"He asks when you will be coming to work," she says, the eternal question.
"Mamma, you know I don't plan on working for the company."
She sighs again. "Many more years of school, Sebastiano. For what? To be in debt? To work yourself to death in a hospital? The business is here. Your family is here."
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "We've had this conversation, Mamma. Medicine is what I want."
"What you want," she repeats. "Your father built this business from nothing when we came to this country so his children would have opportunities, and you?—"
"I have to go, Mamma," I interrupt, unable to bear another round of guilt. "I have a study group.Ti voglio bene."
"Ti voglio bene," she replies automatically, and I can hear the hurt in her voice as I hang up.
I slump onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My family doesn't understand. They see education as a means to an end: get a degree, work with the family, and make money. They don'tunderstand the calling I feel toward medicine. The need to heal, to understand the human body at its most fundamental level.
They also don't know I'm gay. That's another conversation I've been avoiding.
My phone buzzes with a text. It's from JP, one of my roommates and part of my small circle of friends, all science majors, all gay, all sadly lacking in many social skills. We're all so busy that we don't hang out much, but when we do, it's great.
JP
Mandatory decompression tonight. Beans & Books, 7 PM. Say yes, or we'll kidnap you.
I smile despite myself. My found family understands me better than my blood relatives.
Me
Fine. But I can only stay an hour.
JP
TWO hours minimum. Your mitochondria will survive without you hovering over them.
I laugh out loud at that. JP's ability to make science jokes is one of the reasons we're friends.
Another notification pops up, this one from the university events board.
PCU Events
REMINDER: Interdisciplinary Mixer tonight, 6-8 PM, Student Center Ballroom. All departments are encouraged to attend. Refreshments provided.
I groan.Shit. The fucking mixer.
That special circle of hell where they trap STEM students in a room with liberal arts majors and expect us to bond over what, our shared love of overpriced textbooks?
Yeah right…. Okay, that's bitchy even for me.
But attendance is being taken, and my department head made it clear that pre-med students are expected to show up and "demonstrate interpersonal skills." Apparently, medical schools care about that sort of thing.
I text JP back:
Me
Change of plans. Have to go to the stupid mixer first. Meet at B&B at 8 instead?
JP
MIXER. Crap I forgot. We're coming too, Fresh meat outside our usual circles… fresh meat that we can stare at, fantasize about, but probably never actually speak to.
