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“And you can’t go against what they want?”
I break eye contact and look off to the side before replying and choosing honesty. “I don’t fight for things.”
She waves me away when I try to hand the sandwich back to her and cocks her head to the side. “What do you mean?”
She only took three bites but I don’t push her to keep eating.
“Just that. I’m not a fighter, I don’t fight for the things I want, ever. I know what I want but I’m not going after it because I don’t have the balls to risk it.” I laugh, humorlessly. “Turns out I’m a coward.”
“You are absolutely not a coward,” she snaps, her voice all of a sudden so firm that it surprises me. “It’s so hard to go against your family. Being trapped by your parents’ ambitions is its own type of prison and I know from experience that it feels like there’s no way out.” Softer, she adds, “Don’t call yourself a coward because if you are, then what does that make me?”
“I’m starting to think the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met,” I tell her.
It’s her turn to laugh hollowly. “You must not know many women.”
“I do and you’re not like any of them.”
She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, like the way I’m staring at her makes her self-conscious.
“I’ll shatter that illusion for you very soon, don’t you worry,” she says, voice toneless. “Anyway, we got off topic. You should try to find a way to continue cooking while still keeping your job at RCA.”
“It’s not that easy,” I tell her. “Breaking into the industry is hard without any formal training, even if it is just to do an apprenticeship, and it’s even harder when I don’t know anyone in Switzerland. It’s fine though, I’ve given up on that dream,” I tell her honestly. “I’m happy just cooking at home and developing skills that way.” That part is a lie, but I can’t tell her that my life has been planned out for me since I was born and not only is there no room for a hobby as blue collar as cooking, but there’s no room in it forher.
Not casually, or otherwise.
Not that she even wants a place in my life long term, but I’m finding that the thought of letting her go anytime soon is even more painful than never picking up a knife again.
“What’s the deal with your parents?”I ask.
Nera stiffens and a wall comes slamming down behind her eyes. She has the most visible walls up that I’ve ever seen. And yet, it doesn’t seem like anyone can see them but me.
“Come on, I shared. It’s only fair.” Her silence doesn’t dissuade me. “Is your mother as hard on you as your father?”
“Different methods, but yes.”
Getting my wisdom teeth extracted was easier than pulling information out of her, but every word, every little tidbit of her life that she gives me is worth its weight in gold. I store them away for later like individual pieces of a puzzle set on a table to form the full picture of who she is. I only have two sides of the outer frame done, but I don’t see myself stopping until the image is complete.
“What’s their end goal? Why was your dad so pissed that you lost last year?”
“He wants me to win a gold medal at this summer’s Olympic games.”
I give a low whistle, impressed. Leaning back into my chair, I fold my arms over my chest and spread my legs comfortably. I cross my ankles behind her leg, loosely locking her at the table in case she tries to run away from our conversation.
“Like I said, the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met. And potentially the most talented.”
She scoffs. “Anyone can be good. They need me to be great. Or else.”
I don’t miss the fact that she says ‘need’ instead of ‘want’.
“Or else what?”
She shrugs and my shoulders tighten. If I ever get my hands on her father, I’ll wring his neck for ever putting his hands on hers.
“Do you want to win?”
“What?” Nera asks, eyes wide as they snap to meet mine.
“Is that your dream? Your goal? Are you pushing yourself every day because if you don’t win this summer, it’ll crushyou? Or because it’ll crush them?”
