Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“I remember. You even thought about doing English at university.”
I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d never studied medicine. I can’t have any regrets. “Yeah, but I went into the family business,” I say, smiling, but she’s not smiling back. I take a breath. “I’ve sort of kept up with the writing—on and off, through the years. Just bits here and there when I can fit it in. A short story, developing characters. I’ve done a lot of reading about craft and technique.”
She sits patiently, holding her mug in both hands. There’s never going to be an easy way to tell her that I’m rejecting everything about her professional achievements. I’ve just got to grow a pair and get on with it.
“As you know, the private practice hasn’t taken off yet and I’ve been using the free time I’ve had to do more writing. I’ve actually written a book.”
She lifts up her hands. “You always were a polymath. That’s wonderful, darling.” I’m not sure she’ll still think it’s so wonderful when I tell her the rest. “Oh, is that why you went up to Scotland?”
“Yes. One of my patients turned out to be a literary agent, and she read what I’d written and gave me some notes. I spent the time in Scotland incorporating them into my draft.”
“Right,” my mother says. “So you’ve finished it now?”
“I have.” I glance out of the window. I’m not sure I’ve ever done anything I’m as proud of as finish the first in the Butler Mysteries. “And she really likes it. She thinks it will get a lot of interest from publishers.”
“That’s wonderful, Zach. I’m so very proud of you.”
It’s not that I expected her to react badly. My mother has never been the type to throw things or even raise her voice. And at this point, I’m an adult. It’s not like she can ground me or take away my bike for a week. I just don’t want her to be offended. Or worse, disappointed in me.
“Thanks,” I reply. “It means I’m going to close down the private practice.”
“Ahhh,” my mother says, like things are clicking in for her. “So you can write more?”
“Partly, and also because I’m going to have publicity demands from a publisher—that’s if they even buy it.”
“But you’re still going to keep your job at the hospital?” she asks.
I’m quick to reassure her. “Absolutely. I’m not giving up medicine completely.”
She takes another sip of her tea. “Is that because you need the money? I thought you still had some left over from that coin thing you and Dax got into. I know you bought the house—”
“I still have some, you don’t need to worry. I’m not working for the money. I guess I thought you’d be pleased that I’m not giving up being a doctor.”
“And I’d be pleased because…?”
I’m a little confused by her question. “You know—it is the family business after all.”
She presses her lips together, the same way she did when Dax put a ball through the glass of our front door when we were kids. That’s about as bad as it gets from my mum. “I’d be very displeased if you were in a job just because it’s the family business. I know you’ve always been a natural student. You’ve always been top of your class; you’ve always excelled at medicine. You’re great with patients, other members of staff—Zach, you really are incredible.”
I can feel the weight in my stomach grow heavier as she details all the reasons I should be happy to be a doctor. My entire body seems to slump and I check my shoes to see if I’m actually sinking into the floor.
“But none of that means anything if you don’t enjoy what you do.”
I glance up to meet her eye. Did I just mishear her?
“I’ve always had my suspicions that medicine wasn’t your first choice. That’s why when we were visiting universities and went to look at Oxford, I insisted we stop by the Bodleian to see if you connected with the…feel of it.” She sighs and shakes her head. “But out of all my boys, you’ve always been the most difficult to read.”
“I felt conflicted,” I say. “There was such a clear path in front of me with medicine. And then there was Jacob on his way as well. Medicine felt like the path that was chosen for me. To do something else—I didn’t quite know what—was a risk.”
She sets her mug down on the table. “I should have pushed you more. Been clear that medicine wasn’t the only option.”
I can’t lie to her and say it worked out fine—I enjoy my work. “This isn’t your fault. It’s just…medicine is what this family is. It puts food on the table, it’s the language at the dinner table, the reason Dad misses your birthday. It’s so familiar that not to have done medicine would have felt like rejecting my entire upbringing.”