Page 77 of Full Court Crush
“As you know I’ve switched to doing bank work with the local hospitals, so I can fit it in around training. It’s been interesting getting different experiences.” She knew it was hopeless, but the part of her that still longed for her parents' approval hoped they'd show interest, maybe ask questions about her medical career, even if they wouldn't show any regard for her sport.
“In my day, you didn’t do any of that nonsense. You worked where you worked, and you worked your way up.” Her father’s voice was gruff. “It’s why my practice has gone from strength to strength since I took it over, because I know it inside out. Twenty years ago now, when the old owner retired…”
She zoned out as if someone had flipped a switch. She knew this story well. She had heard his stories so many times she had every word and intonation memorised, even though most of the stories had occurred before she was born. Her mother glazed over, too, instead looking judgementally around the room. Amelia wondered what she’d missed when she was cleaning.
As her dad droned on, she thought back to her visit with her sister. She’d walked through the door and her sister had immediately engulfed her in a hug, with both of them instantly in floods of tears. They’d spent the rest of the day huddled up on the sofa, peppering each other with questions, desperate to catch up on all the years they’d missed. Her sister offered for her to stay over, and if Amelia hadn’t had work, she would have taken her up on it.
“…I knew then that he would make a good second in command,” her father finished. “And he’ll serve you well, too, when you take over,” he added, smiling at her the same way a hunter would smile at an animal found bleeding in one of his traps.
“What?”
“When you take over the practice,” her mother said, as if Amelia just hadn’t been listening.
“I’ve told you before, I’m not taking over the practice. I’m in paediatrics, not plastics.”
“Yes, well.” Her father waved a dismissive hand. “That doesn’t matter, you won’t do much medicine when you’re actually running the place.”
She stared at both of them. They stared back, clearly with no doubt in their mind about her future.
“I’m not taking over the practice,” she said again, modulating her breathing. “I’m happy living in Cardiff, working for the NHS, working in paediatrics.”
“We’ve talked about this,” her father said firmly. “Before you even started medical school. This has always been the plan.”
“No, it’s always beenyourplan,” she said, the strength in her voice growing. “I never agreed to it.” Her pulse pounded in her ears, like her body was angry with her for daring to stand up for herself.
“We are your parents. We know what’s best for you. You’d be wise to listen,” her father’s voice was resolute as he nodded once. He did not tolerate anyone questioning his orders.
“You don’t even know me,” she shot back, ignoring the panic rising in her throat, and the tightness in her chest. Her mind felt like it was occupied by a swarm of wasps, and she could barely hear herself over the din.
“Now where have I heard that before?” Her mother scoffed. “Your sister was always a bad influence on you. I didn’t think you’d still be following in her footsteps after all these years. Lord knows she didn’t amount to much, mainly because she didn’t listen, like you’re trying not to.”
“You have no idea what she amounted to. You haven’t seen her in nearly a decade.” Amelia seethed, clenching her fists in her lap. She tried to keep her voice steady and calm when dealing with her parents. Getting angry would only escalate the situation. But she’d had enough. She’d had enough of trying to be their perfect daughter and live in their perfect world and never putting a hair out of line. She’d had more than enough. Her fingers tingled with pins and needles.
“Clara has a house, a job, and a long-term boyfriend, and she’shappy.”
Her mother scoffed again, and the sound grated down Amelia’s spine.
“A dead-end job and a boyfriend doesn’t make someone successful.” She sounded patronising, and her father laughed cruelly. Amelia bristled. The first proper update they've had on their eldest daughter in years, andthisis how they react?
Amelia slammed her mug down on the coffee table, splashing coffee onto the floor, and jumped to her feet. The swarm of wasps wereangry.
“No, but being happy in the face of everythingyouput her through makes her successful,” Amelia snapped, breathing through her teeth. “Now, get out.” She pointed towards the door.
“Amelia, what on earth has got into —” her father started, looking stunned.
“Getout,” she said, louder this time. She took their mugs out of their hands and put them on the coffee table, too.
“You will not speak to me like that, young lady!” her father bellowed, rising to his full height and towering over her. Amelia flashed back to getting scolded as a child for a single less-than-perfect grade. She felt like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room. “Now apologise at once, and clean up that mess!” He pointed to the coffee table.
She used whatever oxygen she could find to yell a single word.
“Out!” Amelia shouted, meeting his ferocious glare with one of her own and refusing to look away. When he didn't move, she walked to the front door and opened it, not caring about the rain splattering through the open door and into her hallway. Not caring how her hand shook, rattling the door on its hinges, or about the panic attack flooding her chest.
Her parents glared at her, but finally, stubbornly, they changed back into their outside shoes. Her father put up his umbrella, spraying water inside the house, before stepping outside. Her mother turned on the doorstep.
“Really, Amelia, this seems unnecessarily dramatic, especially after we drove all this way —”
Amelia shut the door in her mother’s face. She leant back against the wall before slowly sliding down and collapsing on the floor. The tears came silently. She let years of unsaid words and pain spill out. Instead of shaming herself into bottling up her emotions like her parents had taught her, she let herself cry. The panic that had been rising in her throat abated, slowly replaced by a wave of grief that knocked the wind out of her. Grief for the relationship she didn’t have with her parents. The childhood she should have had. The rift she was trying to mend between her and Clara.