by K. A. Tucker
“It’s not really a date. It’s more of a—”
His dismissive wave quiets my objection. “Three months ago you would have blown the guy off for a textbook without even thinking twice.”
“I guess.” I push back a strand of hair that has blown across my face with the light breeze. “That or just dropped to the ground, unconscious.”
Dr. Stayner snorts. “Exactly.”
There’s a pause, and I cast a sidelong glance. “Does that mean my therapy is over? I mean, look at me. I’ve practically become an exhibitionist. And if I don’t cut back on the partying soon, you’ll have to admit me to an alcohol abuse program.”
Dr. Stayner bursts out in a round of loud, boisterous laughter. When his amusement dies down, he spends a few moments staring down at his cup, his index finger running along the rim.
And I start to get nervous. Dr. Stayner is rarely quiet for this long.
“I’m going to let you live your college life the way you need to live it,” he says quietly. “You don’t need me telling you what to do or how to have fun. You need to make those decisions for yourself.”
I flop back against the bench with a sigh of relief, a strange calm washing through me. As quickly as Dr. Stayner planted himself into my life, he’s stepping right back out. “I guess Kacey was wrong,” I say more to myself, the declaration lifting a weight off my shoulders that I didn’t realize was there.
There’s that soft laughter again. “Oh, your sister . . .” He drifts off as a group of cyclists speed past. “When Kacey was first admitted into my care, I wondered about you, Livie. I truly did. I questioned how you turned out so well, all things considered. But I had my hands full with Kacey and Trent, and you seemed to be motoring along on a clear path. Even when Kacey came to me in the spring with her concerns, I was skeptical.” He pulls his glasses off to rub his eyes. “It’s the people like your sister—the obviously shattered ones—who make my job easy.”
I frown, his words puzzling. “But I’m not like her, right?” I catch the waver in my voice.
Dr. Stayner’s shaking head answers me before his words do. “Oh, no, Livie. You are surprisingly alike in many ways, but you are not alike in those sorts of matters.”
“Really? I’ve always seen the two of us as polar opposites.”
He chuckles. “You’re both stubborn as mules and sharp as whips. Of course your wit is a tad more sugarcoated than hers. Your sister wears her temper on her sleeve, but...” He purses his lips. “You’ve surprised me a few times with your outbursts, Livie. And I’m not easily surprised.”
I watch those same cyclists cross along another path as I take in his words, a tiny smile touching my lips. No one has ever compared me to my sister quite like that before. I’ve always been the studious, responsible one. The trustworthy one. Cautious, calm, and levelheaded. My sister’s the firecracker. I’ve secretly envied her for that.
And I think back on the past summer, jam-packed with things I never thought I could do, and a whole lot of other things I never even considered doing. Kacey had been there with me for a lot of it, eagerly embarrassing herself along with me. “This summer was interesting,” I admit with a smile. I turn to look at the graying doctor and I ask him the one question he’d never answered before, hoping that he will now. “Why did you have me doing all those crazy things? What was it really about?”
He puckers his lips as if deciding what to say. “Would you believe me if I said it was purely for my own entertainment?”
“I might,” I answer truthfully, earning his chuckle. “I mean, I get the speed dating, but I don’t see how line dancing or prolific cussing has helped me. I’d think it would have the opposite effect. You know . . . extreme psychological scarring.”
Dr. Stayner looks skeptical. “How could line dancing possibly scar you?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Have you ever been to one of those places before? With my sister?”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, you’re being dramatic. It couldn’t have been that—”
“She had a microphone!” I exclaim. “She tried to hold an impromptu auction to sell me off for a date!” Thank God Storm was there to get her under control . . . My hand flies up as I remember the best part. “Oh! And then she spiked my drink.” Dr. Stayner starts chuckling as I shake my head. “I noticed right away, of course. Otherwise who knows what would have happened.” I settle back against the bench as I mutter more to myself, “I probably would have made out with a cowboy or a mechanical bull, or something. Had my ass branded, maybe . . .”
