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New Mason.
I drop down into my chair, leaning back, feeling liketheman. I look around the space, debating over where to put my plaques and degrees. I’m thirty years old, and at last, I finally feel like I’m getting my shit together. I toss my feet up on the desk, ready to make myself at home here.
But before I can get comfy, there’s a loud crack. And then the chair is in pieces. And I’m sprawled out on my ass on the floor.
Fucking hell!
Groaning at the pain in my lower back, I realize I should probably keep my celebrating to a minimum.
Priority number one might involve buying a new chair.
Then, maybe I can celebrate later.
8
KARLI
Well into the next evening, I’m still stewing and steaming and mad as hell over Layla’s situation.
The whole drama with my bestie and her man makes me so upset. I just wish I could make Layla see the light—to help her understand how much she’s truly worth. But then another tiny dark corner of me also wishes I could hunt down Razor The Deadbeat Dumbass and introduce him to my fist.Okay fine,allof me wishes that.
The whole mess has me buzzing with negative energy. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the hippie ladies around Starlight Falls, it’s that anger is not good for my chi. So I need a distraction.
I pop in my ear buds, cue up my favorite song on my phone, and start pulling ingredients out of the fridge. Cooking dinner almost always has the ability to calm me down and put me in a good headspace. Especially when I’m experimenting with new recipes.
Dragging some of my school books out of my backpack, I scatter them across the kitchen counter. Nutrition was my favorite subject in my pre-med classes last semester. I’m a total information junkie and I just love reading through the latest studies and data in the latest academic journals.
Sometimes, it takes me longer than most to actually digest the information I read, though. But when I’m out from under the pressure of school and deadlines and tests, I actually enjoy reading this stuff.
I get started on roasting some chicken breasts in the oven. I take out some of my bottled up rage by aggressively chopping up an assortment of veggies.
Just as my mood is beginning to lift and I’m starting to feel a little better, the music in my headphones cuts off abruptly. My phone rings with an incoming call.
My parents.
I try and fail not to cringe.
With a heavy sigh, I answer the call. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” I say. “How’s your trip going?”
They both talk at once, excitedly stumbling over each other as they tell me all about their latest adventures. Gondola rides in Venice. Gourmet cheese tours in the Southern French Alps. Visiting Nana and Grandad in Ireland.
Despite the sense of dread hovering over me, I laugh as they recount their colorful anecdotes. “It’s nice to hear that you’re having a good time in Europe. You both deserve it,” I tell them.
All the while, I’m quietly waiting for the shoe to drop.And then, before I'm ready, it does drop.
“So Karli…” Dad transitions the conversation. “We heard from your brothers that you’re back home. That you’re staying at the house. What happened to summer classes and getting ahead?”
My stomach drops to the floor.Fuck.
I can’t lie my way through this one. I have to break the news. I have to tell them that their only daughter didn’t get into med school. I’ve been stressing about this conversation long enough. I can’t delay it anymore. I decide that I just have to rip off the bandaid and spill it.
So I do.
I pick up my knife and get to chopping an onion. I talk super fast—like I always do when I’m nervous—and explain the whole situation to them.
As I speak, I chop and chop and chop. And then I chop some more. Until the poor onion is a slushy heap of nothing on the cutting board. And I can’t tell if my eyes are watering because of the onion or because of the stinging sense of disappointment I feel.
If I thought school was hard, this conversation is even worse.
