BEAUTIFUL MESS [Book 2] | MIKHAIAH

15

The consequences really should have been the forefront of my mind, because the next morning wasn't pretty. Waking up hungover, alone, and with a slice of pepperoni in my hair didn't bode well.

Amaia wasn't in the apartment, and she didn't return for the entire day, leaving me to pace, panic, and prepare an argument in my defense.

The only problem was, I didn't know what it was I wanted. Or rather, I did, but I wanted more than what I believed Amaia would be willing to give. More than I had the right to ask for, but despite it all, I was curious.

I wanted to know about Jayden, about her life before I knew her, about her dreams and where she saw herself in the future and whether I was included in that.

I wanted to know about the small things and the big things. Things that could break us up again. Things that would sever a future by her side.

I shut my eyes and rubbed my temples.

I stopped pacing as thoughts of the future overwhelmed me. It wasn't just Amaia that had an influence on my life.

Complex and overwhelming decisions and choices loomed around the corner. Advanced clinical experiences were the next phase in study, which meant making choices aimed at complimenting what I wanted to specialize in. Amaia was heading toward a pediatric specialization and always had been.

Last week, I had an appointment to see my advisor to discuss where I wanted my career to go. I found out in that interview that both Dr. Harris and Dr. Ortiz had written glowing and exceedingly rare recommendations regarding my potential in the surgical and trauma medicine fraternity. Reading about their grandiose expectations of me made me panic and unnerved my advisor. He subsequently booked me another appointment and told me to go have a long hard think about my career path.

My career path was once outlined with glowing LED strips set firmly on a path to becoming a general practitioner. I was going to go back to province and work near home, family, and friends. It was a place where Amaia was unlikely to follow. Positions for specialist pediatricians didn't exist in our small community. Then came the big realization that if I wanted to have Amaia in my life beyond medical school, I was never going to be returning home.

My lip wobbled and I slid down the wall to the floor.

I fished my phone out of my pocket. "Mom?" I said a few minutes later.

"Mika, honey. Give me a moment." I could hear conversation in the background and someone ask Mom for thirty-six dollars.

"Grocery shopping?" I asked when she came back on the line.

"Yes. Someone forgot to pick up groceries on their way home like I asked them to." I could almost hear her purse her lips. "What can I do for you, honey?"

My lip wobbled again. "I don't know what to do."

"About Amaia?"

"No. Kind of." I huffed at myself. "I don't know if I want to move back home anymore."

"Move back? When?"

"When I finish my residency."

"What? In six years?"

I added up the time to finish my MD and what a residency would take. "More like eight. Maybe ten depending on fellowships and such."

"So, when you're thirty-five, you don't know whether you want to move back in with your parents?"

"Well—no—not with you, but back to my hometown."

"So you can share your twelve-year degree with a few hundred people?"