4 years ago...
This is it. The time has finally come. It feels as though my entire life has led up to this moment. Literally. I've been peeling the skins off of hot dogs in my father's class since I was nine years old. Medical school. Addison Adrienne Forbes Montgomery is going to become Dr. Addison Adrienne Forbes Montgomery. Well...in four years anyway. I make the final rounds on my matching Louis Vuitton luggage, quadruple checking to make sure I've gathered up everything. My mother would kill me if I forgot to bring my Burberry trench- she had it specially tailored last fall. The way to my mother's heart truly is through her pocketbook. Me, I'd give for some good hair and-I shouldn't be indulging in this. The last time I was in what you'd call a quasi-relationship was when I went to prom with Skippy Gold, and it wasn't exactly the most memorable night of my life. In fact, I'd very much like to forget that night- in it's entirety.
"Addison, are you almost ready?" my father bellows from the formal living room. "That plane isn't going to board itself!" No, really? Forgive me for trying not to have my mother obliterate me for neglecting to bring all seven Chanel bags she thrust my way one year to avoid attending my ballet recitals. I love my mother, and I know that she means well. But truly, a hug and conversation would mean so much more than a custom Chloe. Oh, well.
"Yes, dad, I'll be right there. Susan, would you mind helping me with my bags?" I ask Susan, an aide who's been with since us since I was trotting around in diapers.
"Of course, Addie. I'll be right there," she answers from the bathroom.
"Thank you." Oops. I wasn't supposed to say that. Bizzy is always getting on me for "thanking the help". What, am I supposed to say nothing? I don't want to be rude- I will not turn into my mother. As we both nearly topple down the stairs with the weight of my bags, I run face first into the Captain. Literally.
"Addison, would youwatch where you'regoing?" my father slurs.
"Sorry, dad. I was just-" I try.
"And for the love of God, would you put those bags down? HENRY!" he screams. I dutifully oblige. Henry, another aide in our house, scurries around the corner to take my luggage from me. I follow him quietly out the french doors and slip a fifty into his hands. "For dealing with my family for the past decade. It's a miracle we're all still alive and well. And we couldn't have done it without your help," I offer.
"T-thank you, miss. Where are these headed?" he stammers.
"In the under-compartment of the jet, please," I answer. As Henry sees to my bags, I walk slowly back to our estate. My perfect life is oh-but-unperfect, behind closed doors. My father's liver is drowning in scotch, while my mother turns a blind eye to new mistress he's screwing down the hall every week-while, herself, drowning in tequila. Trust me, money isn't everything. In fact, it's practically nothing. Money can't fix the fact that I've heard my mother cry herself to sleep every night this month while my notedly absent father leaves her to willow in her misery. Money can't hide the fact that my parents don't love each other, but by all means, don't tell the neighbors, because that would ruin our perfect image. I would rather have a real family than a wealthy one. Admittedly, a real and wealthy family wouldn't hurt either, I guess, but I digress. I can't wait to escape this fake utopia and make a name for myself. After getting the acceptance letter from Columbia a few months ago, I'd nearly fainted. With a 6% acceptance rate, Columbia was the last place I thought I'd ever be attending. Behind Yale and Stanford, that is. I guess the 5s I received on each and every AP exam I took helped, graduating as valedictorian with a 4.7 accumulative GPA couldn't have hurt, and my 10 hour a week volunteer schedule I'd been maintaining at the nearby hospital for the past 7 years must have been attractive. What can I say, overachievement is in my blood. Nonetheless, now that this is actually happening, I can't believe it. This girl is tired of being forced to hide behind her money. This girl is done looking the other way every time her father lies to her mother about his whereabouts because, wasn't ice cream with daddy so much fun (it may have been, had it actually have happened)? This girl has dreams. This girl is going somewhere.
