“So, Rachel,” Christopher began, “your mom tells me you—”
“Has Jane told you about her work?” I interrupted. “It’s very interesting.”
“No.” He smiled down the table at Jane. “What do you do, Jane?” I stifled a surprised grin; his genuine earnestness was kind of charming.
Jane explained about her career as a researcher for the local news channel as Owen grinned fondly, holding her hand on the tablecloth.
“Would you like to be in front of the camera someday, or are you happy behind the scenes?” Christopher took a sip of wine. Grudgingly I appreciated the way he actually listened to my sister and seemed to find her as fascinating as I did.
“I wouldn’t mind being on-screen.” Jane blushed. “Maybe if they asked me. But I do love my job right now.”
“That’s wonderful. It’s so important to love what you do.”
I scoffed—couldn’t help it. Every head turned toward me.
“Food go down the wrong way?” Mom asked hopefully.
“It’s easy for you to say that.” I smiled broadly at Christopher.
“Say what?” He really was innocent—how he’d gotten to be a multimillionaire without someone swindling him out of his money, I didn’t know.
“‘It’s so important to love what you do.’” I kept my voice light. “When money’s not an issue, sure, do what you love. Become an art teacher in a nudist colony. But most of us—ninety-nine percent of us—can’t afford to be so selective, waiting around for our dream job. We need to pay the bills.”
“Of course.” He set down his fork, looking troubled. “I didn’t mean… Just meant that if you can make a career out of something you love, then it’s—”
“As long as you understand that it’s a very privileged thing to say.”
“I see what you mean.” He looked down at his plate, his brow furrowed. Mom glared at me across the table.
“Jane is one of the lucky ones,” I continued. “I consider myself lucky too—I have a roof over my head and a support system—but do Iloveworking for a company that exists to make money for itsshareholders? Of course not. Capitalism is a scourge on society. It’s what’s keeping the general populace from doing something that might benefit society instead of just feeding the vicious cycle of consumer—”
“And now that you have some work experience under your belt, what’s keeping you there?” Christopher interrupted. “We’re not all slaves to the capitalist market, even if it feels that way. Have you considered how you might do some good in the world if that’s so important to you?”
“Me?” I was fuming, my vision turning red.How dare he?“HaveIever considered…? Perhaps the man buying a three-million-dollar house in this skewed economy should consider—”
“Of course,” Mom interrupted so loudly everyone turned to her, “your parents have had long, lovely careers in teaching.” She turned to the Butkuses. “Tell us about that!”
Mr. Butkus expounded on the joys and perils of teaching social studies to a generation of middle schoolers. Jane gave me a pitying look. I refilled my wineglass and shrugged, trying to let Christopher’s words wash over me. He was just retaliating because learning is uncomfortable.Someonehad to teach these privileged techies about the real world.
Dessert was a perfectly adequate store-bought chocolate cake and coffee. Christopher didn’t try to ask me any more questions. He and his parents left shortly after nine, and I took that as my cue to change back into my own clothes and say good night. After what she’d put me through, I didn’t feel like helping Mom clean up.
I wanted to be smoking a bowl in my pajamas as soon as possible, so the bus was out of the question. I called an Uber and waited for it behind a bush in the yard. The Butkuses were still talking over in their yard, and I didn’t want them to see me.
“… polite to go… new neighbors,” I could hear Christopher saying. “… might avoid them… seem like the kind of people who want something.”
“… was perfectly nice,” came his mother’s voice.
“… even so… really the sort of people you want to be friends with?”
My face burned at Christopher’s words. In my mind’s eye, I saw tonight’s dinner from their point of view: desperate Mom, avoidant Dad, twins acting like they’d been raised by hyenas, and me being my loudmouthed self. I don’t get embarrassed easily, but oh God.
They were still talking when my Uber arrived. There was no avoiding it: they would see me. I stomped out from behind the bushes. The Butkuses were startled into silence as they watched me go, surely trying to guess how much I’d heard. I slammed the car door behind me without saying goodbye.
Mom had gotten her wish—Christopher Butkus and me in the same room together. And now I hoped to never see him again.
CHAPTER 4
TWO FULL WEEKS PASSEDwith no more calls from my mother. Finally some peace.