His head falls back with raucous laughter and after a few moments I can’t help but giggle along with him. “Oh, Livie,” he says, pulling his glasses off to wipe the tears from his eyes. “It was never about what I asked you to do. It was about your exuberance tackling each and every single task.” He turns to look at me with amazement in his eyes and a slight chuckle in his voice. “I was waiting for you to tell me to go to hell but you kept answering the phone, taking each and every one of those crazy requests I made, and delivering with excellence!”
I cock my head to the side as I regard him. “You knew they were crazy?”
“You didn’t?” He shakes his head at me, and then a sad smile transforms his face. “I learned a lot about you over the summer, Livie. Between the wild-goose chases and our talks. That’s what this summer was about. Information gathering.” He pauses to scratch his cheek. “You are one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met, Livie. You respond to human heartache so acutely. It’s like you absorb others’ pain. Despite your extreme shyness, you will do just about anything not to fail. You don’t like to fail tests and you most certainly don’t like to fail people. Especially those you care about and respect.” His hand goes to his heart and he bows his head. “I’m touched, truly.”
I dip my head as I blush.
“I also learned that while you are accepting and open-minded of others and their faults, you are exceptionally hard on yourself. I think doing something wrong would make you physically ill.” Dr. Stayner steeples his fingers in front of his face for a moment. “But my biggest discovery? The reason that I wanted to talk to you in person today . . .” He sighs. “You seem to be governed by a life plan. It’s ingrained in your daily routines; it’s almost like a religion for you. It has dictated the choices you have made so far and those you plan to make in the future. You don’t question it, you don’t test it. You just do it.” Running his finger along the rim of his cup, he goes on to say with an even, slow voice, “I think your parents helped create that plan and you are holding on to it for dear life as a way of holding on to them.” He pauses, and then his voice grows soft. “And I think it’s stifling your growth as your own person.”
I blink repeatedly, trying to process how this conversation turned so quickly from talk of mechanical bulls to my stifled growth. “What are you saying?” I ask, my voice a touch strained. Is this a diagnosis? Is Dr. Stayner diagnosing me?
“I’m saying, Livie . . .” He pauses, his mouth open to say something, a pensive expression on his face. “I’m saying that it’s time for you to find out who you really are.”
I can do nothing but stare at the man in front of me. Who I am? What is he talking about? I know who I am! I’m Livie Cleary, daughter of Miles and Jane Cleary. Mature and responsible daughter, driven student, loving sister, future doctor, kind and considerate human. “But, I . . .” I struggle to find the words. “I know who I am and what I want, Dr. Stayner. That’s never been in question.”
“And don’t you think that’s a little strange, Livie? That you decided at the age of nine that you wanted to go into pediatrics, specializing in oncology, and you have never even considered another life? Do you know what I wanted to be when I was nine?” He pauses for only a second. “Spider-Man!”
“So, I had more realistic goals. There’s nothing wrong with that,” I snap.
“And did you eve
r wonder why you avoided boys like the plague up until now?”
“I know exactly why. Because I’m shy and because—”
“Boys suck the brains out of girls . . .”
“And make them crazy.” I finish my father’s warning with a sad smile. Dad started warning me of that around the time that Kacey’s hormones started raging. He said my grades would suffer if I fell into the same trap.
“I think your reaction to the opposite sex is less about your shyness and more a subconscious mindset to avoid straying from this life plan you believe you must follow.” Subconscious mindset? Unease slips through my stomach like a snake, sending shivers up my spine. Is he saying that Kacey is right? That I’m . . . sexually repressed?
I lean forward and let my chin rest in the palms of my hand, my elbows set against my knees, as I think. How could Dr. Stayner find fault in who I’ve become? If anything, he should be pleased. He said it himself! I turned out so well. I know my parents would be proud. No, there’s nothing wrong with who I am.
