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Beside mother is my eldest brother, Sterling—a three-time gold medal triathlon Olympian and Rhodes Scholar. His wife, Gertrude, recently developed the cure for Ebola and their ten-year-old twin daughters, Estelle and Helena, are musical prodigies in violin and cello, respectively.
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Seated across from Sterling’s family is my sister, Athena—an international supermodel and mathematician who managed to solve the previously unsolvable Collatz Conjecture in-between photo shoots.
And I’m not even joking.
Her husband, Jasper, sipping his tea and checking the market fluctuations on his phone, is a self-made billionaire and Governor of the Bank of Wessco.
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There’s an empty seat beside Jasper where my brother Luke would be sitting if he were here. Several years ago, Luke was on his way to becoming the youngest chess master in the history of the game. But then he . . . stopped.
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Now he travels, returning home occasionally—but he’s very good about sending photos from all his trips to the family group chat.
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In the seat of honor is my grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Bumblebridge. Her blouse is silk and dark green, matching the color of her eyes—the same shade as my own. The diamond bracelet around her slender wrist sparkles in the midmorning sun streaming through the arched windows, as she fills in the pages of her leather-bound organizer with perfect penmanship.
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Though my grandfather passed away years ago and there is “Dowager” in front of her title, Grandmother is still very much the head of the Haddocks. Because my father’s commitments take him out of the country, she casts the votes for the family’s seat in the House of Lords.
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Grandmother’s accomplishments are . . . us. She’s the glue that holds us together, the force that pushes us onward and ever upward, the fuel behind our desire to bring recognition to the family name.
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And then, there’s me.
I graduated from one of the most prestigious universities in the country—but not early. I went on to attend an elite medical school and graduated with honors—but not as valedictorian. I’m the duck in a sea of swans. There’s nothing remarkable or extraordinary about me—though it’s not for lack of trying.
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“How are you progressing in your residency program, Abigail?”
Saturday brunch at the Bumblebridge estate is a quiet, reserved time for the family. A period of self-reflection and study. To refresh our focus, and prepare and plan for the week ahead. So, my grandmother’s inquiry is not an attempt at pleasant conversation—it’s a request for a status update.
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“Things are progressing well,” I reply. “This afternoon I’ll be scrubbing in on a laparoscopic cholecystectomy.”
I’m a surgical resident at Highgrove Hospital, with a focus in cardiovascular specialty. I gesture to the open medical journal in front of me, though I already know every step by heart. I record myself reading aloud and play it at night as I go to sleep to reinforce the information. “It’s an honor for a third year to be selected to assist in such a procedure.”
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“I see.” My grandmother nods. “It’s a six-year program, is that correct?”
I take a drink of water to moisten my suddenly parched throat.
“That’s right.”
“Mmm,” she hums. “And you’ll actually require all that time to get through it?”
Every pair of eyes at the table turns to me. Even Estelle and Helena stare. Creepily. Like those little REDRUM girls in The Shining.
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And the damned clickety-clack of the grandfather clock in the corner sounds louder than ever. More distracting.
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Can’t they hear it too?
“I’m doing everything I can to accelerate my way through the program; however, it does seem that I’ll need the full six, yes.”
She nods—not appearing disappointed exactly, but none too pleased either.
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“Well, perhaps an opportunity will present itself for you to distinguish yourself from the pack. For instance, if the Queen were to develop an acute cardiac condition and there were no other surgeons available—you could volunteer to perform the procedure. And then you would be forever known as the doctor who saved Queen Lenora’s life.”
The Haddocks are distantly related by marriage to the Pembrooks. I’ve met Queen Lenora and her grandsons; Prince Nicholas and Henry are only a few years older than me. I like them all very much. They seem . . . warm, fun . . . at least when there aren’t too many people around to see it.
It doesn’t feel right to imagine an affliction befalling the Queen just so I could make a name for myself.
So I smile tightly and say, “Perhaps.”
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Grandmother nods and closes her organizer, then she rings the silver bell beside her bread plate, summoning the butler.
“You may clear the table now, Grogg.”
I stand and slip my textbook and laptop into my satchel.
“My new trial begins this Friday,” Father says. “I’ll be away for the next few weeks.” Slowly, he gazes at each of us. “Be well, everyone.”
“Be well, Father,” I return softly, and we all wish him success.