Page 63 of Take Two

He gestures vaguely between us, his hands moving as he searches for the right words, the right way to frame a question that’s clearly been weighing on him.

“You spent years working toward medicine. Everything I read said you could’ve gone to practically any medical school in the country and eventually pursued whatever specialty you wanted. You were on track to become an incredible doctor.” He shrugs, the gesture almost apologetic. “I guess it’s just. . .it’s always been something I’ve wondered about ever since I read about it online. I’m heading into my last year before medical school, and I honestly can’t imagine walking away after putting that much of myself into it.”

For a moment, I don’t answer. The question hangs between us, heavier than the humid afternoon air.

I watch a pair of children race past us, one chasing the other with a neon green water gun while Cameron throws both hands into the air in exaggerated surrender after getting caught in the crossfire. The laughter that follows carries across the yard, mixing with the music and the steady rhythm of conversation that forms the soundtrack to this afternoon. It’s such a simple moment of joy, uncomplicated by expectation or judgment.

“I used to think I couldn’t either,” I admit quietly, the words surprising me with their honesty.

I don’t talk about that decision very often, the choice that changed the entire trajectory of my life. The occasional interview, maybe, when a journalist is feeling particularly ambitious, but even then it’s carefully managed, sanitized for public consumption. Here, though, sitting beside Jamie’s younger brother in the warm Seattle sunshine, it feels like something worth sharing. Something real.

“My parents decided I was going to be a doctor long before I ever understood what that meant.” I lean back in the lounger, letting my eyes drift toward Jamie across the yard. He’s moved closer to the house now, laughing with Tazja about something while gesturing wildly with his hands, his youngest cousin still clinging happily to his side like a determined barnacle. The sight makes something warm unfurl in my chest. “Medicine wasn’t really presented as one option among many. It was the plan. The expectation. The future that had been mapped out before I was old enough to have opinions about my own life.”

I smile to myself, though there’s very little humor behind the expression.

“I was good at it. Really good. I worked harder than most of my peers, I genuinely enjoyed the science behind it all, and I earned every interview, every acceptance, every opportunity that came my way.” The memory feels distant now, like something that happened to someone else. “But somewhere along the way, I realized I was working toward someone else’s dream instead of my own.”

The admission sits heavy between us. Jacques is quiet for a long moment after I finish, his brow furrowed in concentration, then slowly shakes his head.

“I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

I look over at him, studying the earnest expression on his young face, and nod in understanding.

“I can understand walking away from something you don’t love,” he continues, his voice thoughtful. “What I can’t imagine is not being allowed to choose in the first place.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, because he’s hit on something that took me years to fully understand about my own experience.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve spent my whole life working toward medicine because it’s what I want,” he says, and there’s such certainty in his voice that I feel a pang of something that might be envy. “If somebody else had made that decision for me. . .” He lets the thought trail off, shaking his head again. “I honestly don’t know who I’d be.”

Neither do I. The thought is sobering, even now.

“My parents already had one artist in the family,” I say with a shrug, trying to keep my tone light despite the weight of old resentments.

He glances over, eyebrows raised in question.

“My brother Julian is a classically trained pianist.”

Recognition flashes across his face like lightning, and then he laughs, the sound bright and genuinely delighted.

“Okay, true fanboy moment. I absolutely love Julian Reed’s work.”

I roll my eyes and laugh, shaking my head at his enthusiasm. It never gets old, seeing people react to my brother’s talent with such genuine appreciation.

“Back then he wasn’t the international superstar everyone knows now. He was just. . .my older brother who loved the piano more than anything else in the world.” I smile to myself, remembering Julian at fourteen, spending hours at our mother’s baby grand until she’d practically have to drag him away for dinner. “That was already pushing the limits of what my parents wanted for their children.”

Jacques listens without interrupting, nodding along.

“I think once Julian chose music, my parents doubled down on me.” I pick idly at the label on my water bottle, the condensation making it peel away in satisfying strips. “Medicine was respectable. Stable. Prestigious. Everything they thought a second son should aspire to be.”

I laugh quietly, though there’s very little humor behind the sound.

“I wasn’t even allowed to join the theater club in high school.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Seriously?”

“They figured they already had one performer in the family.” I shrug, the casual gesture belying years of frustration and resentment. “That was enough creativity for one household, apparently.”