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“Told her what?” I scooted to the edge of my seat and placed a hand on the arm of her chair.
“Never mind. You wouldn’t understand,” she said.
My frustration flared in response to her dismissal. Was she saying this because she didn’t respect me?
“Try me,” I said. A tiny bit of anger might have leaked into my voice because she looked up at me with wide eyes.
“Well, for starters, I should have told her I wanted to work with Uncle Oscar,” she said, glaring at me.
“What?” That wasn’t what I’d been expecting.
“That was my plan. But now you’re here. Doing what I wanted to be doing. And I think I may have ruined everything.”
“Ruined how?” I asked. Dread flooded my chest as I waited for her response.
She stared at me for a moment, clearly evaluating me. Trying to decide if she could open up to me. For the first time, I suspected her annoyance with me had been because she’d seen me as competition.
“You can talk to me,” I said. “I won’t say a word unless you want me to.”
“You promise?”
I nodded.
“Fine.” She sighed and leaned back in the chair. “First, I quit a perfectly acceptable job, because my boss was a sleaze.”
I leaned forward. “I’m sure there are other jobs—”
She cut me off with a glare. “You said you wouldn’t say anything.”
I pressed my lips together and pretended to zip them shut.
A small smile flashed across her face. Then she continued. “I don’t want those jobs. I don’t want to put myself in that position again. Powerless.” She blinked and shook her head, but I’d already spotted the tears welling in her eyes.
I strained against the urge to speak but kept my lips glued together.
“I decided to apply to graduate schools. But I don’t know the first thing about history. I was a business major. But I do have experience working in a museum. That’s why I’d hoped I’d have a chance to work with my uncle.” She gave me a pointed look.
I knew it. She’d been mad about me taking this job.
“I thought he’d understand. I thought he’d just know that was why I’d decided to spend the holidays here. I’d said I wanted to help. I guess I didn’t make it clear enough what I really wanted. Now I think I ruined everything. I received this today.” She reached for the history book, pulled out a folded printout, and handed it to me.
I unfolded the paper and scanned the page. The block of text at the top made little sense to me. It appeared to be a letter, but not one sent by mail. The professor didn’t use technology the way most humans did, but I’d snooped around his study enough that I’d seen printed messages like this lying about and recognized the correspondence as an email. The message was short, but a few key words jumped out at me. Oxford. Admissions. Waitlist. I glanced up from the paper and met her eyes. They were brimming with tears, threatening to overflow.
I slipped out of my chair and stood, dropping the paper on the table between us. Then I perched on the arm of her chair and wrapped my arm around her shoulder, careful not to speak and break my promise to her.
She sniffed. “I thought everything would just work out, and now I have nothing.”
I touched her chin and tilted her face up toward me, wiping away a few tears with my thumb. I raised my eyebrows and hoped she’d get the hint and free me from my vow of silence.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Fine,” she said. “Go ahead. Say whatever you’re going to say.”
“It’s not all ruined,” I said. “You can still work with your uncle.”
“But what about you?” she asked.
“What about me? You think there’s not enough work here for two people?” I watched her face and searched for a reaction.
“Maybe,” she said softly.
