Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Andrew sat beside her, not me. I sat on the couch opposite them. I still remember the feeling of being on my own, a little confused about why we needed to have a serious talk right then. As soon as Emma began, I realized she was stepping in on behalf of everyone, that while my mom and dad and brother weren’t in the room with us, they were in agreement with everything she was saying.
“We’re mainly concerned with your inability to commit to anything, Summer. You’ve changed your major a hundred times. You dropped your pre-med pre-reqs. You’re the only person I know flighty enough to sign up for introduction to archeology with no plan at all to be an archeologist!”
I flinched at her tone, instantly feeling defensive. “Well I-I read that interesting book about how they excavated the Roman church beneath the Duomo in Florence. It was fascinating…”
“Fascinating, right.” She looked to Andrew for backup. My boyfriend was her accomplice in this. “Summer…it’s time to do something. Decide.”
“I’m considering going into creative writing, maybe working in publishing or even trying to—”
She sighed heavily, cutting me off.
Emma knew I kept journals, knew I excelled in my creative writing courses. At this confession though, she winced.
“The fairy tales and writing don’t have to disappear completely,” she told me. “I don’t want you to think you should change altogether. Truly, I love that you enjoy writing! Just try to get serious about your future. Once I’m done with residency, I’m going to have a great work-life balance at the practice—benefits, time off, a retirement plan. I get to help women, and I feel really good about what I do.”
“So you don’t regret going into medicine?” I asked tentatively.
It wasn’t that I hated the idea of a career like hers; I was just confused.
“No. Never. I know it’s what I’m supposed to do.”
Her conviction was contagious. “So you think I should stick with medicine too? Apply to grad school or something?”
Her eyes brightened with relief. Maybe she’d thought it was going to be harder to convince me to come around. “Yes. I work with amazing physician assistants. You would be great in that role. In the meantime, I can try to get you a summer job. Working as a scribe would look really good on applications. Your grades are fine, and I can help you study for the GRE.”
She was so convinced of the plan I couldn’t help but agree to go along with it, if only so I could enjoy the rest of Thanksgiving without having to worry about everyone being mad at me. And though I didn’t love the way she’d laid it out there, she had a point. I needed to get serious about my future.
After college, I worked with Emma and got my ducks in a row to apply to PA programs around the country. Andrew and my family were so proud of me. I can remember the day I finished my PA school interviews, they took me out to a fancy dinner, celebrating as if it was a foregone conclusion that I would soon be drowning in acceptance letters.
At the time, none of them knew that I’d also applied to liberal arts programs. On the side, I had interviewed at Columbia, Stanford, and Rutgers to pursue a career in literature, not medicine. I didn’t keep it a secret from everyone because I was trying to be sneaky. I truly had no idea which path I wanted to take. Medicine made so much sense. I would have a great job and a great life. I would help people and I would make my family happy. All the Collinses would be medical professionals. What an accomplishment for my parents.
But still, in the back of my mind, I couldn’t quite give up on pursuing a different path. I was undecided, getting pushed and pulled in either direction right up until the day I checked my mail and held my acceptance letter to Columbia graduate school in my shaking hands.
Suddenly, I knew with absolute clarity what I wanted to do. I planned to accept my place at Columbia and get my master’s in English and comparative literature, but I was too scared to tell my family. Andrew too. No one knew I’d even considered applying to other graduate schools. Sharing my new plan was going to tear through the close-knit fabric of our family; I knew it, and that’s why I avoided it for so long.
When everyone asked me about admissions, I’d change the subject, mention delays, shrug and move on. Eventually, it became clear that something was wrong, and I asked Emma to meet me at a coffee shop by her work. I wanted to talk to her one on one, and I hoped she would help me share the news with everyone else. I needed her to be an ally in a way I knew might be impossible for her.