisting my sister to do your dirty work anymore?”
Rubbing his chin, he smiles as he murmurs, “What a good little minion she has become.”
“I guess you considered the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing optional?”
He peers down at me with an arched brow. “You were never my patient, were you?”
“And now I am?”
He smiles, holding out his hand to guide me up. “Let’s just keep it loose. Call me when you want to talk.”
“I can’t pay.”
“I don’t expect a dime from you, Livie.” Almost as an afterthought, he slides in, “Just your firstborn child.”
Normally I’d give him an eye roll at the very least for a joke like that. But not now. I’m not in the mood for any jokes. The weight that I’ve worn on my back for three months as I wondered what Dr. Stayner might discover about me, which lifted just twenty minutes ago, has now crashed back down onto my back, crippling me under its heft.
I’m sure he’s wrong.
But what if he isn’t?
CHAPTER SIX
If versus When
The almost two-hour commute from the Princeton campus to the Children’s Hospital in Manhattan gives me plenty of time to stew over Dr. Stayner’s surprise visit and outrageous diagnosis. By the time I get to the front desk to sign in for my first volunteer session, I’m more rattled than I was to begin with. I’m also convinced that he might be losing his magic touch as the brilliant psychiatrist. Either that or he’s insane and no one has caught on yet. Maybe both.
“Have you ever worked with children in a hospital before, Livie?” Nurse Gale asks as I follow her swaying hips down the long corridor.
“No, I haven’t,” I answer with a smile. I’ve spent enough time in hospitals, though, that the sounds of beeping machines and the mixture of medicine and bleach filling my nostrils instantly brings me back seven years to the days of forced smiles, and Kacey with tubes and bandages and a hollow stare.
“Well, I hear your reference glows in the dark,” she jokes as we round the corner and follow the signs toward the playroom, my quick tour of the hospital coming to an end. “You’re a natural magnet for children.”
My eyes roll before I can stop myself. Not at the nurse—at Stayner. Back in June, when I mentioned to him that I had applied for a volunteer position at this hospital but hadn’t heard back from them, he casually mentioned that he had a few friends there. The next week, I received a phone call for a brief interview, quickly followed by an offer for a position on Saturday afternoons in the Child Life program—playing with young patients. I jumped at the opportunity. Of course I saw Dr. Stayner’s fingerprints all over it but it only made me appreciate him more, knowing that when I apply for med school, having this volunteer position on my application will show that I’ve been committed to pediatrics for years. It had seemed like he was helping me achieve my goals at the time. Ironic now, given that he basically thinks I’m a preprogrammed drone who shouldn’t be here in the first place.
I push all of that away, though, because I know what I want and I know that I belong here. So I nod politely at Nurse Gale and say, “I think they’re a magnet for me too.”
She stops at a door and turns to give me a pensive smile. “Well, you just be careful about what kind of attachments you make, you hear, sweetie?” With that, we step into a bright and colorful playroom with a handful of children and other volunteers. My shoulders immediately relax as I hear the infectious laughter. It’s like a shot of Valium through my veins.
“And did you ever wonder why you avoided boys like the plague up until now?”
“I know exactly why. Because I’m shy and because—”
“Boys suck the brains out of girls . . .”
“And make them crazy.” I finish my father’s warning with a sad smile. Dad started warning me of that around the time that Kacey’s hormones started raging. He said my grades would suffer if I fell into the same trap.
“I think your reaction to the opposite sex is less about your shyness and more a subconscious mindset to avoid straying from this life plan you believe you must follow.” Subconscious mindset? Unease slips through my stomach like a snake, sending shivers up my spine. Is he saying that Kacey is right? That I’m . . . sexually repressed?
I lean forward and let my chin rest in the palms of my hand, my elbows set against my knees, as I think. How could Dr. Stayner find fault in who I’ve become? If anything, he should be pleased. He said it himself! I turned out so well. I know my parents would be proud. No, there’s nothing wrong with who I am.
“I think you’re wrong,” I say quietly, staring at the ground. “I think you’re looking for things to diagnose me with. There’s nothing wrong with me or what I’m doing.” Sitting up straight, I take in the campus surrounding us—this beautiful Princeton campus that I’ve worked hard to make sure I attend—and I feel anger surge. “I’m a straight-A student going to Princeton, for Christ’s sake!” I’m borderline yelling now and I don’t care. “Why the hell would you show up at seven a.m. on a Saturday after I just started college to tell me my entire life is . . . what . . .” I swallow the sudden lump in my throat.
