Chapter 7
Isabelle
A few days after the auction, I got a text from my parents. They were in town for a night and all my petty plans for vengeance
took a back seat to readying myself for dinner.
I usually had monthly dinners with my parents at their home in the suburbs of DC. They always felt more like business meetings.
I gave them updates on work and they let me know of any connections I needed to make or lectures I should attend to help network.
We sat tucked in the corner of one of my mom’s favorite places to eat—a high-end bistro in Gramercy Park.
Tables were arranged neatly in the center of the room with luxurious leather-lined booths in the corners and along the walls.
The brass fixtures gleamed against the dark polished-hardwood floors, countertops, and tables. We came here every time they
were in town.
“Matthew tells me you’ve been spending quite a bit of time within this sports medicine program.
” My dad shook his head disapprovingly, the golden glow from the Edison bulbs above us deepening the shadows in the lines that creased in his forehead and highlighting his year-round scowl.
“I’d be concerned you’re getting pulled offtrack, but I know you’re too smart for that. ”
The New York Lightning’s team orthopedist—Matthew Reinhold—was my mentor in residency. He didn’t choose to work with residents
on a sports-medicine rotation regularly and definitely didn’t choose many of them to help with research. But he took me on for both, which was an accomplishment on its own.
“You’re not considering forgoing the Winthrop fellowship,” my mom chirped up for the first time, her words laced with concern.
Up until that point, my dad had spent an hour going over his latest lecture series for surgeons at the University of Oslo.
“Are you?”
“No,” I corrected immediately. The leather seat sighed beneath me as I shifted in the corner booth. “Of course not.”
At the time, I didn’t have any specific interest in sports-related injuries, but I knew Dr. Reinhold’s opinion mattered. It worked out since the latter years of my
training opened up my schedule a bit, so I made the time. It would get me closer to Winthrop, so every Thursday, I was looking
at data with Trevor at the New York Lightning training facility.
“Oh, good.” My mother’s shoulders relaxed; she tucked her curly black hair behind her ear. The thin golden bracelets on her
wrist clinked as they slid down it. She, being a general surgeon, decided against a fellowship altogether after her initial
surgical training.
She and my dad met as kids growing up in Washington Heights. They were high school sweethearts who broke up for college and then were reunited in medical school. It was their version of a fairy tale, if you chose to end the story there.
My mom was top of their med school class. They wanted a family, and surgery wasn’t exactly forgiving for two parents who needed
to invest in their careers. So, my mom was the one to forgo the advancement. Of course, that wasn’t ever how my mom explained
it to me. To this day, she insisted that it was her choice to take a step back and invest in our family while my dad invested
in his career. But I couldn’t help seeing someone whose wings were clipped. Especially when she pushed so hard for me to pursue
the Winthrop fellowship.
“Dr. Reinhold is on the selection committee for the Winthrop fellowship,” I continued. This was my way to make my own name.
“And I’m first author on the research we’re doing with recovery times following minimally invasive meniscus repair.”
I ended up enjoying the work. Putting together a shattered knee was a puzzle, and watching the difference I made in real time
was more fulfilling than I thought it’d be. It was interesting work that I had never considered until it became a way to get
closer to the Winthrop fellowship. But Dr. Reinhold was a great teacher, and the visits to the New York Lightning facility
were fun.
There were the surgeons who masterfully executed tried-and-true surgical techniques and there were the surgeons who created them. My mom was the former, my dad the latter.
“Strategic alliance.” A smile curved up my dad’s cheek as he cut into his steak. “That’s my girl.”
Sometimes I wondered if I was Dr. Felix Mercado’s legacy or Dr. Carolina Mercado’s redemption. Either way, I was desperate to come out from the shadow of giants, and it was clear that I had one of two lanes I could pick. My dad’s or my mom’s.
So, I tried to be perfect to make what seemed like my mother’s sacrifice worth it. I tried not to have needs, only accomplishments.
I never lost. I was never wrong. Nobody was tougher, nobody had more grit. Nobody would ever tell me that I didn’t have what
it took, because I had it in spades. I didn’t need anyone, so nobody else could ever pin their unhappiness, or forgone dreams,
on me.
“Are you in the city for another lecture?” I asked.
From the time I was a kid to now, my dad had been constantly asked to speak at conferences around the world and flown to international
hospitals to give lectures and provide care to world leaders and dignitaries.
“Well . . .” He cleared his throat and put the utensils to the side of his plate. “As you know, Senator Fitzgerald Alders
is planning his presidential run.”
“Yeah . . .” I drawled, wondering how any of that pertained to my dad.
“He’s still putting together a campaign team, but his current chief of staff wanted to have lunch to discuss matters that
concern the medical community.”
Yeah. That was it. Surgeon General.
“Isn’t it a little soon to be picking a cabinet? He hasn’t even announced the run,” I pointed out.
“Plan for opportunity,” he reminded me. Easy for him to say; he had my mom to keep the wheels on in his personal life so he could plan for opportunity. “And speaking of preparation for opportunity, what’s this I heard about two weeks away?”
“I didn’t take my vacation days for the last two years,” I defended, putting down my spoon, knowing he’d have something judgmental
to say about my missing work for Selena’s wedding. My pulse picked up. “This isn’t anything above what any other resident
normally gets.”
“Yes, but two consecutive weeks.” His tongue clicked. “You’ll miss some good cases, I’m sure. The first couple weeks of July are always busy. You’re
the senior resident. You’d be doing nearly the entire surgery. It would be good experience to talk about for your Winthrop
interview.”
Summers in the city meant great business for trauma doctors because of unprepared tourists mixed with traffic and dehydration.
“Maybe, but I’ll get more unique ones around the time college students file back into the city in the fall,” I rebutted.
I’d already given up a lot of my personal life in service to this dream, and my relationship with Selena was the only one
to withstand it. My heart hollowed. I took a deep breath and remembered that, in his own way, my dad cared. He always looked
out for my future first, encouraging me to take the same successful path he did. Present-day Isa could deal, as long as future
Isa benefited.
“Felix,” my mom warned gently. “She is Isabelle’s friend, of course she’s going.”
“She’s my best friend,” I corrected. “I’m getting the Winthrop fellowship regardless. I’m not going to litigate the wedding.”
I put myself through unending months of work, all so that I could get two uninterrupted weeks as a functioning maid of honor
to my best friend, even though every wedding task was handled by her enormous staff.
I was always so quick to exchange my free time for something, anything, to advance my chances at the Winthrop fellowship,
and Selena was the only person in my life who stuck around for it. I had to be there for her now.
“Fine.” He cleared his throat and pulled the napkin from his lap slowly. Folding it neatly, he placed it at the side of his
plate. “But remember that you can speak to me that sternly when you’ve accomplished what I have.”
“That’s enough, Felix.” My mom’s second warning was the one that stuck, and my dad’s face immediately softened, but he didn’t
say anything. She reached her hand across the table, warm and steady. “As long as it doesn’t affect your work, have fun.”
One day I would be as accomplished because, despite how he pushed me forward, a part of me was sure I had to prove it to him.
And I would.
After a few minutes he picked up conversation about his plans to meet with the soon-to-be Alders campaign.