Excerpt: Rejected

"Mom? Dad? Can we talk?" Elizabeth asked.
"Of course, sweetie," Ann replied. "You can always talk to us. You know that."
"Well ... um ... " Elizabeth faltered. "Oh, God, I am not sure how to start."
"Liz, honey, it is OK. Your mother is right ... you can tell us anything," Tom told her.
"Well, you know how I am taking Drawing and Painting this semester?" Elizabeth asked.
"Yes," her parents chorused, with disapproving looks.
"Well ... um ... I have been staying after school to work on some of my stuff," Elizabeth admitted.
"I thought you were staying for debate ... oh, wait, I mean 'Poli Sci Club,'" Tom said, rolling his eyes.
"Some days I was," Elizabeth replied. "And some days, we had matches. But the majority of the time was spent working on my art. I am sorry I lied to you."
"Wow, your art has become really important to you, hasn't it?" Ann asked. She and Tom exchanged a worried glance.
"Yes, it has," Elizabeth said honestly, biting her lip worriedly. "Ms. Spencer – that's my Drawing and Painting teacher – she thinks that my work is really good. She wants to put together a portfolio and send it off for consideration for the State Summer Art Academy. And I ... I kind of want her to."
"Out of the question," Tom said in a booming voice. "Absolutely out of the question, Elizabeth!"
"Now, Tom ... " Ann tried to placate him.
"Absolutely not," Tom repeated. "I am not going to have it! Not in my house. I am not going to indulge this, Annie! I am not! We have raised her to be a lawyer. I am not going to send my daughter to art camp. Did your Ms. Spencer tell you how much this State Summer Art Academy is going to cost?"
Elizabeth looked down at the floor and started scuffing her foot again. "No," she muttered in a low voice.
Tom sneered. "I would bet that it is over two thousand dollars."
"Why is it so important to you that I become a lawyer anyway?" Elizabeth cried.
"Because we paid good money for you to be created to be one!" Tom thundered without thinking.
"Tom," Ann gasped, horrified.
Elizabeth gave her father a strange look. "What ... what are you talking about, Dad?" she asked with a shaky laugh.
"Tom, how could you?" Ann cried. "We had an agreement!"
"Mom?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes filling with tears. "What's going on? What do you mean, you paid for me to be created?"
Tom looked at Ann. "What do we tell her?" he asked, hoarse.
"You opened this can of worms. You figure it out," Ann spat angrily. She took her dinner dishes to the kitchen and then noisily stalked to her bedroom and slammed the door.
Tom closed his eyes. What have I done? He thought. Oh, God, what have I done?
"Dad? Please say something," Elizabeth sobbed, frightened.
"Sit down, honey," Tom said softly and sadly.
Elizabeth complied. She did not know what else to do. Her entire world was spinning off its axis.
"Your mom wanted to have a baby so badly," Tom said with a sad smile. "We tried everything we could to conceive. We went to a specialist and went through all kinds of invasive tests. There was nothing they could do.
"On the way out of the fertility specialist's office, his receptionist told us about this consultant who might be able to help us," Tom continued. "She said that he had some kind of magic that got families babies when the doctor had told them there was no hope. Your mom wanted to see him. I was skeptical. We had a big fight about it and agreed we wouldn't see this consultant guy and canceled our appointment. Then he called your mother and sweet – talked his way into letting him come do a presentation at the house. She was hooked. This guy – Darlington, his name was, promised that we could choose every aspect of you. They said they could create synthetic DNA and that we could choose everything about you ... your eye color, your hair color, your gender, your intelligence ... everything."
"Including my future career," Elizabeth whispered, aghast.
"Including your future career," Tom confirmed.
"That is why you discouraged me participating in anything artistic!" Elizabeth exclaimed, still reeling from her shock.
"We read an article in the paper a few months ago saying that the infertility consultant's company had gone bankrupt because of so many lawsuits over the children he'd created not living up to the specifications he'd promised," Tom told Elizabeth. "Most of the flaws were in the area of the future careers the parents had chosen. It has had your mother and I on edge ever since we read the article. We have been praying that you would have been spared from that glitch."
"You talk about it like it is a disease or something," Elizabeth said morosely, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"No, no, sweetheart, it is not that," Tom tried to soothe her. "We do not consider your artistic ability to be a disease.
"I have to get out of here," Elizabeth muttered.
"Where are you going to go?" Tom laughed. "You can't drive anywhere."
"I do not know," Elizabeth said. "I do not care. I just have to get out of here. Get off my back, OK?" She stalked off, through the dining room and kitchen, and out the sun porch. She grabbed her jacket, threw open the door, walked through, tears streaming down her face, and slammed the door behind her. She was aware of her father getting up and attempting to give chase through the house, but she was too fast for him. Besides that, she had nothing to say to him. Absolutely nothing.