Chapter 2
1852 Words
CHAPTER 2
ABOUT A YEAR EARLIER“I know it’s my birthday, but I’ve bought you a gift,” Jonathan says after we put in our dinner orders. “It’s something I want you to have. Something I’ve been thinking about giving you for a while now.”
Oh my God.
Jonathan told me to wear something nice tonight since we were going to The Spotless Dove, one of the most expensive restaurants in Philadelphia. I thought he’d chosen this place because Jonathan would settle for nothing but the best for his birthday. But I glance around the five-star restaurant with new eyes.
Is he about to propose? Am I, Amira Wylie, the foster kid who barely managed to graduate from high school and become a nurse, about to be asked for her hand in marriage tonight? By Dr. Jonathan Kershaw, the hotshot neurosurgeon resident, all the other nurses drool over and call Dr. America due to his chisel-jawed resemblance to a certain comic book hero?
We’ve only been dating for four months, and we haven’t had real s*x yet. But maybe that’s what pleasant, normal men who’ve been raised in nice, normal ways do. Date a girl they like for a short amount of time, then take her to a nice restaurant and—
Jonathan sets a book down on the expanse of white linen between us. It has a waifish blonde with a huge toothy smile on the cover. She’s wearing a navy-blue power suit with her arms crossed underneath her breasts as if to say whatever life she’s living, it’s way better than the rest of ours. Above her image, the words YOU CAN HAVE IT ALL are written in giant block letters with the “can” both italicized and underlined. And below that, Missy Anders is written in slightly smaller letters.
I crook my head to the side. “Um…what is this?”
A pleased/smug smile touches his mouth, and his hazel eyes brighten. “A book by one of my college friends. She has a similar story to yours—she was raised in a trailer park. Still, she managed to overcome her tragic background to get accepted into Princeton and become a highly sought-after executive life coach.”
I wasn’t raised in a trailer park. I enrolled in my nursing program directly after high school, not an elite Ivy. And though I’ve done everything from holding tweaked-out meth addicts down to telling teen moms to push in the ER, I wouldn’t exactly call myself a life coach. Not to mention the fact that she’s a lily-white-blonde in a power suit, and I’m a dark brown brunette who usually wears scrubs.
I have to ask, “What did I do to uh…deserve this gift?”
Jonathan leans forward in his seat. “My parents are coming to visit next week, and I’d like to introduce them to you. As my new girlfriend.”
“Seriously?” I sit up a little straighter, my chest fluttering with delight. Jonathan and I had the “let’s be exclusive talk” a few weeks ago. But introducing me to his parents—that’s a huge milestone.
“Yes, I’d love to meet your mom and dad!” I grin…but then realize I’m still confused. “What does meeting your parents have to do with this book, though?”
Jonathan winces, his handsome face creasing under his swept-back blond hairline. “Well, you see, they were a bit disappointed when Missy and I broke up shortly after college—my mother was convinced we’d make beautiful babies. But maybe if you read this book and incorporate some of her tips, they’ll see that you’re not so different from her.”
Hold up…what?
“Wait, you and the woman who wrote this book used to date?” I glance down at the book then back up at Jonathan. His mother was right. They’d make beautiful babies. Beautiful, blond, toothy babies. Both my alarm and my voice rise as I point out, “I’m not just different from her. We couldn’t be more opposite. The only thing we have in common is being poor when we were kids.”
“Now, I didn’t say she was poor.” Jonathan holds up a hand and chuffs like I’ve made a funny joke. “Her mother and father raised her in a trailer park commune to rebel against their own parents who were in oil and steel. Poor Missy’s maternal grandparents weren’t able to gain custody of her until she was in her teens.”
Jonathan places the hand he was holding up over his chest, his expression full of pity. “It’s a very harrowing story. You’ll see when you read—”
Anger volcanos inside of me before I can stop it. “I am not reading this book! What the hell, Jonathan?”
I don’t realize I’m shouting until several people in the previously peaceful restaurant turn to stare at me.
I breathe in and force myself to calm down. Little does Jonathan know, I’ve already read a lot of self-improvement books to get to where I am today—so many. I’m aware angry women don’t attract the kind of men who can give them good lives.
But honestly, I don’t know how a nice, normal, non-angry woman would take this. It feels like I’ve fallen into a Reddit “Am I the Asshole?” post.
Jonathan gives the people staring at us an apologetic wince before turning back to me. “This is why I thought the book might be of service to you. Missy included an inspiring section on how she managed to smooth out her rougher edges to emulate the kind of woman she wanted to present to the world. Before long, she truly became the person she was pretending to be.”
