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Our conversation lulls when Miss Valerie delivers our sundae. She places it in the middle of the table. Two red spoonsstick out of the vanilla ice cream. “Enjoy,” she chimes before moving back to the counter where a group of four waits to order.
When she’s out of earshot, I clear my throat. “So… you’re still at the lab?” Inside, I wince. We discussed her job last week when she showed up for dinner at my parents’ house. But the question is already out of my mouth, so I go with it.
“I am.” She grabs one of the spoons and brings the dessert to her lips.
I pick up the second and do the same. “And you’re the lab manager now.”
“I am,” she repeats.
“What happened? Did you stop enjoying lab work?” Olivia’s always loved science. Ever since Chemistry our sophomore year, she’s wanted to make a career of it. I never expected her to go the managerial route.
“I still run tests from time to time,” she replies, sounding a little defensive.
“But not as much as you want to?” Based on the way she stabs the spoon in the ice cream for her second scoop, I’d say I’m right.
“You already heard me complain about my lab director at dinner. He has me do more paperwork than I’d like, but I’m paid to do what he says.”
“You could make more money at a different lab,” I point out. “And as a scientist, too.”
She frowns. “Have you been talking to my mom?”
I swallow a bite of chocolate-covered banana and shake my head. “No. Why? Does she think you’re wasting your potential at Harrowgates, too?”
She scoffs. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think I do.” I rest my elbows on the table and point my spoon at her. “You, Olivia Christensen, are not a paper pusher. You could be working as a lead scientist for a number of labs. I don’t know why you’re wasting your time at this one.”
“I like my lab.”
“You’re loyal to the lab,” I correct. Her demeanor when discussing the lab confirms she doesn’t like it. “But you shouldn’t be. No one cares about your career growth more than you. Your idiot director definitely doesn’t. He’ll hold you in your current role as long as he can because it makes his life easier.”
She bristles. “Can we stop talking about my job, please?”
Knowing her as well as I do, I can tell that she’s close to blowing up on me. Olivia’s never liked when people tell her what she should or shouldn’t do. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t need to hear it sometimes. Like when we were kids and our high school guidance counselor told her she needed to drop one of her advanced classes to give herself a break. That was the year her Uncle Greg died, and Olivia had a hard time balancing her academic load for the first time.
At this point in her life, Olivia needs to hear that it’s okay to want more from her career. Loyalty is admirable, but she needs to look out for herself and her future more than the lab needs her as a manager. If she ever left, they’d replace her in a heartbeat.
But I don’t say any of that. She wouldn’t be receptive to it.
Besides, eating sundaes at our childhood haunt has made me feel the most relaxed I’ve felt in a while. So I let the conversation drop. We chat about nothing of real significance as we finish the sundae, but it’s by far the nicest conversation I’ve had in a long time. And it has everything to do withwhoI’m having the conversation with…
Business starts to pick up right as we finish the dessert. We get up to free up our table for a new customer. Olivia heads to the door and I slip a hundred into the tip jar at the counter without her noticing. Miss Valerie is taking a customer’s order, but she pauses to give me a thankful smile.
The bell above the door jingles as I exit. Olivia waits for me on the sidewalk.
“Thanks for the ice cream,” I tell her.
“Anytime.” She motions to the left. “I’ll drive you home.”
“I left Dad’s truck at the grocery store parking lot.” Along with over twenty dollars of ruined perishables.
I hate myself for wasting food, especially when I did it just to pout on a bar stool as I tried, but failed, to keep an eye on Olivia’s date.
“Nice try, but no. There’s no way you’re sober enough to drive. I’ll take you home and you can take a ride share to get the truck in the morning.”
I know better than to argue. Besides, spending more time with Olivia isn’t the worst way to end the evening.
I follow her to the Volkswagon and make a show of ensuring my seat belt is securely buckled. She rolls her eyes but chuckles at my antics.
