29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Annaliese
“A nnaliese.”
My dad’s voice breaks me out of the foggy haze enough for me to turn my head. I catch his piercing gaze, and I’m brought back to reality. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
“The waiter, Princess. He asked you what you’re choosing for dinner this evening.”
Dinner. Right.
I glance down at the table in front of me and the fancy script scrawling across the face of the menu. The menu I have yet to pick up since we arrived at the restaurant.
I open it up and flip a page, doing my best to read the details of each entree, but the words are a blur that I can’t bring myself to focus on. Hell, I haven’t been able to bring myself to do much over the last three days but cry.
Crying is an understatement. Sobbing is more like it. Wailing until I’m breathless and nearly blue in the face. Screaming Colt’s name and cursing it just as much, wishing I had never come back to the city. And wishing like hell I was leaving tonight instead of a week from now.
“I’ll just have a salad, thanks.” I close the menu and hand it to the waiter with the best smile I can muster.
“Which kind of salad, madame? We have Caesar, caprese, wedge, an—”
“It doesn’t matter,” I bite out. “Just bring me whatever.” I swallow thickly, my throat dry and raw, so I reach for the bottle of red wine my dad ordered for the table, and pour myself a hearty amount.
I swing the glass back and down all of it in nearly one drink. Once the glass is set back on the table, I sputter a cough, using the back of my hand to stifle the sound. “Good Lord, that’s awful.”
My gaze slides up, and I catch the glare from my dad and the shock on Matilda’s face. Well, it’s the best she can give at a shocked expression with how badly botched her botox is. She’s either shocked or winking at me, and I doubt it’s the latter.
“Annaliese,” my dad chides, reaching his hand up to grasp Matilda’s in his. “I know you’re feeling a little under the weather right now.”
I scoff loudly, the act garnering attention from other patrons in the quiet restaurant. Leaning back in my chair, I look around at the faces surrounding me, wondering if anyone else in here feels like I do tonight. Not one person looks like they are enjoying themselves. Everyone is dressed in the same dark, drab outfits, eyes pinned to their plate, and picking at whatever overpriced item they chose.
I look down at the black evening gown my dad sent to my apartment for tonight. And while the dress is beautiful and fits perfectly, it’s also incredibly extravagant and not my taste at all. The overhead lights reflect off of the long, black, beaded sleeves, and it’s something I would have worn as a teenager to my first high school dance, not as a grown woman who should be making her own decisions about what she wears.
My eyes come back to the table, and I realize my dad is still watching me. I clear my throat and sit up a little straighter, mumbling an apology under my breath.
“Like I was saying,” he continues. “I know you aren’t feeling well, but I hope that you can muster a little enthusiasm, as I have an announcement to make.”
I lean forward again, foolish hope rising in my chest that maybe he’s pulled some strings and I actually get to leave tonight. Or maybe this weekend. While I didn’t come right out and say I was miserable over Colt’s disregard for us, for our relationship, and my dad didn’t tell me what they had talked about before I got there, my dad isn’t blind. He knew enough to rise from his desk the minute Colt left his office, and envelop me in one of the few real hugs he’s given me in our almost thirty-year relationship.
His eyes almost twinkle in the dim candle light as he pivots in his chair to face Matilda, and launches into a speech about love and soul mates. It would be romantic if I believed she cared about him for something other than his bank account.
It’s only a moment into his speech that my stomach starts to churn because I can sense where this is going. Matilda must too as she uses her free hand to obnoxiously fan her face, my dad’s voice drowned out by her excited squeals.
It’s then that he pulls out a small, square box from the lapel of his dress coat, and opens it for her approval. Her squeal could make a window shatter, and I cringe as I bring my shoulders up to my ears. They kiss, extending my cringy moment, and I watch in awe as he slides the ridiculous set of diamonds over her finger.
She immediately raises her hand high, admiring the diamonds in the gleam of the overhead lights for an excessive amount of time before turning back to my dad and planting a plump kiss on his cheek.
