5 Ways to Ruin Casey Brandt

f o u r

♡ CASEY ♡

My father is something he hopes I will aspire to emulate. Unfortunately, he wields a scalpel while I prefer the camera.

The chief of surgery at Saint Jane's Hospital, a divorcee who raised two sons alone, and an investor in many charities, Dr. Richard Brandt is successful by all means.

I, however, am not. Not in his terms, anyway. Or my own but he doesn't need to know that.

When he learned I intended to go to college he was hardly surprised. It was part of his plan for me, after all. He'd been waiting for the day he was able to pull some strings to get me into the most advanced and impressive programs in the country. He always spoke of his alma mater, Johns Hopkins, in such warm regard. He'd hoped I would follow in his footsteps. I think he convinced himself I would. My brother had.

Unfortunately, I had no intention of becoming a surgeon. I didn't have any interest in the medical field at all, really. In my opinion, those occupations should be saved for the boring and the pretentious. I am neither.

When I told him I intended to pursue a degree in media studies, and that I wanted to follow my dream to become a director, he looked at me with disgust. He hasn't stopped since.

Pushing our meeting back a mere few hours did nothing to settle the ache in my stomach, but, I persevere and make the trip up to his office. It's located on the third floor—all the way at the end of the hall—but you can't miss it. DR.BRANDT is inscribed on a big, shiny, plaque stuck directly at eye level. I knock twice, wait for his usual grunt of approval, and enter.

He sits behind his desk, wearing a button-up and tie but no coat. I catch a glimpse of white hanging on the tall rack behind the door as I shut it behind me. He shuffles some papers before tucking them away inside a manilla folder.

"Casey," he says instead of hello, which is as heartfelt as his greeting's tend to get. "How kind of you to grace me with your presence."

I bite my tongue. "Nice to see you, Dad."

"We'll see," he mutters as I take a seat across from him.

My eyes catch on the newly framed picture beside his monitor. My brother, Jake, stands in his own white coat beneath our father's arm. They look so alike. Blonde curls combed and tamed, starched button downs and shining leather shoes. They're both smiling with matching toothy grins. Big. Real. The only time I see our father smile like that is when they're together. Hardly with mom and never with me.

I slouch down in my chair, leg bouncing in anticipation.

"So, Casey, I don't have much time. I scrub in on a decently sized aneurysm here pretty soon."

Of course. I almost forgot about his inability to spend more than thirty minutes alone with me. I refrain from rolling my eyes, "Well, don't let me keep you."

He sighs and gives me a look I'm all too familiar with. The one I received when I was younger, when I embarrassed him in front of his colleagues in white coats and scrubs. The look he gave me when I crashed his car, settled me with when I got arrested the first time, and pierced into me when I stole his boat.

It's his look of disappointment. The one he saves for me.

"Have you given more thought to your future? Dr.George says he has a spot for you whenever you're ready."

It doesn't matter how many times we have this conversation, my father will never truly believe that I don't want to be a doctor. He refuses to accept it. Almost as ferociously as I refuse to do it.