His face is all skepticism. “No, you didn’t.”
I hold up both palms now in surrender. “There’s a reason Maral says I’m the biggest nerd to ever nerd.”
He eyes me suspiciously. “What part did you love? The pressure, the sleeplessness, the heart palpitations?”
I laugh. “I loved learning new things all the time. I loved studying, knowing the effort would yield a payoff. Loved having knowledge at the forefront of my mind—being asked a question and having the answer, right there, like a quick draw. I loved proving myself. Loved the feeling of value it gave me. Loved being evaluated on my hard work.”
“Evaluated favorably, I assume,” he says.
I flip my hair. “Naturally.”
A curve forms at the corner of his lips. I want to dip my tongue into it.
“The pressure didn’t get to you?” he asks.
“Not that pressure.”
He stays silent, waiting for me to continue. Patient, intent. So attentive.
I try to figure out how to explain it in a way that won’t expose something I’m not willing to. “My parents came here with almost nothing,” I say. “They weren’t educated, but they worked all their lives to provide a life for me. I started working at a young age to contribute, in the hopes of relieving some of the pressure on them to make ends meet.” I draw circles on the rim of my cup. “I felt guilty striving for something that seemed…superfluous. Even if, eventually, I was able to contribute more.”
A line forms in the center of his brow. “Parents want better for their kids than what they had. Including a higher standard of education.”
“I know they wanted better for me than what they had—they sure loved telling people I got into med school. But the more I followed the path towardbetter,the further away from them it seemed to take me.”
He’s silent for a long moment. “That must have been tough.”
I wait for him to throw in a chaser—But look at you now,orThey’ll come around—effectively dismissing what he surely sees as misplaced and fruitless guilt. That was Nathan’s go-to the handful of times I expressed these feelings to him. But it never comes. Ryan just lets the acknowledgment hang in the air. It’s at once an immense comfort and so unsettling that I feel the urge to dispel it myself.
“People face a lot worse.” I shrug. “It’s fine.”
His thumb strokes the side of his cup as he considers me. “You did an interview early in the podcast with a guy from eastern Europe. Yuri something. He had all these financial expectations on him as the eldest in a family of five siblings.”
“I remember Yuri. He worked three part-time jobs to help provide for his family, had to drop out of high school eventually just so they could scrape by. Never mind going to college.”
He nods. “He said he regretted not pursuing an education. That he never realized his potential—that his potential simply wasn’t a consideration in the context of his life. Serving his family meant denying himself.”
No wonder Ryan foundSo Proud of Yourelatable. He may not share the first- or second-gen traits, may not have weathered the lack of parental praise that so many kids do, but he certainly felt an immense weight of responsibility.
The reason he hasn’t been able to pursue his dream is that he was too busy being, in effect, a father to Celine. From the age of eighteen, he had to provide for her. And even before that, he was helping his single mom make ends meet. I imagine a young Ryan sitting at a kitchen table in an apartment in Queens, bills spread out beside his homework. Conscientious and dependable, even as a boy.
“What would you do differently if not for Celine?” I ask.
He exhales long and slow. “Write more, for one. Work somewhere that allows me more time to dedicate to it. Allows me to pursue…competing interests.” The dark fringe of his lashes flutter slightly as his eyes meet mine, and my heartbeat raps at the implication of his words.
“You make it sound like Celine and Woodsworth are inextricably tied.”
“They sort of are.” He seems to weigh his words. Then, as if they’re being dragged from him by force, he says, “Woodsworth has a program. They cover half of your dependents’ tuition fees as long as you’re employed with the company.”
My mouth drops open. “Wow. That’s…generous.”
“Very,” he says. “It’s been a game-changer. It means she won’t have to consider paying off giant debts when she weighs employment prospects after she graduates. It’ll give her more freedom.”
Something funny happens in my chest as I listen to Ryan talk about his sister’s future, knowing everything he’s done to set herup for success…for happiness. Knowing how hard he works to provide her with open pathways while restricting his own.
“What about your freedom?” I ask.
“It’s just…never been a priority.”