“Congrats,” I whisper, forcing a smile the best I can. I shouldn’t judge their relationship. I once thought I had something so raw and real, and it turned out to be nothing more than a lie. Matilda wants an easy life of money. My dad wants someone who will keep her mouth shut and nod to whatever he says. The two of them are willing to give each other what they want as long as they feed into their own pleasure in return. I can’t fault them for that.
Matilda flings her hand across the table to show me the ring, and I go through the process of reaching for her hand, eyeing the gem as if it couldn’t be seen from space, and congratulating them again before pouring myself another half glass of wine.
“I want a winter wedding!” she squeals, reaching over to grasp my dad’s forearm with both of her hands. “I’ve always wanted to get married in winter. The snow. The icicles. Everything will be white. Literally everything.”
My dad nods along. “I think that sounds beautiful, Princess.”
She gasps, and her eyes light up with excitement. “What about a New Year’s Eve wedding? We could ring in the new year as Doctor and Mrs. Keeton!”
“Whatever my doll wants, she gets.” He leans over to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Work will be awfully busy for me since it’s the end of the year. I hope you won’t mind planning the wedding without me, but I know you will make it incredible.”
“Oh my gosh, and Annaliese!” she squeals, turning toward me. “You should be my maid of honor!”
“Wait.” I shake my head, the room nearly spinning from either the wine or how fast this conversation is moving. “You want to get married this New Year's Eve? That’s… that’s only a few weeks away.”
My dad nods, and he wraps an arm around Matilda’s chair as he reaches for his own glass of wine. “It is,” he answers with a clip. “But we can make it happen.”
“But,” I interject, staring at my dad, waiting for him to realize where this is headed. “But I leave in a week. My residency here is done, remember? I mean, I could see if I have enough money to fly back for the wedding, but I’m not sure how long I can stay, or even if I can.” I would literally have just arrived at port; I don’t think the ship will dock somewhere where I could get a ride to an airport to start the trek back. I could delay it, I suppose, but I don’t want to lose my spot in the program.
For the first time since he proposed, Matilda’s gaze drops to her lap. She seemingly shrinks down in her chair, and my dad clears his throat roughly.
“Well, honey. I didn’t want to talk about this tonight, and damper the exciting news, but…”
A voracious ringing sounds in my ears, and I tuck my hands underneath my legs, forcing myself to focus on the moment. “But what, Dad?” I pull my top lip in between my teeth and bite down, needing the sting of the pain to ground me to the moment.
“But I’ve decided that returning to Africa isn’t what’s best for you.”
“But we had a deal, Dad. You promised .” He promised that if I spent the summer here, he’d do anything he could to get me back to my residency. If I knew that he’d try to go back on his word, I could have applied for other programs. I could have taken the initiative to apply for additional grants to get back to Africa. I could have done anything but believe his empty promises over the last six months. But the stupid child living inside of me wanted to believe him, wanted to finally believe that he’d come through for me.
He raises his napkin to his mouth, wiping the corner of his lip to stifle the smug smile. “Being a father means I have to make difficult decisions. The child may not like—”
“I’m not a child, Richard,” I interrupt, taking my own napkin from my lap and tossing it on the table in front of me. “I’m a woman. I'm a surgeon. An equal. I'm an adult. So from one adult to another, are you, or are you not, keeping your word?”
He leans back in his chair, raising an arm to drape it along the back of Matilda's seat. “I just don’t think that’s the best path for you.”
“And what would you know about what’s best for me? We barely know each other.” I shove my chair back with a loud scrape, gathering the hem of my dress so I don’t trip, but my dad’s cold voice stops me.
“Annaliese Elizabeth Keeton. Sit down right this second.”
My spine straightens, eyes darting to the table next to us who have now abandoned their caprese salad and are watching the drama unfold.
