Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Eve
I dream about my mom. I don’t remember many of the details… other than my mom was still alive.
That’s not entirely true. I remember her blue cashmere sweater. I remember her smile.
But when I wake, reality bleeds into my warm, cozy little dream world. Sitting up in my massive bed, I miss her so badly that it’s like a physical ache. My mom died almost ten years ago from cancer and yet…
I’m still just not even sure how I’m supposed to begin to grieve her. Tears pricking my eyes, I go to my chest of drawers and dig through them. When I moved, I only had to keep track of myself, my laptop, and my mom’s blue sweater.
In the early morning light, I can’t find it for a second and I start feeling panicky.
Where could it be?
But I yank open the bottom drawer and there it is, right where I put it. The soft periwinkle fabric weighs nearly nothing as I lift it out. I press it to my face in a moment of weakness and inhale her baby powder scent. The scent has faded and only a few powdery notes remain, but smelling her sweater is a ritual for me.
I know that every time I handle mom’s sweater her scent fades a little more. I know I should put the sweater in a plastic baggie to protect it from the smells and lights that threaten to wash away its stored memories. I know this.
But here, kneeling on the floor like a supplicant, my head bowed, I can’t bring myself to stop. I let the moment of sadness wash over me until my knees protest being pressed bare against the cool hardwood floors. When I at last rise, I make sure to refold the sweater and tuck it back in the drawer.
I drag myself through a shower and breakfast, not really feeling like I can shake free of the funk I’m in until I have a cup of coffee. I sip the hot brew as I get dressed, glad that at least something exists to make me feel like a human again. Pulling on a pair of black leggings and a pale pink tunic top, I finish my look with a slouchy off-white sweater.
Brow creased, I head to campus. I had planned to study for a little bit before my class today. But my father made it clear that he’s going to ask for a contact within the U of W administration. Better to just get it out of the way so I can move on with my day.
I head to the administration building, only to be told that my request for a contact that will speak with my father must be funneled through the Dean of Medicine’s office. Once I get to the darkly wooded Dean of Medicine’s office, I am told to wait in the little waiting room.
Tall-backed wood chairs, muted colors on the walls, several portraits of former Deans hanging in gilded frames. It’s hushed and luxurious. I chew on my bottom lip as I wait, checking the time on my phone.
It’s 8:10, about two hours until my class. No reason to feel pressured for time, I guess. I look up just as a woman with dark hair and dark glasses appears in the hallway. She’s stylish, wearing a floral one-piece pants suit and a long dark cardigan. From her eggshell-colored skin and beautiful raven’s wing hair, I guess she is maybe of Chinese or Japanese descent. She’s about a decade older than me, if I had to guess, but she just looks elegant and serene.
“Geneviève?” she asks, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiles.
“Yes,” I say, standing. “It’s Eve, if you don’t mind.” I hesitate. “Are you the Dean?”
She ushers me back to her office. “No, no. I’m the associate dean of students. My name is Clarissa. My job is kind of like a nurse that does triage. I meet with people and decide how best to deal with each student’s needs. Dean Klausson herself is a very busy lady, as you can imagine.”
I step into her little office, which is perfectly appointed with lush plants, a huge oak desk, and two leather chairs for visitors. She waves me in a chair then sits down behind her desk, smiling kindly.
I clear my throat, sitting forward. “I have kind of an unusual request.”
I blush a little but she is unruffled by my words. “Ask away. Then we’ll see whether it is unusual or not.”
Sliding my tote bag off my shoulder, I fidget with the canvas material. “Okay. Well.” I shove my hand through my hair. “My father needs to have someone to contact about my grades. He wants an impartial, unbiased source of news.”
Clarissa’s delicate eyebrows rise. “And you aren’t good enough, I take it?”
My cheeks burn. “No, ma’am.”
Her brows furrow. Her eyes narrow on my face the tiniest fraction. “This may be too personal, but… have you done something to warrant him having an outside source of information?”
I shift in my seat. “I don’t think I’ve given him much reason for it, no.”
