“It doesn’t matter,” I bite out. “Just bring me whatever.” I swallow thickly, my throat dry and raw, so I reach for the bottle of red wine my dad ordered for the table, and pour myself a hearty amount.
I swing the glass back and down all of it in nearly one drink. Once the glass is set back on the table, I sputter a cough, using the back of my hand to stifle the sound. “Good Lord, that’s awful.”
My gaze slides up, and I catch the glare from my dad and the shock on Matilda’s face. Well, it’s the best she can give at a shocked expression with how badly botched her botox is. She’s either shocked or winking at me, and I doubt it’s the latter.
“Annaliese,” my dad chides, reaching his hand up to grasp Matilda’s in his. “I know you’re feeling a little under the weather right now.”
I scoff loudly, the act garnering attention from other patrons in the quiet restaurant. Leaning back in my chair, I look around at the faces surrounding me, wondering if anyone else in here feels like I do tonight. Not one person looks like they are enjoying themselves. Everyone is dressed in the same dark, drab outfits, eyes pinned to their plate, and picking at whatever overpriced item they chose.
I look down at the black evening gown my dad sent to my apartment for tonight. And while the dress is beautiful and fits perfectly, it’s also incredibly extravagant and not my taste at all. The overhead lights reflect off of the long, black, beaded sleeves, and it’s something I would have worn as a teenager to my first high school dance, not as a grown woman who should be making her own decisions about what she wears.
My eyes come back to the table, and I realize my dad is still watching me. I clear my throat and sit up a little straighter, mumbling an apology under my breath.
“Like I was saying,” he continues. “I know you aren’t feeling well, but I hope that you can muster a little enthusiasm, as I have an announcement to make.”
I lean forward again, foolish hope rising in my chest that maybe he’s pulled some strings and I actually get to leave tonight. Or maybe this weekend. While I didn’t come right out and say I was miserable over Colt’s disregard for us, for our relationship, and my dad didn’t tell me what they had talked about before I got there, my dad isn’t blind. He knew enough to rise from his desk the minute Colt left his office, and envelop me in one of the few real hugs he’s given me in our almost thirty-year relationship.
His eyes almost twinkle in the dim candle light as he pivots in his chair to face Matilda, and launches into a speech about love and soul mates. It would be romantic if I believed she cared about him for something other than his bank account.
It’s only a moment into his speech that my stomach starts to churn because I can sense where this is going. Matilda must too as she uses her free hand to obnoxiously fan her face, my dad’s voice drowned out by her excited squeals.
It’s then that he pulls out a small, square box from the lapel of his dress coat, and opens it for her approval. Her squeal could make a window shatter, and I cringe as I bring my shoulders up to my ears. They kiss, extending my cringy moment, and I watch in awe as he slides the ridiculous set of diamonds over her finger.
She immediately raises her hand high, admiring the diamonds in the gleam of the overhead lights for an excessive amount of time before turning back to my dad and planting a plump kiss on his cheek.
“Congrats,” I whisper, forcing a smile the best I can. I shouldn’t judge their relationship. I once thought I had something so raw and real, and it turned out to be nothing more than a lie. Matilda wants an easy life of money. My dad wants someone who will keep her mouth shut and nod to whatever he says. The two of them are willing to give each other what they want as long as they feed into their own pleasure in return. I can’t fault them for that.
Matilda flings her hand across the table to show me the ring, and I go through the process of reaching for her hand, eyeing the gem as if it couldn’t be seen from space, and congratulating them again before pouring myself another half glass of wine.
“I want a winter wedding!” she squeals, reaching over to grasp my dad’s forearm with both of her hands. “I’ve always wanted to get married in winter. The snow. The icicles. Everything will be white. Literally everything.”
My dad nods along. “I think that sounds beautiful, Princess.”
She gasps, and her eyes light up with excitement. “What about a New Year’s Eve wedding? We could ring in the new year as Doctor and Mrs. Keeton!”
“Whatever my doll wants, she gets.” He leans over to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Work will be awfully busy for me since it’s the end of the year. I hope you won’t mind planning the wedding without me, but I know you will make it incredible.”
“Oh my gosh, and Annaliese!” she squeals, turning toward me. “You should be my maid of honor!”
“Wait.” I shake my head, the room nearly spinning from either the wine or how fast this conversation is moving. “You want to get marriedthisNew Year's Eve? That’s… that’s only a few weeks away.”
My dad nods, and he wraps an arm around Matilda’s chair as he reaches for his own glass of wine. “It is,” he answers with a clip. “But we can make it happen.”
“But,” I interject, staring at my dad, waiting for him to realize where this is headed. “But I leave in a week. My residency here is done, remember? I mean, I could see if I have enough money to fly back for the wedding, but I’m not sure how long I can stay, or even if I can.” I would literally have just arrived at port; I don’t think the ship will dock somewhere where I could get a ride to an airport to start the trek back. I could delay it, I suppose, but I don’t want to lose my spot in the program.
For the first time since he proposed, Matilda’s gaze drops to her lap. She seemingly shrinks down in her chair, and my dad clears his throat roughly.
“Well, honey. I didn’t want to talk about this tonight, and damper the exciting news, but…”
A voracious ringing sounds in my ears, and I tuck my hands underneath my legs, forcing myself to focus on the moment. “But what, Dad?” I pull my top lip in between my teeth and bite down, needing the sting of the pain to ground me to the moment.
“But I’ve decided that returning to Africa isn’t what’s best for you.”
“But we had a deal, Dad. Youpromised.” He promised that if I spent the summer here, he’d do anything he could to get me back to my residency. If I knew that he’d try to go back on his word, I could have applied for other programs. I could have taken the initiative to apply for additional grants to get back to Africa. I could have done anything but believe his empty promises over the last six months. But the stupid child living inside of me wanted to believe him, wanted to finally believe that he’d come through for me.
He raises his napkin to his mouth, wiping the corner of his lip to stifle the smug smile. “Being a father means I have to make difficult decisions. The child may not like—”
“I’m not a child, Richard,” I interrupt, taking my own napkin from my lap and tossing it on the table in front of me. “I’m a woman. I'm a surgeon. An equal. I'm an adult. So from one adult to another, are you, or are you not, keeping your word?”
