**Description:**
The story follows the life of Caitlin Snow, a young woman who, after losing her job at a café, embarks on a new opportunity as a caregiver for Barry, a quadriplegic. As Caitlin delves into her new job, she faces emotional and physic...
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Ronnie, on the other side of the table, pretended not to have heard me, while my mother intervened sternly.
"Thomas!" she exclaimed, reprimanding my father for his remarks.
"Anyway, you won't have to worry about sexual harassment, huh?" my father joked, trying to deflect the tension.
"Just saying what everyone's thinking. Probably the best boss your girlfriend could find, huh, Ronnie?" he continued in a light tone, earning a knowing smile from my brother.
Meanwhile, Ronnie was busy rejecting the potatoes from my mother's tray, determined to stay away from carbs to prepare for a marathon.
"You're going to have to learn sign language, aren't you?" my mother interjected, concerned about communication with Barry.
"He didn't say he couldn't speak, Mom," I replied, trying to recall the details of the interview while still being surprised that I got the job.
"Shut up," said William, with a serious expression that contrasted with his usual playful demeanor.
"Maybe he'll talk with one of those gadgets, like Stephen Hawking," suggested Ronnie, adding a touch of erudition to the conversation.
"No. I don't know where he'd learn that," my father replied, shaking his head.
"There you go, that's on you," accused my mother, looking at William and my father disapprovingly. "You're already teaching him swear words."
William repeated the word with a defiant look, and we all laughed at his audacity.
"I think I'd have a fit if he spoke to me with one of those contraptions. Can you imagine? 'Give me a glass of water,'" joked my father, mimicking the robotic tone of a synthesized voice.
The conversation continued amidst laughter and jokes, but in my mind resonated the reality of my new responsibility. As we shared moments at the family table, I realized that I was entering a completely new world, where communication skills and empathy would be crucial.
As we shared dinner as a family, conversations about my new job as a caregiver for Barry, Mrs. Allen's quadriplegic son, continued to linger in the air. Despite my parents' and siblings' attempts to keep a light tone, I couldn't help but feel a growing concern within me.
"Why would he speak like a robot just because he's in a wheelchair?" I questioned, trying to dispel my own concerns.
"And? It's not like he has to be a genius for that," my father replied with his usual sarcasm.
"But you'll be very close to him and alone. At the very least, you'll have to clean his mouth and give him drinks and things like that," my mother added, reminding me of the tasks awaiting me.
"Says the woman who used to put William's diapers on backwards," Treena chimed in, eliciting laughter from the table.
Despite my efforts to show confidence, doubts continued to lurk in my mind as I reflected on what the future held for me. What conversations would we have? How would Barry react to my presence? Would I be able to care for him properly? The mere idea of being constantly watched by Mrs. Allen deeply unsettled me.
Ronnie, as always, took a pragmatic approach to the situation and pointed out the financial aspect of the job.
"They pay well, Thomas. Better than working nights in a chicken factory, anyway," he commented, receiving widespread agreement from the table.
"Well, it's funny that the best thing you can say about my new job is that it's better than dragging chicken corpses through an industrial shed," I replied with an ironic smile, trying to lighten the mood.
As dinner came to an end and the rain battered against the windows, I delved into my thoughts, preparing to face the challenges awaiting me in my new job as Barry's caregiver. Although doubts still lingered, I clung to the hope that this experience would lead me down a path of growth and learning, both personally and professionally.
We continued with the family dinner, amid laughter and sarcastic comments that characterized our gatherings. My father, as always, didn't miss the opportunity to make a joke about my physical form.
"Well, there's always the possibility that you'll get in shape in the meantime and become a personal trainer with Ronnie," he joked, receiving a look of incredulity from me.
"Getting in shape. Thanks, Dad," I replied ironically, setting aside the idea of serving myself more food.
"He has the gift of gaining weight," my father sighed, provoking laughter at the table.
My mother, as usual, tried to find a positive aspect in my father's suggestion.
"Well, why not? Maybe it's worth thinking about for the future. Without a doubt, you have the gift of...", she began to say before being interrupted by Treena, who was already busy serving gravy to Grandpa.
"Help for the elderly, that's what's needed," Treena commented sarcastically.
"Help for the young, rather," I replied, with an ironic smile.
"Help for the young," William repeated, imitating his older sister.
"Yes. Because putting wilted dahlias in buckets of water requires a great physical and mental effort, right, Treena?" I added, enjoying the exchange of family jokes.
My father, with a gesture of complicity, raised his tea cup and expressed his pride in my new job.
"It's great that you found a job. We're already proud of you. And I bet that, once you're comfortable in that huge house, those jerks won't want to get rid of you," he said confidently