Dr. Stayner takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes yet again. He remains completely calm, as if he expected this reaction. He told me once that he’s used to being yelled at, so not to ever feel guilty about it. I sure as hell don’t think I’ll be feeling guilty after the bomb he just dropped on me. “Because I wanted you to be aware, Livie. Fully conscious and aware. This doesn’t mean you should stop doing what you’re doing.” He shifts slightly so that he’s facing me. “You’re a smart girl, Livie, and you’re an adult now. You’re going to be meeting people and dating. Working hard to achieve your goals. And, I hope, going out and having some fun. I just want to make sure you’re making your choices and setting your goals for you and not to please others.” Sliding back against the bench, he adds, “Who knows? Maybe Princeton and med school are what you really want. Maybe the man who makes you happy for the rest of your life is also the one who your parents would have handpicked for you. But maybe you’ll find out that’s not the right path for you. Either way, I want you to make your choices with your eyes wide open rather than on autopilot.”
I don’t know what to say to all of this so I stay silent, staring at nothing, confusion and doubt settling heavily on my shoulders.
“Life has a funny way of creating its own tests. It throws curve balls that make you do and think and feel things that are in direct conflict with what you had planned and don’t allow you to operate in terms of black and white.” He gives my knee a fatherly pat. “I want you to know that you can call me anytime you want to talk, Livie. Anytime at all. No matter how trivial or silly you think it is. If you want to talk about school, or guys. Complain about your sister”—he says that one with a crooked smile. “Anything at all. And I do hope you call me. Regularly. When you’re ready to talk. Right now I assume you want to pour that coffee over my head.” Standing up with a big stretch, he adds, “And all conversations will be confidential.”
“You mean you won’t be enlisting my sister to do your dirty work anymore?”
Rubbing his chin, he smiles as he murmurs, “What a good little minion she has become.”
“I guess you considered the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing optional?”
He peers down at me with an arched brow. “You were never my patient, were you?”
“And now I am?”
He smiles, holding out his hand to guide me up. “Let’s just keep it loose. Call me when you want to talk.”
“I can’t pay.”
“I don’t expect a dime from you, Livie.” Almost as an afterthought, he slides in, “Just your firstborn child.”
Normally I’d give him an eye roll at the very least for a joke like that. But not now. I’m not in the mood for any jokes. The weight that I’ve worn on my back for three months as I wondered what Dr. Stayner might discover about me, which lifted just twenty minutes ago, has now crashed back down onto my back, crippling me under its heft.
I’m sure he’s wrong.
But what if he isn’t?
CHAPTER SIX
If versus When
The almost two-hour commute from the Princeton campus to the Children’s Hospital in Manhattan gives me plenty of time to stew over Dr. Stayner’s surprise visit and outrageous diagnosis. By the time I get to the front desk to sign in for my first volunteer session, I’m more rattled than I was to begin with. I’m also convinced that he might be losing his magic touch as the brilliant psychiatrist. Either that or he’s insane and no one has caught on yet. Maybe both.
“Have you ever worked with children in a hospital before, Livie?” Nurse Gale asks as I follow her swaying hips down the long corridor.
“No, I haven’t,” I answer with a smile. I’ve spent enough time in hospitals, though, that the sounds of beeping machines and the mixture of medicine and bleach filling my nostrils instantly brings me back seven years to the days of forced smiles, and Kacey with tubes and bandages and a hollow stare.
“Well, I hear your reference glows in the dark,” she jokes as we round the corner and follow the signs toward the playroom, my quick tour of the hospital coming to an end. “You’re a natural magnet for children.”
My eyes roll before I can stop myself. Not at the nurse—at Stayner. Back in June, when I mentioned to him that I had applied for a volunteer position at this hospital but hadn’t heard back from them, he casually mentioned that he had a few friends there. The next week, I received a phone call for a brief interview, quickly followed by an offer for a position on Saturday afternoons in the Child Life program—playing with young patients. I jumped at the opportunity. Of course I saw Dr. Stayner’s fingerprints all over it but it only made me appreciate him more, knowing that when I apply for med school, having this volunteer position on my application will show that I’ve been committed to pediatrics for years. It had seemed like he was helping me achieve my goals at the time. Ironic now, given that he basically thinks I’m a preprogrammed drone who shouldn’t be here in the first place.
I push all of that away, though, because I know what I want and I know that I belong here. So I nod politely at Nurse Gale and say, “I think they’re a magnet for me too.”
She stops at a door and turns to give me a pensive smile. “Well, you just be careful about what kind of attachments you make, you hear, sweetie?” With that, we step into a bright and colorful playroom with a handful of children and other volunteers. My shoulders immediately relax as I hear the infectious laughter. It’s like a shot of Valium through my veins.