“So you’re saying you want me to pretend to be like your ex-girlfriend?” I'm half-outraged and half-wondering if I’ve just utterly failed at making myself over into someone deserving of a Dr. America boyfriend.
“No, of course not!” He leans forward to cup my hands across the table. “I want you to be yourself. Just maybe…not so loud. And if you could pick a dress with a nice muted tone for dinner with my parents.”
I look down at the yellow dress I bought especially for this occasion. Yellow is my favorite color. I wear it every chance I get outside the ER.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you also don’t like the way I dress.” I take back my hands.
“I adore the way you dress, Mimi,” Jonathan assures me, his face earnest. “I think you look gorgeous tonight. It’s just that my parents can be very judgmental, and they might consider yellow a bit garish for a nighttime function taking place after Labor Day.”
Before I can respond to that, he rushes on to explain, “I just want them to see in you what I see in you. The bright, beautiful woman you could be if you just put in a little more effort.”
Could be? A little more effort?
I picked out a new dress I could barely afford for this birthday dinner—all because Jonathan had noticed the last time I doubled up on a date night dress. I kept my 4C curls in a long straight weave because he’d told me how much he liked my hair when I’d mentioned wanting to get rid of it. Despite working back-to-back shifts yesterday, I paid a visit to the European Wax Center. I was planning to try to give my doctor boyfriend birthday s*x tonight, and I knew it wouldn’t do to have even a spot of hair below my waistline.
Despite my best efforts to remain calm and perfect, anger boils beneath my heavily curated surface as I tell Jonathan between clenched teeth, “I’m not sure I have any more effort left in me.”
“That’s a mindset thing.” Jonathan slides the hardback with his smiling ex-girlfriend on the cover closer to me. “There’s a section in the book about that too. Please, just read it. For me?”
He gives me a pleading look. “I really want my parents to like you.”
My boiling anger begins to dissipate.
I really want his parents to like me too. And I’m aware that’s not necessarily a given. Jonathan and I couldn’t be any more different on paper.
He grew up the only son of a stay-at-home mom and a doctor father, who was himself, the only son of a doctor. Jonathan comes from a distinguished line of Delaware doctors. A few older attendings jokingly referred to him as Dr. Jonathan Kershaw the fifth because even his great-great-grandfather was a doctor.
On the other hand, I was abandoned by a mother whose face I can no longer remember when I was six. Plus, I was a bit too old and too angry to be placed in a home with loving parents. So, I bounced around the Wilmington foster system until I aged out.
Jonathan’s life had been pre-ordained from birth. Of course, he’d gone to Princeton, then John Hopkins for medical school before landing in the residency program at Wilmington St. Joseph, where we both work. But if a thoughtful school guidance counselor hadn’t pointed me toward the hospital’s nursing program, who knew what would have happened to me?
Actually, I knew exactly what would have happened to me. I get a glimpse of that alternative life whenever I see the pretty but rapidly deteriorating women who hang out with my brother and his crew. And it never fails to send a shiver down my back.
I take the book. It seems easier than arguing with Jonathan, and maybe he’s right. Maybe Missy can teach me how to become the kind of woman rich parents approve of their son dating—the type of woman worthy of a doctor husband and a nice house in the suburbs.
“Thanks.” I squeeze the word past the jumble of confused emotions in my throat.
“You’re welcome,” Jonathan answers, his voice taking on a magnanimous note. “I might order dessert after dinner since it’s my birthday. Would you be willing to share it with me?”
Jonathan is a huge keto guy, so agreeing to eat anything with added sugar in it is almost as big of a deal as him asking me to meet his parents. I’m pretty sure he’s only offering to share a dessert with me to smooth over the argument we almost had.
“Sure…” I start to say as I put the book in my orange faux leather Target tote. But I trail off when I see the phone I tossed in there before climbing out of Jonathan’s Mercedes Benz. Several missed call notifications from an unknown number are splashed across my home screen. And one text message.
Unknown Number: SOS
My heart stops. The last time I received a message with those three letters, I found my brother at the house he keeps in Hillside, nearly bled out from a stab wound.
“I have to go.” I jump up from the table and yank my bag over my shoulder. “I’m sorry, it’s a family emergency. My brother needs me.”
“Your brother?” Jonathan stands up himself. “I thought you were an orphan. And dinner hasn’t come yet!”
“He’s my foster brother. It’s a long story—I have to go. Sorry! Sorry!”
I rush out of the five-star restaurant without any further explanation than that. There’s no time to explain why I never volunteer to anyone that I’ve got a brother. Ant needs me.
I can only pray I make it to him in time.
- Writer
