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“Dad, I just got here.”
“No time can be wasted, Jessica. I know how things are at Haneul. It’s very cutthroat and they won’t hesitate to disregard you. You make one bad impression and it stays with you. You have to be on top of your game all the time. As you know, I wouldn’t have chosen this company for you, but that’s your decision and all I want is for you to do well.”
The guilt trip hits the intended target. Me.
“Dad, I promise I won’t let you down,” I mumble.
“Jessica, enunciate your words,” he says.
“Don’t worry about me, Dad. I’m going to kill it this summer. You watch.” This time I speak clearly and make sure we both believe my words.
“Well, I hope it’s worth it in the end. Now tell me, what have you done so far?” he asks.
My heart rate skyrockets again. I can’t tell him I’ve been assigned to run the hackathon. I can’t tell him about taking notes in the executive team meeting. He’ll wonder why I was even involved in stuff this high-profile.
What did Elijah say he’s been up to? “I, uh, went to the New York Public Library. For...research. It’s very historic there, not like the more modern buildings in Korea,” I say, regurgitating Elijah’s words. But the lie coats my tongue like the layer of grease that floats at the top of a bowl of pho.
“What kind of research?” my dad asks.
“For an event they’re putting on. Looking for possible locations.” I feel the heat rise in my neck. I hate this.
But then it hits me: the New York Public Library could be the perfect location for the hackathon. There’s something that makes sense about it. Mixing the old architecture and history with new ideas and innovations. Do they rent the space out for events? What would that cost? Could we afford it in our budget?
“Well, that sounds like a waste of time,” he says. “But hopefully they were impressed with your willingness to take on the challenge. I’m glad it’s going well. Be good, Jessica. Don’t get into any trouble.” My dad has been saying this to me since I was old enough to walk. Like I’m the kind of kid who gets into trouble. I don’t even jaywalk.
“I won’t, Dad. Say hi to Mom. I’ll talk to you later,” I reply.
“Oh, Jessica, one more thing,” he adds. “You got a letter from UC San Diego. Turns out it was just some junk mail. But it reminded me to put on your radar to look into financial aid and scholarship options now for the following year. I think you’ll have a better chance if you start much earlier this time.”
Timing wasn’t the issue. But I don’t say that to my dad. I can’t get scholarships without recommendations, which take connections. And whatever financial aid I get will still cost my family more than we can afford.
“Okay,” I say just to appease him. Going down this road would make me have to lay out all my nonexistent options, and that tends to make me spiral into a pit of despair afterward. Best not to get into it with him.
“Maybe if you’d started earlier this year, you could have accepted UCSD’s offer...”
“I told you, I’m going to junior college this first year to save up some money and fill out my résumé before applying again to bigger schools. This internship is the first step. No regrets.”
“Jessica...”
“Dad, I don’t want to be a burden on the family financially, saddling us with debt for years to come. I’m fine with this decision. I’m actually relieved. It’s the right choice,” I say, looking him straight in the eyes, so he can see that I’m telling the truth.
But it’s my dad who turns away first.
It’s not your fault, I want to tell him. The last thing I want is for my father to believe he failed me in some way. He works hard enough as it is. There’s nothing he could do differently. It’s on me now.
“Let me crunch some numbers and we’ll discuss it on our next call,” he says. Dad’s solution to everything is crunching the numbers. But the numbers don’t lie.
“Okay,” I say. “Love you, Dad.” I disconnect the call. Short and predictable, like clockwork. I take out a sheet of paper from the desk drawer and start to scribble down my notes about the library, pushing any thoughts of money and finances to the back of my mind.
“Uh, can you stop stepping on me and let me out now?”
I look down under the desk, my eyes wide with surprise.
“Oh shoot, I totally forgot you were down there,” I say.
I push my chair back and make room for Elijah to get out and stand up.
“Nice save with your dad, about the library. Wouldn’t want him thinking you’re not working hard and just roaming the streets of New York while getting paid a whopping fifteen dollars an hour,” he says, a satisfied smirk on his face.
