“What do you mean, ‘recycling bin’? Is that any way to describe a young woman?” Professor Penn scolded, his face darkening with disapproval.
“Oh, come on, it was just a metaphor,” Naylor protested with a sheepish cough. “I know you’re protective of your precious students, but you can’t just throw your own son under the bus for their sake.”
“Then when are you finally going to settle down? When are you getting married?” Professor Penn pressed. “Look at Jamison and Miss Windsor–so happy together, devoted as can be. Don’t you wish you had that?”
“What’s there to envy?” Naylor shrugged. “He tied himself down after just one relationship. I still have endless possibilities ahead of me. If anyone should be jealous, it’s him.”
“Utter nonsense!” Dr. Wilson snapped, unable to hide his long-standing frustration with his son’s cavalier attitude toward women. “You think playing with girls‘ feelings is something to be proud of? Let me make this clear: from now on, you have two choices–stay single or get married. If you ever mess around again and refuse to take responsibility, I’ll break your legs!”
Naylor could tell from his father’s tone that he wasn’t joking. He frowned, ready to argue, but in the end, he gave up without a fight. After all, he was genuinely afraid his dad would follow through. Worse yet, if his father did break his legs, he had the medical skills to patch him up–just so he could do it all over again.
Having parents who were both renowned doctors–people who could hold their own against death itself–was, under certain circumstances, a little terrifying.
Whenever Naylor got into trouble as a kid, his father would pick up a scalpel and threaten him: “Which hand got you into this mess? Hold it out. I’ll cut off a finger.”
Luckily, Naylor had a strong mind and nerves of steel. Otherwise, he’d have been traumatized for life.
When Naylor finally fell silent, Professor Penn softened his tone for a final appeal. “You’re our only child. Your father and I have worked hard our entire lives, and now, at our age, all we want is to enjoy our golden years with grandchildren around us. But if you refuse to get married and have kids, the house will stay cold and empty, and we’ll have to go back to work just to fill the time. Can’t you think of us, just a little? Get married, have a child or two–we won’t even ask you to raise them. We’ll take care of everything. We’ll make sure your kids are healthy, happy, and clever as can be.”
Naylor said nothing, but silently kicked himself for coming. If he’d known this dinner would end with him as the main target, he’d have skipped it entirely.
Monday morning, Jamison drove Ivy back to campus.
He’d gotten home from the hospital close to midnight, showered, collapsed into bed, and hadn’t spoken to Ivy at all the night before. Now, stuck in morning rush hour traffic, he finally had a chance to chat with his wife.
“That thing with Celeste–it’s all settled. You don’t have to worry anymore,” he said.
Ivy was reading financial news and jotting down a quick pre-market analysis. She glanced up, curiosity flickering across her face. “Settled how? Did she agree to transfer and resign?”
“Yeah. After we left, I don’t know what Ms. Penn said to her, but last night Ms. Penn texted me to say it was taken care of.”
Ivy nodded. “That’s good. I hope her new department works out for her.”
She meant it. Ivy genuinely hoped Celeste would find a bright future ahead. As a woman herself, she admired strong, capable women like Celeste. The only issue was that Celeste was still so young, and held on to a hopelessly romantic vision of love–so much so that she’d almost let it ruin her career.
Maybe this setback would help her see past the fairy tales and focus on her own success.
When they finally reached the university, Jamison turned to Ivy before she got out of the car.
“Be careful at school, okay? Don’t make me worry. I have two critical cases at the hospital, so I’ll be busy for the next few days. I probably won’t make it over at night. Lock the door before you go to bed, and if anything happens, call me–anytime.”