Page 30 of Christmas at Watson Memorial

“You have horrible dark circles under your eyes, by the way. You should try this cream I've been recommended-”

“Alexia was on call at the hospital all night,” Selene interrupts, setting down the coffee cups.

“Oh, I see. I'll send you the name of the cream anyway,” Mom insists, examining her coffee as if Selene might have poisoned it or spit in it. Arya probably would have, but not Selene.

We sit in silence for a long while, but knowing my mother, this can't be good.

“All these night shifts… You should think about settling down, you're not an intern anymore. And this tiny apartment… You know we could help you buy something more suitable, maybe facing Central Park.”

“This place is more than adequate, Mom, and it's close to the hospital. From Central Park, it would take forever to get there. It's not about money.”

“I'm just worried about you, darling,” she cuts me off. “I mean, this tiny place… What would your father say?”

“I honestly wouldn't know,” the words escape before I can stop them. “Neither of you has ever approved of almost anything I do. Nothing's ever good enough.”

Mom stares at me with an expression I can't decipher. I'm not sure if she's angry at my comment, or if she's giving me that look she used to give me as a child when she thought I was being stupid.

“I see you're still as dramatic as ever,” she sighs with a dismissive gesture, probably practiced in front of a mirroruntil it looked elegant. “I suppose I should be grateful you at least studied medicine instead of…” she glances at Selene, and for a moment, I fear the worst.

“Alexia is one of the country's top cardiothoracic surgeons,” Selene says beside me, maintaining her composure. “She's a leading authority in open-heart surgery on pediatric patients.”

Of course, Mom knows this, or should know it, being a doctor herself, but for some reason I've never understood, she always chooses to ignore it.

“And I suppose you help her get those organs with your little helicopter? How convenient…” Again, she raises an eyebrow with millimeter precision.

“Mom, please, let's drop this conversation, I don't want to-”

I pause. Too long because suddenly, I can't find the words when I notice she's not wearing the diamond ring Dad gave her when they got married.

“Why didn't Dad come?” I ask fearfully, and her perfect facade cracks.

“Your father… is taking time with his new legal assistant. She's twenty-seven,” she adds with contempt.

“Jesus, Mom,” I sigh.

The silence that follows is deafening. Mom maintains her composure, stoic, but I think if it weren't for Selene's hand squeezing mine, I'd be having a nervous breakdown.

“So that's why you came…”

“He told me I was cold, can you believe it?” she whispers, her voice breaking just slightly. “That this girl makes him feel alive. After all the sacrifices I made for this family, he runs off with a girl even younger than you. Do you think I'm cold? Tell me at least that I was a good mother.”

Selene squeezes my hand again, as if reminding me to be careful with what I'm about to say.

“Mom, I'm sure you did the best you could,” I mutter. “At least, you thought it was for my own good. Being a good mother or not, it depends, it's too subjective a concept. You turned my best friend's funeral, when I was only twelve, into a lecture about maintaining emotional distance in medicine. I still have nightmares about that. You made me feel horrible every time my grades weren't perfect enough. I…”

“You said it yourself. I only wanted what was best for you,” she interrupts, tensing up.

“I don't know, Mom. I guess so. Or what was best for your image. The perfect daughter to match the perfect life. But I'm not, Mom. I'm far from perfect. I'm a surgeon who tries to be better every day. Since I was twelve, I've been emotionally dependent on a lucky pen Laura gave me before she died. And now I'm dating a helicopter pilot who dresses up as a Christmas elf to make sick kids laugh. I'm not perfect, but I'm trying to be happy.”

“Alexia, don't think I'm not proud of you. You're the fourth generation of doctors in the family and-”

“I didn't study medicine for you, Mom,” I huff. “Not for any family tradition, either. I did it for Laura, because I promised her before she died that I'd become the kind of doctor who could have saved her. But you didn't know that, did you? Because you never asked if I liked medicine. I do, I love surgery, but you never asked. You took it for granted.”

“I never meant to-”

“You ask if you're cold? Yes, you are, Mom. You're the type of mother who makes her daughter feel like she's never good enough, who makes her daughter fight against ridiculous insecurities every day. Maybe you couldn't help it, I'm not going to judge you at this point in my life.”

“I'm running late. It's been a pleasure,” she snaps, checking her gold Rolex and standing up as if she hadn't heard a single word I said.