“I think you’re wrong,” I say quietly, staring at the ground. “I think you’re looking for things to diagnose me with. There’s nothing wrong with me or what I’m doing.” Sitting up straight, I take in the campus surrounding us—this beautiful Princeton campus that I’ve worked hard to make sure I attend—and I feel anger surge. “I’m a straight-A student going to Princeton, for Christ’s sake!” I’m borderline yelling now and I don’t care. “Why the hell would you show up at seven a.m. on a Saturday after I just started college to tell me my entire life is . . . what . . .” I swallow the sudden lump in my throat.
Dr. Stayner takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes yet again. He remains completely calm, as if he expected this reaction. He told me once that he’s used to being yelled at, so not to ever feel guilty about it. I sure as hell don’t think I’ll be feeling guilty after the bomb he just dropped on me. “Because I wanted you to be aware, Livie. Fully conscious and aware. This doesn’t mean you should stop doing what you’re doing.” He shifts slightly so that he’s facing me. “You’re a smart girl, Livie, and you’re an adult now. You’re going to be meeting people and dating. Working hard to achieve your goals. And, I hope, going out and having some fun. I just want to make sure you’re making your choices and setting your goals for you and not to please others.” Sliding back against the bench, he adds, “Who knows? Maybe Princeton and med school are what you really want. Maybe the man who makes you happy for the rest of your life is also the one who your parents would have handpicked for you. But maybe you’ll find out that’s not the right path for you. Either way, I want you to make your choices with your eyes wide open rather than on autopilot.”
I don’t know what to say to all of this so I stay silent, staring at nothing, confusion and doubt settling heavily on my shoulders.
“Life has a funny way of creating its own tests. It throws curve balls that make you do and think and feel things that are in direct conflict with what you had planned and don’t allow you to operate in terms of black and white.” He gives my knee a fatherly pat. “I want you to know that you can call me anytime you want to talk, Livie. Anytime at all. No matter how trivial or silly you think it is. If you want to talk about school, or guys. Complain about your sister”—he says that one with a crooked smile. “Anything at all. And I do hope you call me. Regularly. When you’re ready to talk. Right now I assume you want to pour that coffee over my head.” Standing up with a big stretch, he adds, “And all conversations will be confidential.”
“You mean you won’t be enlisting my sister to do your dirty work anymore?”
Rubbing his chin, he smiles as he murmurs, “What a good little minion she has become.”
“I guess you considered the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing optional?”
He peers down at me with an arched brow. “You were never my patient, were you?”
“And now I am?”
He smiles, holding out his hand to guide me up. “Let’s just keep it loose. Call me when you want to talk.”
“I can’t pay.”
“I don’t expect a dime from you, Livie.” Almost as an afterthought, he slides in, “Just your firstborn child.”
Normally I’d give him an eye roll at the very least for a joke like that. But not now. I’m not in the mood for any jokes. The weight that I’ve worn on my back for three months as I wondered what Dr. Stayner might discover about me, which lifted just twenty minutes ago, has now crashed back down onto my back, crippling me under its heft.
I’m sure he’s wrong.
But what if he isn’t?
CHAPTER SIX
If versus When
The almost two-hour commute from the Princeton campus to the Children’s Hospital in Manhattan gives me plenty of time to stew over Dr. Stayner’s surprise visit and outrageous diagnosis. By the time I get to the front desk to sign in for my first volunteer session, I’m more rattled than I was to begin with. I’m also convinced that he might be losing his magic touch as the brilliant psychiatrist. Either that or he’s insane and no one has caught on yet. Maybe both.
“Have you ever worked with children in a hospital before, Livie?” Nurse Gale asks as I follow her swaying hips down the long corridor.
“No, I haven’t,” I answer with a smile. I’ve spent enough time in hospitals, though, that the sounds of beeping machines and the mixture of medicine and bleach filling my nostrils instantly brings me back seven years to the days of forced smiles, and Kacey with tubes and bandages and a hollow stare.
