“It must dissuade some very bright people from becoming surgeons, if they have to give up having a family.”
“It’s like being a rock star, Peys. When you’re on the road like that, you can’t have a family.”
“Actually, Killer Valentine is taking a six-month break, starting in June, because Xan and Georgie are having a child.”
“Georgie’s pregnant? Are you okay with that?”
“I’m fine with it. I’m happy for them. They had a tough time. Georgie had a miscarriage a few years ago, and it messed them up for a while. Georgie even cried with me, so I know she must have been truly heartbroken. Also, have you spoken to Andy lately?”
“Yeah, I know she’s knocked up. I didn’t mention my predicament.”
“Even when we do resume touring, we’re all slowing down. The tours will have longer breaks and shorter legs. We already have two kids on tour: Emily and Valentina. As soon as we land at a tour stop, while the technicians are unpacking the set and lighting rigs, Cadell and Tryp take the kids to the nearest park until the sound check. We’ve figured out how to make it work.”
“But I wouldn’t be going on tour with Killer Valentine. I will not quit my residency like Andy did.”
“I understand, but if a rock band that is lorded over by an insane, monomaniac frontman can make it work, anyone can.”
“Once I’m done, we would probably see each other less. I’ve been switching shifts around like a crazy woman to fly to meet you or to be home when you come here. You’d get tired of it, Peyton. You would want out. The divorce rate among surgeons is crazy-high, like eighty percent. Probably worse than for rock stars. Even we surgeons know it’s no way to live. It’s not fair to ask anyone else to live like that.”
“I’m asking you to let me share your life and to marry me,” he said. “I l—”
“You don’t even know what you want in life, Peys. You don’t know whether you want to stay in contemporary music or go back to classical. You don’t know whether you want to teach in a conservatory or to perform with the L.A. Phil or with Killer Valentine. You’ve been wasting time with Killer Valentine and hanging on Georgie Johnson for almost two years.”
“Georgie? Is that what this is about? I’ve explained to you—”
“Two whole years of your life! You don’t have any sort of a life plan, and you don’t know what you want.”
“I know what I want. I want you,” he said.
“This isn’t a game to me. I am almost half a million dollars in debt for my undergrad and medical school.”
“I don’t think it’s a game, Raji. I’m not playing with you.”
“Actually, I take that back. It is a game. I’m playing Russian roulette. If I don’t become a surgeon, if I don’t get an extremely high-paying job, I can’t pay off this debt. I have gambled everything on this. If you distract me too much, I’m done. If I get sick while I’m pregnant, I’m done. There are so many ways that I could shoot myself in the head with this.”
“Raji-lee, I would never do that to you.”
“I can’t take a chance on that.”
“You mean you can’t take a chance on me.”
“I have to make this work. I have responsibilities. I’m not some trust-fund kid who can go mooning after his ex for two years because he was an ass in high school. There are people whom I need to help. You don’t know everything that’s going on with me.”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t fuck up my life for this. I’m sorry, Peyton, but I just can’t. I’m going to just take care of it, and I’m going on with my life. I can’t do this.”
Peyton closed the ring box and stood. The glittering spangles disappeared from the corridor’s white walls. “If you need any help, whatever kind, any help at all, my offer stands. Anything, from financial help to taking care of you while you rest. I mean it.”
“I’m fine. I’ve got some girlfriends here who can take care of me. One of the OB/GYNs here takes care of this for staff and doesn’t record it anywhere, so it never gets billed, either. I don’t need money or help from you. I need some time, Peyton. I’m sorry. A lot has happened with us. Let’s take a break from it all for a while, okay?”
His throat burned inside. “I’ll do whatever you want, Raji.”
“Write some more songs for me, will you? You’re an amazing songwriter. The world needs you as a musician out there writing and performing, not cloistered as a glorified music teacher in some conservatory. I can’t do that to you, either. When I see you next, play me some new songs. I’d love that.”
“I will,” he said.