"No matter your problems, face them with a bright smile and a bucket of chocolate ice-cream," nana once wisely told me. At the time, I was barely twelve and thought that I could summon a unicorn if I just believed in myself.
A decade later, despi...
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Maeva's point of view.
"Maeva, I was talking to Alec," explains dad, trying hard not to bend the knife as he cuts through his wife's roasted potatoes, "his friend owns a laboratory not far from here."
I gulp the entire cup of water before me, for the next part is most definitely going to be hard to digest.
"Emma and I are actually partners," Dr. Richardson clarifies, a bright smile taking over his lips. Is it me, or are these two exchanging looks like two kids plotting a prank on their teacher? Pft, adults baffle me sometimes...
"That's great, doctor," I say, ignoring the glares my father's shooting at me. I don't understand. Was I supposed to drop from my seat at the news? As mom adds more greens to my plate, she shoots me a behave-young-lady look, and I roll my eyes at the unnecessary scold.
"It's a small clinical lab, nothing too fancy," he explains, trying to sound as modest as possible. The grin stretching his lips screams triumph, though, and everyone looks at him in awe while he rambles about his business. I, on the other hand, focus on a pea that won't surrender under the sharp edges of my fork.
"It's a very promising domain, isn't it?" asks my mother in a bourgeois-like manner. Whoever sees her talking that profoundly about the science field would think she'd never sleep before reading a couple of articles and research reports. What happened to her artsy persona? Why isn't she talking about beetle-greens and glory-pinks?
"Do you have a lot of staff, Alec?" queries my father, a far too obvious wink twitching his eye. Very smooth approach, father. Very smooth.
"Not really. We need some competent individuals, though." Just as the doctor says that stars spark in my parents' eyes, and they rest their elbows on the table, ignoring their merely touched plates.
Suddenly, Anthony puts his fork down and joins his hands under his chin. As if he just stepped out of his imaginary world of musicians and fancy parties, he explains, "Gentlemen, my sister might come across as bright, but she's not." Okay, what would hurt him the most? The pepper grinder or the entire plate? "Please get to the point." He orders them and they nod in consent.
"Alright then," says Dr. Richardson, putting down his fork and turning to the side so that we're face to face. He places his hand on mine and smiles softly. "Maeva," he says and a burp almost comes out of my mouth. He's not proposing to me, is he? He's our family's doctor, for crying out loud. "I'm offering you a job."
I choke at the offer he just threw at me, and no matter how much my mother taps on my back, the freaking piece of potato wouldn't come down my throat. I wonder if it's the burned vegetable or the intense dehydration at that proposal, but I definitely could use some medical assistance.
After surviving the never-ending battle that took place in my gullet, I take a deep breath and explain that I already have a job. Needless to say, my parents were thinking of disowning me. While mom hits my leg with her ballerina under the table, dad seems to have a fly stuck in his throat as he keeps coughing and hitting himself on the chest. Anthony, on the other hand, remains calm, enjoying the soap opera he was offered.
