“Well, you tasked me with it, didn’t you?”
“You exceeded every expectation,” I say.
She smiles proudly, her eyes shimmering and her nose rising. Her lips smirk thinly.
“You like being praised, don’t you?” I ask.
“Uh-huh,” she says, a tad too high, and I have to snigger, because I see so much of myself in her. I am the very same.
I show her the rest of the lab and introduce her to the program itself.
She is very critical and asks very advanced questions that challenge the foundation of the entire research. I enjoy it immensely because she challenges her own biases and blind spots.
My phone vibrates in my pocket for the third time in an hour, and I am very annoyed because, when I look at it, it is my mother.
“Excuse me,” I tell her and answer the call. “What is it, mother? I am working.”
“Finally, Jane,” says my mother, ignoring the information about my work. “Friday is you fathers jubilee, you must attend. I completely forgot to tell you.”
My head twitches.
Appointments outside my routine, especially social events, are the most hated of the lot.
“I have appointments on my own on Friday,” I say. “I can’t.”
“Jane,” says my mother sternly. “It is your fathers 40 years jubilee, you will attend. I have been lenient with you not being married or finding a man and taking the easy route, but you will attend this event.”
“Mother!” I say, and then completely forget, that Amelie is in the lab with me. “Lenient with me not marrying a man? Are you out of your mind? I am not interested in men. I have built a career here; I lead a government research project and am a professor. Do not dare tell me I have taken the easy route!”
“Well, you have, haven’t you? Neuroscience is nothing like neurosurgery.”
I boil inside, close to imploding, and because I do, I don’t get a word out. My hands clench into fists.
Suddenly, Amelie appears in front of me and takes the phone from my head.
“Excuse me, Miss, this is Jane’s assistant,” she says in a much higher and softer voice than usual. I stare at her, still processing my anger.
“We have a situation here at the lab that needs her immediate attention. Would you like me to deliver a message to her?”
“Friday, 3 pm, Rainbow Room, formal evening wear,” says my mother, so loudly I can hear her through the phone, her voice showing her displeasure.
Amelie hangs up, puts the phone aside, and gets back to her stuff.
“I think you are the most amazing person for managing to get all that you have done as young as you are. I bet your mother is just envious because you have outperformed her own achievements,” she says casually while getting her laptop, and then switches to the professional topic as if nothing had ever happened. “What do you think of the spreadsheet? Would you like me to add anything?”
It takes me a moment longer than her. I gaze at her because what she said about my mother has never occurred to me before. I always felt like I hadn’t been enough.
She asks me a question about gene mapping, and the moment we start talking about the research, I am back to myself.
It is already 10 pm when I look at the clock on the wall above the lab door.
How is it 10 already?I have no idea where the time went.
“Alright, let’s call this a day,” I say, pointing at the clock.
“Oh,” she says, almost sad.
“Prepare the sheet as we talked about, we’ll continue on Monday.”