“Well, I hear your reference glows in the dark,” she jokes as we round the corner and follow the signs toward the playroom, my quick tour of the hospital coming to an end. “You’re a natural magnet for children.”
My eyes roll before I can stop myself. Not at the nurse—at Stayner. Back in June, when I mentioned to him that I had applied for a volunteer position at this hospital but hadn’t heard back from them, he casually mentioned that he had a few friends there. The next week, I received a phone call for a brief interview, quickly followed by an offer for a position on Saturday afternoons in the Child Life program—playing with young patients. I jumped at the opportunity. Of course I saw Dr. Stayner’s fingerprints all over it but it only made me appreciate him more, knowing that when I apply for med school, having this volunteer position on my application will show that I’ve been committed to pediatrics for years. It had seemed like he was helping me achieve my goals at the time. Ironic now, given that he basically thinks I’m a preprogrammed drone who shouldn’t be here in the first place.
I push all of that away, though, because I know what I want and I know that I belong here. So I nod politely at Nurse Gale and say, “I think they’re a magnet for me too.”
She stops at a door and turns to give me a pensive smile. “Well, you just be careful about what kind of attachments you make, you hear, sweetie?” With that, we step into a bright and colorful playroom with a handful of children and other volunteers. My shoulders immediately relax as I hear the infectious laughter. It’s like a shot of Valium through my veins.
I know I’ve never been quite normal. As a child, I was always the one rushing to the teacher when someone needed a Band-Aid, or stepping in between a squabble to mediate. As a teenager, I looked forward to my volunteer days at the YMCA, or the pool, or the library. Really, anywhere that involved these tiny humans. There’s just something so uncomplicated about small children that I gravitate toward. Maybe it’s their infectious giggles or their shy hugs. Maybe it’s their brutal honesty. Maybe it’s the way they cling to me when they’re scared or hurt. All I know is that I want to help them. All of them.
“Livie, this is Diane,” Nurse Gale says, introducing me to a stocky, middle-aged woman with short, curly brown hair and kind eyes. “She’s a part of our Child Life program. She’s supervising the room today.”
With a wink, Diane gives me a quick fi
ve-minute tour of the bright playroom and explains what her role is. When she’s done, she points out two boys sitting side by side with their backs to me, cross-legged, in front of a pile of LEGOs. They’re the same size, except the one on the right is leaner. He’s also completely bald, whereas the boy on the left has short, sandy brown hair.
“These two are yours today. Eric? Derek? This is Miss Livie.”
Identical faces turn to regard me. “Twins!” I exclaim with a grin. “Let me guess . . . you’re Derek.” I point to the one on the left, the one with the full head of hair.
He gives me a wide grin displaying missing front teeth, instantly reminding me of Storm’s daughter, Mia. “I’m Eric.”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “I’m never going to get this right.” Why do parents feel the need to name their identical twins rhyming names? I don’t say that out loud, though. I only smile.
“Derek’s the bald one. He’s easy to remember,” Eric confirms with a shrug. “But soon I’m going to be bald too. Then you’re screwed.”
“Eric,” Diane warns with an arched brow.
“Sorry, Miss Diane.” He diverts his attention to a Hot Wheels car next to him, a sheepish look on his face. And my chest tightens a notch. Both of them?
“Are you here to play with us?” Derek asks quietly.
I nod. “Is that all right?”
His little face suddenly brightens with a smile and I see that he’s also missing his two front teeth.
Shifting my focus to his brother, who’s now smashing two cars together, I ask, “And you, Eric? Are you okay with that?”
Eric looks over his shoulder at me and says with another shrug, “Sure. I guess.” But I catch the tiny smile as he turns back, and I know without a doubt that he’s the imp of the two.
“Okay, good. First I’m just going to go over a few things with Miss Diane, okay?”
Their heads bob in unison and they go back to their Legos.
With my eyes still on them, I take a few steps back and drop my voice. “Cancer?”