“I don’t know why you insist on dressing like one of those Brooklyn hippies all the time,” my mother says in way of greeting. “You’d look so pretty if you put in a little effort.”
“Hello to you too, Mom,” I smile tightly, sinking into the free chair at their table. “Hello there, Dad. How’s tricks?”
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says amiably, giving my hand a squeeze from across the table. That’s about as affectionate we ever get in our family, truth be told. We’re not exactly the hugging sort.
“Are you wearing jeans?!” Mom asks, aghast. She looks anxiously around the restaurant, checking to see if we’re getting the stink eye from any other diners on account of my scandalously casual attire.
“I’m sure they won’t kick us out because of my poor taste,” I drawl, plucking up a menu and burying my nose in the wine list.
“I hope you’re right,” Mom sighs, taking a prim sip of her sparkling water. The conversation lapses as she and I return to our corners. Dad, in all his absentminded peace, is none the wiser to the tension between his wife and daughter. Some things never change.
“So, Logan. Are you excited for your graduation?” he asks, smiling at me warmly. His rounded, friendly face, bespectacled eyes, and open expression put me at ease, just as they always have.
“I’m excited to be graduated,” I allow, “It’ll be nice, finally being out in the real world.”
“Have you actually found some kind of job, then?” my mother asks, downright surprised.
“Well. Yes. I’ve received a pretty interesting offer,” I begin.
“Interesting...” my mother echoes suspiciously, “That doesn’t sound good.”
“On the contrary,” I reply, “It could be very good. I was just at the interview before I came to meet you. Which explains my less-than-formal outfit, actually. I wanted to match the company’s aesthetic.”
“Oh no...” my mother groans, “You’re not going to be one of those hackers, are you? Like in House of Cards? I saw that episode where they were are sitting around some dreadful office in bean bag chairs—”
“I’m pretty sure those were bloggers, Mom, not hackers,” I correct her. “And no, that’s not exactly what I’d be doing. The job I was called in for today is more along the lines of long form journalism.”
“Journalism!” my dad exclaims happily, “That sounds great!”
“I’ve read that it’s a dying field,” Mom grumbles, “But do go on.”
“Well, the place I interviewed was a publication called FootSoldier,” I tell them. “It’s an outlet run by Advance Media.”
“Oh, I think I’ve heard of them,” my dad nods.
“I’m sure you have,” I reply, encouraged by his enthusiasm. “They have tons of different magazines, papers, online publications, all across the spectrum. But FootSolider is all about investigative journalism and essays, focused on politics, culture, lifestyle, that sort of thing. The editor is willing to let me take a crack at my first assignment right off the bat.”
“If it requires Occupying any public spaces or whatever, I think you should turn it down,” my mom nods sagely.
“It doesn’t, I assure you,” I go on. “But it is definitely unlike anything I’ve ever taken on before. And if I do a good job with this first story, I’ll be officially hired. There’s a pretty big bonus attached to this first assignment, too.”
“That’s wonderful!” my dad says. “How big of a bonus are we talking?”
I hesitate before responding, unsure of what my parents’ reaction might be. “It’d be...um...a ten thousand dollar bonus, actually.”
A heavy moment of silence falls upon us like a slab of cement. My parents stare at me, baffled by the figure I’ve just spit out. But it only takes a second before my mom recovers.
“Logan,” she says sternly, “That kind of money doesn’t just fall out of the sky like that. There’s no way this is a legitimate opportunity.”
“I have to agree with your mother here,” my dad says earnestly. “It sounds like you might be falling prey to some kind of hoax, Logan.”
“It’s not a hoax,” I say, annoyed by their condescending tone. “Do you really think I’m naive enough to get wrapped up in some kind of scam—?”
“Well, of course you are!” my mother laughs, “You have no experience dealing with the real world, Logan. You don’t know what people are capable of. And how eager most people are to take advantage of a young, desperate girl like yourself.”
“So now I’m desperate and an idiot?” I ask testily. “I thought you two would be happy for me. Jobs like this aren’t exactly dime-a-dozen.”
“We’re just worried, Logan,” my father says, “We’d rather you take a job that came with a bit less risk, is all. You know, it’s not too late to start thinking about graduate school for next year, honey.”
“You could take the year to apply, live at home with us, and get yourself on track for a real career,” my mom says. “Enough of this high-stakes blogging nonsense.”
“This job offer you’ve been given...It just doesn’t sound right to us,” my dad goes on, “It sounds like those people are just trying to take you for a ride.”
“You just don’t have the life experience to be able to see it,” my mom remarks, signaling for the waiter to refill her water glass. “Take it from us, dear.”
I can practically feel the steam pouring out of my ears as I look back and forth between my parents, smiling serenely at me from across the table.
“I don’t have the life experience?” I say slowly, my voice filled with concentrated outrage. “I’ve been taking care of myself for years, now. Ever since I started school. Or have you forgotten that I’ve been putting myself through college on my own?”
“It was your choice not to study something practical,” my mom says. “You know we would have paid the way if you’d gone for math, or science—”
“But I didn’t. I chose to study the thing I’m actually passionate about. Are you familiar with the term, passionate?” I fume.