She picks up a pen from her desktop, drumming it a few times. “I see.” She pauses for a second. “Would it be fair to label your father as more than a little overbearing? After all, you are in med school now.”
Swallowing, I nod. “That would be to put it mildly, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Clarissa,” she says gently. “And you are certainly not the first student to ever have such a request. Some parents just have a little trouble letting go.”
My father’s words echo in my brain. I’ll always be in your life.
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m glad I’m not the only one.”
Clarissa smiles. “Have you chosen your academic advisor yet?”
Exhaling, I shake my head. “Not yet.”
Clarissa opens a drawer in her desk, taking out a pad of paper. She starts to scrawl something on it. “I am happy to be a contact for you, to let your father know whatever it is you want him to know. It’s up to you. But here is a list of professors that can serve as your advisor. I think that these professors will be more willing to talk to your father, if that’s what you wish. Your father aside, I really think that you should have an advisor chosen by next week.”
I blush again. “Thank you, Clarissa.”
She gives me a cool smile as she rips off the page she is writing on and hands it over with one of her contact cards. “It’s really no problem, Eve. The school is here to support you in whatever ways you want, within reason. I’d say that your request is well within the bounds of normalcy.”
I glance at the list she’s made in her neat block print. There are only three names. Carter Morgan stands out, the last name on the list.
Oh god. What do I have to do to get an advisor who isn’t… well… him?
Swallowing nervously, I drop the list into my tote bag. “Thank you, Clarissa.”
“Anytime.” She stands and so do I. “You also may want to take advantage of some of our free campus counselors. Having an overbearing parent can be stressful and you will already have plenty of stress heaped on your head by med school.” She starts to usher me out. “Something to think about.”
“Eve?”
I look up at Clarissa, my expression questioning. “Yes, ma’am?”
She flushes. “Please don’t ma’am me.”
My cheeks flame a dull red. “Sorry.”
She rocks back in her chair, steeling her fingers, pursing her lips. “I don’t want to cross any lines with you. Please tell me if this is information that you don’t want. But I think you can still apply for financial aid.”
My brow lowers. “Err…”
“It’s just an option,” she says. “I would imagine that if your father is this strict, there has to be something he holds over you. In many cases like this, students feel that their financial assistance will be negatively affected if they don’t bend to their parents’ will. Is that your situation?”
I blink at her, a blush creeping into my cheeks. “Well… yes.”
Clarissa sits up, opening a file folder on her desk. “It looks like you aced your MCATs and GRE. So you probably have a shot at a few government grants. Public scholarships have already been settled for this year, of course… but there is no rule saying that you can’t get a few private ones.” She wrinkles her nose, looking up at me. “I’m afraid the rest of your tuition would have to be made up in loans.”
I chew my bottom lip. Mainly, I’m trying to calculate how I could possibly pay for everything else in my life besides tuition.
“Eve?”
I glance up at her. “My father has me wrapped up in his web,” I confess. “I can’t even sort out all the investments and payments made on my behalf. It’s sort of mind boggling.”
She smiles at me, closing the file. “I don’t want you to feel pressure. Just know that in a month, your opportunities for applying for loans and scholarships will dramatically shrink.”
I digest that silently, nodding.
Clarissa sits back in her chair again. “I just want you to know that I work for you. Not your father. Not the loan companies. You and the other medical students are my only priority.”
There is a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I smile and nod again, but her words don’t fully sink in. I’m just a little overwhelmed.
“Thanks,” I say. It doesn’t seem like enough, but it’s what I’ve got.
“Of course. I’m here for exactly this sort of thing. And my door is always open.”
I flush. “Thank you.”
“No problem. I had a similar experience with my mom, if you can believe it. She is still a real tiger mom.” She waves me out. “Come by anytime.”
“Of course. Thanks again.”
As I walk out of the Dean’s office, I let out a big breath. Yes, my dad is overbearing and controlling. But it seems like going to med school way out here is working in my favor. He can’t just pop up and persuade someone in person to snitch for him.
As a matter of fact, it looks like I will at least get the chance to shield my life from his meddling. I’ve wanted this for so long that I stopped actually believing it.
Raising my chin, I smile as I head to my class.