A tentative knock on the door breaks our stand-off, and when I see Richard’s expression go from sour to a practiced smile, I twist in my chair to see Annaliese walk into the room.
I dropped her off at her apartment an hour ago, but I still breathe a sigh of relief to see her standing in front of me. She’s freshly showered; her dark curls are still damp and the scent of coconut follows her through the room. The color came back to her cheeks yesterday evening, and even though she was feeling fine and could have gone back to her apartment, there wasn’t one part of me that wanted her to leave.
I made us dinner and we watched a 90s action movie lying on opposite ends of the couch. Our feet became tangled up in one another, and I told myself it was because she needed the warmth.
“Sorry if I’m interrupting, I just wanted to let Dr. Andrews know that our first case got bumped up a half hour.”
I rise from my chair, ready to leave when Richard stands at the same time. He holds his arms out as a half-forced smile crosses his face. “Come here, Princess. Your dad could use a hug.”
I watch Annaliese school her expression at the awful nickname, hoping that I’m able to mask mine just the same. I want so badly to rip Richard a new one and dare him to continue to use that nickname in front of me now that I know the meaning behind it. What that must feel like for Annaliese, to feel a little pinprick to her heart each time he uses it. She walks over to her dad, leaning forward to give him a hug and a pat on the shoulder.
He pulls back, holding her out to look at her with both hands on her shoulders. “Look at my little Princess, all grown up.”
She plasters on a fake smile when she pulls back, her arms coming to rest on his. “Do you want to go to dinner tonight, Dad? We haven’t really had time to talk since I’ve been back.”
“That’d be wonderful, but I’m sure you’re on-call, are you not?”
His gaze briefly flicks to me, and Annaliese follows with a worried look.
I clear my throat coolly. “No, she’s not. I’m making changes to the on-call schedule. Ones that’ll make for a more effective workflow.” Changes that’ll have her working an appropriate schedule just like every other resident that walks these halls.
I can see Richard’s jaw tighten, and I clench the arms of my chair, willing myself not to stand and shout from the rooftops at him.She’s fucking trying, Richard, I want to bellow.Give her something, anything, that shows you love her.
He pulls her in for another quick hug, and when he has her in his embrace, his eyes fall to me, and a silent warning crosses his face. If he could, I think Richard would send me away with a verbal warning, reminding me of the line etched in the sand and the one goal he’s set for me. He’s not a fool, he knows that something’s changed, he just doesn’t know what.
Chapter Seventeen
Annaliese
Iknockhesitantly,keepingmyear pressed to the crack in my dad’s office door before opening it. “You wanted to see me?”
He looks up from his computer, smiling as he does. “There’s my girl.”
I cross over to him, knowing he’s about to stand for a hug. Things have been … awkward since my move back to the city. Our run-ins have mostly been at work, which meant discussions were kept professional. Usually he directs the conversation toward Colt while I’m present, not really talking to me or including me in what’s being discussed. But that shouldn’t surprise me.
What surprised me was our dinner together last week. I had expected him to pepper me with questions about work, about the residency, or how it is working with Colt. I figured he’d ask me if I had changed my mind at all about moving at the end of this year.
But he didn’t.
The conversation was forced. Mostly small talk about life in New York and how my mom is doing. He talked more about his girlfriend, Matilda, than I had expected and was shocked as hell when he said she is moving into his house.
My childhood house.
But the sting didn’t last as long as I had expected. The sting was barely a dull burn, really. The finality in realizing that my dad likely doesn’t care if I stay in the city or go back to Africa left a sour taste in my mouth, and it’s a dark cloud that’s been hanging over my head ever since.
“I just wanted to ask if you had something proper to wear for the fundraiser at the end of this month.”
Ahh, that makes sense.
The fundraiser where my dad will be the keynote speaker. The one that all residents and attendings who aren’t working are expected to attend. To mingle with rich donors and gloat about all of the incredible opportunities this hospital could provide—both to staff and patients—if we just had that extra bit of cash.
It’ll be a nightmare, no doubt. But as the daughter of the Chief of Surgery, and a second-year surgical resident, my presence is basically demanded.
“Yes, Dad. I have a proper dress.”
“One that’s acceptable for a formal event?”
“Are skulls and chains appropriate?”
