Page 12 of Damaged Protector
Yes. No. Maybe.
I’d done a lot of soul searching the past few weeks, letting my mind wander to what I wanted for my future. The conclusions had surprised me.
“I think I initially gravitated toward ballet because Mama loved it so much. And I was good at it. You know how when you excel at something, you just keep doing it? Because it makes you feel good to have people tell you you’re great?”
“I completely understand. Your uncle Sean went through that for a brief time after high school. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go into construction like the rest of the family. So he decided to go to college instead of straight into the business. Your grandpa wasn’t happy, but Sean took a lot of different classes his first two years and eventually found that he loved construction science. He needed to find out for himself though because he’s very strong-willed—much like my beautiful daughter.”
Stunned didn’t even begin to describe my feelings. I was his only child, so he had to be talking about me. “You think I’m strong-willed?”
“Of course I do, honey. You’re so resilient and driven. I’ve never seen a kid push herself like you do. You can do anything you want. Do you still want to pursue a ballet career, or is there something else that’s caught your eye? Any classes you’ve taken that you really gelled with?”
“I loved my anatomy and physiology classes. And I think…” Just say it, Mallori. “I think I’d like to be a physical therapist.”
Damn, it felt good to put that out into the world. To say the actual words aloud.
“Honey! That’s wonderful!”
“It is?”
Dad’s low chuckle vibrated against my ear. “Of course it is. That’s an excellent career.”
“And you won’t be disappointed in me?” My voice sounded meek, and I hated that. Phoenix, Mal! Be the phoenix!
“Because my daughter wants to be a physical therapist? Are you crazy? What kind of program is it? A master’s degree?”
“Doctorate,” I corrected, my shoulders rising with excitement. Because someone else was excited for me. For something besides dance.
“I’ll be damned. My daughter is going to be a doctor. Baby, this is fantastic. If it’s what makes you happy, you should do it.”
“And you’ll back me up?”
“A million percent.”
“Good, because there’s something else…”
“No,” my mother said in her unequivocal tone, fork clattering to her plate.
“Why not?” my father asked, scooping mashed potatoes onto his fork. “It’s a wonderful profession, and I think Mal would be an excellent physical therapist.” He stuck the creamy bite into his mouth and chewed, his green eyes focused on my mother.
“Be-because she’s going to be a ballerina. She has so much talent.” Her eyes—full of indignation—flashed between me and my dad.
“But it’s my talent, and I can choose to do what I want with it, right, Mama?” I asked sweetly. Her gaze turned to me in disbelief, but I continued, bolstered by my father’s support. “I think I want to work specifically with dancers. Help them rehab after injuries. Gordon was so wonderful to work with after I hurt my shoulder. Or perhaps I’ll work with military veterans like Cousin Cam.”
“So you want to work with dancers instead of being a dancer. Do you even hear what you’re saying, Mallori?” The sneer was evident in her tone, but Dad shut her down.
“If that’s what she wants to do, then we’ll support her, right, Karen?” He lifted one eyebrow, and she spluttered before taking a sip of her water, which did nothing to tone down the flush covering her face.
“I don’t know how she thinks she’s going to pay for that. She had a scholarship for dance.”
Dad tossed me a little wink, his lips curling up at the edges. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve been saving for Mallori’s schooling since she was born in case she didn’t have scholarships.”
My mother looked peeved, and I shoveled some creamed spinach into my mouth before I launched into phase two. “I’ve had a lot of time to think lately—up in my studio.”
Dad’s brow creased. “I thought you were resting your shoulder, honey.”
I smiled innocently, watching my mother from the corner of my eye. “Oh, I was, but Mama thought it would be inspirational for me to spend some time up there. She was even nice enough to bring all my meals up to me.”
The look of raw panic in her eyes had me fighting a smirk, but the lines in Dad’s forehead deepened into thick ridges. “I don’t like that. You need to eat your meals down here in the dining room, Mal.” His gaze shifted between us. “It’s not healthy to spend so much time up there.”