I spin on my heel to face my dad, and lean my hands forward to rest my palms on the table in front of me. “I’m not a child, Richard. I’m not another pawn in your game, and I’m not your fucking Princess. At this point, I’m only your daughter by name. If you want to go back on your word, go ahead. In all honesty, I should have known better than to trust a word that comes out of your mouth.” I pull back, standing to my full height to tower over them. “Enjoy your dinner. Enjoy your wedding. Enjoy a pitifully unfulfilling life where you use people to your advantage.”
Before I leave, I take one long look at my father, knowing that this might be the last time we are in the same room together. “It’s no wonder you and Dr. Andrews are friends–you use people, even those you claim to love. But that love only lasts until it no longer benefits you.”
I only make it a step away from the table when my dad scoffs loudly. “Don’t offend me, Annaliese. Colt has shown me that the years I invested in him were simply a waste of time.”
My dad’s words cause me to pause, and I twist slightly so I can face him, brows pulled together. “Excuse me?”
My dad leans back in his chair, the power of having the upper hand bringing color to his aging face. He grabs his glass of wine from the table, leisurely bringing it to his lips for a sip. He then props his elbow on the back of his chair, slowly swirling the liquid in the goblet as if he has all the time in the world.
“I thought Andrews would have made an excellent Chief some day. I trained him to be ruthless, callous when needed, but it turns out he was weak all along. He was willing to sacrifice our future for…” he trails off, his eyes moving up and down my body as if he’s disgusted with the fact that someone could fall for me. “It doesn’t matter anymore. He’ll never have what it takes to be Chief of Surgery. He barely has what it takes to be a man.”
“You’re taking that from him?” The words are forced out, fighting against my beating heart. “You led him along all these years just to betray him in the end?”
“I’m the one who should be whining about betrayal," he barks, slamming his wine glass down on the table so forcefully, liquid sloshes up the side. “I’m always the one who has to deal with the aftermath when others can’t meet my expectations. I’m the one that has to be the bad guy. I’m the one tha—”
“What if I stay?”
Both my dad and Matilda gasp at my interruption, eyes bulging with surprise.
“What if I stay?” I ask again, clearing my throat roughly. “If I stay at Grace General, if I don’t mention Africa ever again, will you make him Chief?”
Sometimes love is easy. Sometimes it’s sneaking kisses and “I miss you” messages and late-night talks about your dreams. It can also be hard. It can mean tears and heartache and sacrificing what you want in the moment so the other person can live. I can’t be with Colt, and he may have decided he doesn’t want to be with me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love him.
Colt has lost so much in his life. He’s been beaten and bruised, angry and alone, and somehow still became the man I was lucky enough to know. He lives with so many regrets, with guilt for all the years he spent giving into his depression and not living . Giving this up would be worth it if it meant he’d get to fulfill his dream, if he could feel the happiness that he's spent his entire life chasing.
My dad raises a grayed brow, pausing to take another slow sip of his wine. He sets the glass back on the table and dabs the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “What else?”
What else? What else is there? I rack my brain to think of anything else I could possibly offer up, but then I take a pause.
That's just it. A reminder that my father will always want to know what else he can gain, what else he can earn, who else he can hurt in the process. So many nasty thoughts race through my mind. They trickle down my throat into my mouth and I’m ready to spew them back at my dad. But I pause again, realizing after all these years that it doesn’t matter what I would say. What anyone would say for that matter. Colt and I could rip ourselves apart, give up our world to try to make my dad happy and he'd still ask, “what else?” He doesn’t want friends or family, he wants puppets he can control.
Any other words would be a waste of breath on someone like him, and I’ve already wasted enough time trying to make this relationship something more than it’s meant to be.
“Goodbye, Richard,” I mumble, spinning on my heel to storm out of the dining room.
I faintly hear him call my name but I keep my face to the exit. The snow has started to fall, winds scooping up fluffy piles and swirling them in the air. The restaurant host barely has time to reach for the door to open it for me when I rush past him, finally exhaling a shaking breath when the sharp, cold air hits my face.