PRESENT DAY:
My long, scarlet hair has been done up into a series of intricately tight curls to frame my face. My lips have been adorned with their signature red hue. A thin coat of black mascara lines my lashes. Today is the day I'll be announced as top of my class during our graduation ceremony. A large quantity of sleepless nights, endless containers of chinese takeout, and a relatively sufficient work ethic have contributed to this. Gotta remember that chinese takeout. And Derek helped, too. Derek- I should probably elaborate on this topic. I met Derek on the dreaded- well, dreaded by everyone else- day of our first cadaver lab. He'd been extraordinarily squeamish for someone whose every other word had to do with hatcheting brains- I gave him a bit of a pep talk on how to go about the first incision. I'd been attending my father's, a well renowned surgeon, lectures since before I could walk. Let's just say that the day my eyes laid upon him, my rather expressive face turned a deeper peach than my scrubs. Embarrassing, to say the least. But, ever since, I've always worn peach scrubs. Anyways, he did finally end up asking me on a date, and from there, well, the rest is history. We've been blissfully married for two months. He'll be graduating number two in our class, something I plan to use against him whenever the need arise- which it most likely will not... "Addison, you look a-MAZING!" a friendly voice calls down the hall. I smile. My best friend Naomi, whom I met in medical school, joins me in the preparation room, which is really just a converted classroom. It's the thought that counts, though.
"Thank you! So do you, as always," I compliment. And she really does. Her ebony, shoulder length hair hangs effortlessly upon her heart shaped face. Her deep, chocolate eyes shine in the protruding sun. And her entire complexion appears to be on a whole new dimension of glow factor. Ok, that was a bit overboard with the glowing, but my face always seems to burn much faster than it glows- if only my skin could take a few notes from Naomi's... Have I mentioned that she hasn't had a pimple in four years? It took me two layers of Estee Lauder foundation to cover up my pizza face.
"It's so cool that you're the top of the class, Ads! I always knew you had it in you! What are you leaning towards for your specialty?"
"I sure didn't!" I candidly reply. "And I'm leaning towards a surgical residency- specifically peds and then neonatal. It'd also be cool to have an OB/GYN background so I can consult my own cases, and a fellowship in genetics could certainly help me with fetal surgery- did I mention I want to do that too? Fetal in-utero surgery," I finish.
"Dang! What else, perinatology and neonatology too?"
"Thanks- I almost forgot! Yes, those too." It's always been my dream to be a pioneer in my field- I figure being so well rounded will help with that. Go big or go home, my father always said. And I'm certainly not going home.
"You are CRAZY!"
"It's taken you this long to figure that out?" I laugh. I mean, crazy is as crazy does, right? That literally does not make any sense. Neither does my life, most of the time, so it's ok.
"Holy tamale! Someone sure is smoking up this room!" I hear a deep voice rumble. Oh, no. I'm about to turn as crimson as my lipstick. Derek. He sure knows how to embarrass a girl.
"Addison Montgomery...I met her in the summer, she, was cutting up a VERY dead body…" Oh, no. No, no, no. This can't be happening. Around us, people are starting to stare and point.
"Derek, stop! Please!" Though I can't help but laugh. On our wedding night, Derek had surprised me with his very own love song for me- that he wrote himself. When an up and coming neurosurgeon writes you a hand-written song, you know he (or she) is a keeper. However, I don't exactly think this is the best time to be reconciling over that lovely night. But, alas- he continues, either oblivious to the fact that he is humiliating me, or completely aware and enjoying the show. I swear, if he sings that stupid gross anatomy lyric-
"...in gross anatomy class, with Addison's fine a**!" Ok, if people weren't staring before, they definitely are now.
"Can we PLEASE have an encore somewhere else?" I try. Nope, at this point, he's chosen to ignore my agonizing pleas. Does this count as cruel and unusual punishment? Because it certainly should.
"Addison, the passive agressive drama queen…" Derek retorts.
"Oh, shut up," I shoot back, a smile on my face.
"How's my favorite evil red head this afternoon?" he asks. How did I ever fall in love with this crazy man?
