Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
I almost wait for him to say, so that’s what you want.
But he thankfully doesn’t. He nods again. “Shadowing positions are few and far between, and I wish I could help you out. But Denise and I made an agreement with each other around eight or nine years ago that I needed to cut all ties to your mother. If I were to let you shadow me or one of the residents in my department, it would be breaking that agreement. Denise and the kids, they mean the world to me, and I just can’t let any of that negativity back into my life. Into their lives.”
I’ve stopped breathing. “I-I don’t understand,” I say. “I’m not my mom.”
“You are tied to her—”
“I’m not,” I argue, heat baking my lungs. “I haven’t spoken to her in years.”
He holds up his hands, his eyes going wide. “We were having a civil conversation, Harriet.”
I barely raised my voice. But is that all he sees when he looks at me? Hope Danes, who overreacts. Hope Danes, who can’t keep her cool.
I’ll never be anything other than his first wife’s daughter.
I’ll never be just Harriet Fisher.
I’ve never hated him. Not a moment in my life. Not even when the happy birthday phone calls stopped when I turned eleven…holy shit. He made that agreement with his wife eight or nine years ago. That would’ve been around my eleventh birthday. He never forgot my birthday. He cut ties with me. And I just never knew.
Hurt blasts through my chest as if I’m standing in the center of a nuclear explosion. I don’t plan to say a goodbye. I figure it’s a common thing in this hospital anyway. I just stand from my chair and face the exit.
“Harriet, sit down. Let’s just have a normal conversation.”
Normal?
My eyes flame as I spin on him. There are so many things I could say—because I have a feeling there might not be another time we ever talk again.
But all that comes out of my mouth is pure fire. “Fuck you for thinking I’m Hope. I’m not her. I’m not even you. I am Harriet fucking Fisher. I’m the girl who was smart enough to skip fifth grade. The girl who’s brilliant enough to get a full ride to an Ivy. The girl who’s proud enough to say I don’t need you. I never needed you to succeed one single day of my life, and I won’t need you to become a doctor. I will do that with the support of people who actually care about me, and thank you for reminding me it’s not you. So fuck you.” I wipe an angry tear away. “And you might hate Hope. You might think she’s the worst person in the world. But look in the fucking mirror. Because you’ve never been any better.”
Rage clouds my vision as I storm out of the lounge. Out of the hospital. My breathing is labored as I land on the sidewalk. Ambulance sirens blare as they veer into the emergency bay. I’m shellshocked at my outburst—because that never happens. I keep my words in. I keep my feelings tight. I know I have too much to lose by cursing people out.
But I don’t regret it. The sentiment surges more powerfully. I do not regret it.
I’m proud of myself for unleashing my feelings. No Cobalt would’ve sulked out of the hospital with a tail between their legs. They would’ve stood their ground. Held their head fucking high.
Pride indestructible in the face of adversaries.
I just never thought my dad would be one. Until now.
All I want is to call Ben, but it’s Wednesday night. He’s back in Philly, eating dinner with his family, and I struggle to bother him. Who else to call?
Xander? I’d have to explain this whole situation.
Aunt Helena? She won’t understand why I went to see my dad in the first place, and the last thing I want to hear is a bunch of different variations of I told you so.
So I just go to my apartment. Make a bowl of ramen noodles. Curl up on the couch and click on the television to marathon some CSI. In no mood to even study for finals.
Ben texts at one point.
Ben
How’d it go?
I send him a thumbs-down emoji.
He immediately calls, but talking sounds strenuous. I’m one with the couch. Can’t even move to grab my earbuds, and Eden has her door ajar. I’m also not in the mood for my roommate to hear about my daddy issues.
So I text Ben.
Harriet
Don’t feel like talking tonight. Sry. Will chat with you tomorrow. All good.
Ben
The kissy face emoji is always used playfully when we text, so it tics up my lips just slightly. Still, I overturn my phone and squeeze my pillow beneath my head. Lying on the lumpy couch cushions, I didn’t even pull out the mattress.