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“I can see you taking care of people, or animals. What about a vet?”
“I do love animals.” But I doubt I’m smart enough for that. Vets also have to be prepared to put an animal down if they are suffering, and I’d end up bawling each time. “That’s like eight years of school though. Veto.”
He rolls his eyes at me and pushes again. “What about something in the medical field? Doctor, nurse, pharmacist?”
“Cripes, Emmett. Is your goal to have me go to school until I’m thirty?”
“No, my goal is to help you find a career you’d be good at. Be able to take care of yourself, too. You hate relying on others.”
“You have high expectations of me. All those careers require you to be caring, and smart, and know your shit.”
He hangs his head back, exasperated. “You’re caring. You’re smart.”
“You’re telling that to the girl that got a C-plus in American history.”
“Correction: When you are interested in something, and you put your mind to it, you’re capable of learning it. But history is boring to you. And a C-plus isn’t bad considering you never did homework, never studied, spent each class doodling in your notebook just to blindly take the tests and still passed.”
True. “What makes you think I’m interested in medical stuff though?
“Because you watch those weird ass shows on TV about trips to the ER or tapeworms, and instead of getting grossed out, you’re fascinated.”
“Imagine going to the bathroom, thinking you have a terrible stomachache, and you find out you birthed a baby in the toilet.”
“It interests you; I know it.”
“It’s probably expensive.”
He shrugs. “All schools are expensive; you could do loans.”
“What about the caring part?”
“What about it?”
“Well, we agree that people should be caring when in those types of jobs.” No one wants to be in the hospital on their deathbed and have an asshole nurse taking care of them.
He’s quiet for a few minutes, pushing me further away on the swing. When I swing back to him, he grabs the rope, pulling me to an abrupt stop. He spins the tire until I’m facing him and leans down.
With a hand on each side of me, and those crystal eyes boring deep into my soul, he says “I think you care a lot. And I think you try to hide it because it makes you sad to care about people.”
We both know he’s right, but I won’t admit it.
It makes me sad to care about my mom, knowing she doesn’t feel the same way. She hasn’t spoken to me since the day I moved in with Emmett and his family, and though we’re a short drive away, she probably won’t care to see me before I move. It makes me sad to care about my dad and have him so far away. But most of all, it makes me sad to care so damn much about Emmett and his parents. To think of how much they have helped me, took me in and cared for me like their own daughter, and soon we will all go our separate ways.
“I thought you were going to be a lineman, not a psychiatrist.”
He laughs, taking a step back and giving the tire a gentle push. “Well, you don’t have to take my advice. If waitressing is your dream, go for it. Some people do make a career out of it and there are restaurants that charge a thousand dollars for a steak, so I imagine the tips are pretty good. But you could also waitress while you go to school and take a few general ed classes. Learn about anything and everything you can, and maybe something will speak to you. My sister met a friend in college who’s a nurse. She said you can travel around the country and fill in at hospitals that need help, work two or three months at a time. She makes crazy money at it, too.”
“I could become a hot-shot nurse and find a job wherever you are.”
“Now, there’s an idea,” he says, finally smiling a genuine smile.
“I think she’d love it,” I manage to say, clearing my throat as the memory fades. “That swing is like a therapist. I may come over to use it now and then.”
Chapter Thirteen
“I
hope your pizza preferences haven’t changed.” Emmett walks back from the front door, muscles flexing under the weight of the boxes.