"Gee, I don't know...evil. And a red head," I deadpan. Ok. He may have mortified me in front of half of our class, but I did somehow fall head over heels for this guy, and, I think he deserves some credit for driving up early to surprise me. Albeit, it was more of a shock than a surprise. I lean into his shoulder, and he squeezes my side- the one place he KNOWS is the most ticklish.
"Eeeek!" I screech. This day has gone from bad to worse.
"Derek, no one is going to take the screeching tomato girl seriously tonight at the ceremony."
"Addie, you haven't stopped complaining for ONE day since you married me."
"Well, isn't THAT a surprise?"
"Don't get your panties up in a twist." Ok, that's it. I whirl around to smack him in the butt (Playfully, of course) and see that his eyes are kind of already in that area- towards me.
"Derek, what are you DOING? Not here, you anteater!" Ever since we met, we've had a tradition of calling each other ridiculous animal names- don't ask me how it started, but it's always stuck.
"You mean a**eat-"
"STOP right there, young man. This isn't middle school anymore."
"I'm the SAME age as you, Ad!"
"Yeah, well you sure don't act like it!" I mean seriously, "A**eater? I seem to remember my brother titling himself the same thing when he was 13. Oh, gosh, that's a scary thought. I'm SO glad my brother Archer didn't know Derek when we were younger. I cringe just at that very thought.
"Ladies, gentlemen- well, Derek. And exactly WHAT do you think you're doing in the ladies room, might I add?" Kill me. Dr. Vivian Carlsmith, my mentor, and idol (world renowned obstetrician and gynecologist), just had to choose this very moment to talk to us. "Addison, care to explain what your husband is doing in here? Don't make me think I made a mistake choosing you to speak tonight. Career over boys, Mrs. Montgomery."
"I, uh- I didn't invite him...well, he just kinda showed up. And of course not, Dr. Carlsmith, ma'am- oh, uh, now, it's Montgomery-Shepherd. Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd, ma'am."
"He 'just kinda showed up'? Addison, you're better than this. At least I thought you were. Get the he-Shepherd out of here this instant! And we won't be seeing him in here, again, will we, Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd?"
"I profusely apologize, Dr. Carlsmith. And no, we won't, ma'am." I sheepishly turn to Derek, who at this point, is redder than me. "Um, he-She- [CRAP! Didn't mean to say that out loud] Dr. Shepherd, could you please exit the premises until I'm out in the public hall?"
"Of course, Addie- er, Addison. My sincerest apologies, Dr. Carlsmith. It won't happen again."
"It had better not, Derek. Your wife is far too intelligent to be throwing away her career to fool around with the likes of YOU," she stated. I modestly blush, uncharacteristically keeping my eyes towards the ground. Did Dr. Carlsmith just compliment me? I think I've died and gone to heaven- Dr. Carlsmith probably killed me. In that case, is Derek here, too? As much as I relish in the praise from her, a sour taste forms in my mouth- she may have me in her good graces, but what about poor Derek? He's incredibly intellectually gifted, too- he's going to be a NEUROSURGEON, for crying out loud. I feel like Dr. Carlsmith thinks he's just some dumb boy I caught at the empire state building. I'll have to remind myself to tell Vivian about my husband at a later time- certainly not when she's in this kind of mood. Oh, wait. She'll see him at the ceremony tonight. Ha! That'll show her. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely adore Vivian, but she can be a bit apprehensive with people she's not familiar with with. The first time I met her four years ago, she had said something about my "juju" not jiving well with her, and that I probably "wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed". Then, after she took a chance to read over my transcript, seeing that I'd received a 44 on my MCAT (one point away away from a perfect 45- it was probably that da** neuro question on page 3...), graduated top of my class in pre-med, and had completed triple the recommended independent research hours the summer before medical school, her opinion of me changed. Ever since, we've been inseparable. She'd offered to have me as a fellow given I stay at the top of my game through residency, and she's made many, many visits over to my apartment for dinner dates. We've bonded over our love of Christmas, cats, and the treatment of sacrococcygeal teratomas. I don't know what's going on with her today- hopefully she'll be in a better mood at the ceremony.