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The dreaded question. She, Dad, and Warren quit asking me so frequently a few days ago when I begged them to stop. But they still try to squeeze it into our daily talks like this morning. Am I loving the prospect of moving here? Hardly. Does it matter? No. It’s a means to an end.
“Don’t worry about me, Mama.”
“Can I tell you something?”
I sit down on a nearby bench to tie my shoe while holding the phone up to my ear with my shoulder.
“Of course.”
“Your father and I… we’ve never been in a better place in our lives.”
I stop what I’m doing and grab the phone with my hand again. Sitting up straighter, I wait for her to continue.
“We love where we live and work, we love our little community, and we have a routine together that is just right for us. We are doing just fine, sweetie.”
“Mom, that’s great. I love hearing that, but why are you telling me this?”
“You’ve assumed for so long that we’re struggling and that it’s your responsibility to remedy that. Maybe we’ve had some hard times in the past, I won’t deny that. But that’s what made us stronger. We’re so proud of you and Warren. There isn’t a thing I’d change about our wonderful little life and I want you to stop worrying about ours and start living yours. I want that for you more than anything.”
I see where she’s going with this. She thinks I’ll hate my job and that I’d be happier living in Westridge. She’d be absolutely correct. Pride keeps me from confessing it out loud to her though.
I fiddle with the hem of my shirt, looking for the ounce of truth in what I’m about to say, but I can’t. I say it anyway because reassuring her no matter how miserable I am is a habit that’s hard to break.
“I am living my life. I’m totallyfine.”
My voice cracks on the last word and a slideshow of my family, my hometown, the ranch, and Gage flashes through my mind.
“I love you, Mom. I’ve gotta go now.”
“Love you. So much.”
“Bye.”
I hang up the phone and tuck it into my bag. Stifling a yawn, I mentally chastise myself for not stopping for coffee before this. When I step through the automatic sliding doors, the woman I scheduled a meeting with waves me down right away.
“Dr. Farrow!”
I don’t know how she jogs in those heels that she’s got on, but she approaches me quickly and with a big smile on her face. “I’m Mrs. Heron, the head recruiting coordinator. I’m so glad you called.”
We shake hands and trade friendly smiles.
“Nice to meet you in person,” I say.
“Do you see all of your needs being met here?”
I freeze. Okay, then. She’s a straight-to-the-point kind of gal. It’s a simple question, one that should be easily answerable. I could say no, but then I’d have to explain myself and I don’t think she wants an emotional rundown of how I’m questioning taking this job should it be offered to me.
“Ah. The pause. It’s okay. I get it all the time. It’s more common than you think for potential hires to second guess their new position.”
“It—it is?”
“Most definitely. Why don’t you come to my office? I can help you sort it all out,” she pats my arm in a supportive way. “I don’t work for the hospital you know? I’m just freelance. I can find tons of options for you if you’re interested in trying to match somewhere else?”
I stare at her like a deer caught in the headlights. For the first time, I’m seriously considering other options. What is best forme? What do Ireallywant to do? I know whatever I set my mind to, I can be successful.
Mom’s phone call was a reality check this morning. Maybe I’ve been going about this the wrong way all along. How many women out there are pursuing a lifestyle based on what’s best for everyone around them but themselves? I don’t want to add to that statistic anymore.
She gives me a knowing look and holds her hand out in the direction of the elevator. I blow out a breath that’s been sitting at the bottom of my lungs since I was in high school.
