From the moment I met Matthew in front of Temple’s School Of Business, he’s been trying to figure out a career path for me, the poor little performing arts major. I almost feel like his pet project and not someone he’s actually interested romantically in. I know he means well, but sometimes it’s annoying and frankly arrogant, as if business majors are the only ones who are going to get “real” jobs after college. I just graduated from Temple a few months ago, and I’ll get steady work in my field when the time is right. How do I know? Because I won’t settle for anything less.
“It can be full-time work for some people, but it won’t be long for me. It’s true that I get to pretend that I’m a real patient presenting with specific illnesses to medical students, but that’s not the type of acting I’m interested in doing forever. The goal is to become a working actor with a role in a regional theatre production.”
“Right, of course.” But he doesn’t sound convinced at all of my ability to be able to do it. “Maybe I should work as a standardized patient too and make a little side money,” Matthew jests, or at least I hope he’s kidding.
“I think you have enough on your hands with your new position at the bank. Show them you’re the hardest worker in the building and I bet you’ll be running that bank in a few years.”
Matthew’s chest puffs out a bit. There’s nothing like a compliment to move a guy off the current topic. My mom taught me that trick.
“You think so?”
“Definitely, I wouldn’t trust anyone else with my money.”
“Aww, thanks, Gigi. I definitely think they’re grooming me for a management slot in the future.”
Matthew slowly walks around the perimeter of the room, picking up one of my silver elephant figurines and stopping once when he gets to the photo collage on my red statement wall. He studies each photograph with an intense scrutiny, as if by figuring them out, he’ll then be able to figure me out.
I don’t blame him, though. I haven’t told him much about my family at all during these months we’ve been dating, so he’s probably very curious about who and where I come from.
“I obviously like photos,” I explain my wall uneasily. “Keeping them in my phone has never made much sense to me.”
“Yeah, these are great.” He points to a picture from a summer spent at the shore. “Are these folks your family? I see a resemblance.”
I stand and walk over to the photo wall.
“Yes, these two are my parents.”
“You favor your mom a lot except you’re taller than her.”
“Yeah.”
“They look a lot younger than my folks.”
“They married kind of young I guess at least by today's standards.”
“You’re an only child, right?”
“No, I have an older brother named Benji."
I point to the only picture of him I have on the wall.
"Are you two close?"
"No," I say curtly. I don't like to talk about Benji.
Matthew singles out another photo, a group picture which includes a photo of Knox, his parents, and his twin brothers Seven and Bronx when we were much younger.
“And them?”
“More family.”
“Your family is so cool. You all kind of look like you’re part of the United Nations.”
Every single person in my family would roll their eyes at that comment. I mean, we live in a country which is basically the melting pot of the world. Isn’t everyone a mish-mosh of cultures these days?
But Matthew is the son of a conservative banking family from Boston and our backgrounds couldn’t be any more dissimilar from each other. I think he finds our differences appealing though, and truthfully, I find his predictability comforting.
“Yeah, we’re definitely unique.”
