obvious that—whether for Mom’s sake, his, or mine—he was going to pretend it didn’t happen.
Nonetheless, Mom seemed a little taken back by his comment. When I said such things about my name at the dessert shop, it was just an exercise of self-deprecating humor. But when Anthony said it, there was something more cutting about it, as if he were being critical. Mom shrugged it off, though, and giggled. I guess she figured a billionaire is allowed to be a little bit eccentric.
“Kirby just graduated,” Mom said as she tossed back her hair and changed the topic. “A psychology major…with honors.” The way that Mom said that was accurate, but not completely honest. She made it sound like I was a psychology major who graduated with honors, when, in fact, I’d graduated with a 3.1 QPA, and only had honors within my major, which is much more than a subtle difference.
“Congratulations, Kirby,” Anthony said, pretending he didn’t already know this information. I was still so shocked by everything, yet he was handling it so coolly. I couldn’t believe the situation I was in, and couldn’t understand his ability to navigate it so gracefully.
“A psychology degree is pretty versatile, don’t you think, Mr. Swift?” Mom asked. It sounded weird to hear Mom call him Mr. Swift, when I, so much younger and unaccomplished, had known the privilege of calling him Anthony.
Mom didn’t even give Anthony time to respond before she continued. “As a psychology major, Kirby has learned a great deal about the way people think—and that has prepared her for a job in many different fields.”
Shit. I did not like where Mom’s monologue was going.
“Take advertising, for example,” Mom went on. “Understanding people’s motivations, impulses, desires, and fears gives someone a competitive advantage when it comes to designing labels, slogans, or other things meant to attract them…don’t you think? Isn’t advertising all about reaching people and doing something to move them?”
This time, Mom did wait for Anthony to reply. He simply nodded. It wasn’t that this farce was catching up with him; I just don’t think he had anything to say in response to Mom’s questions and statements.
“Kirby’s looking for work, you know,” Mom asserted, moving on to her ultimate objective. If anyone knew anything about advertising, Mom sure did in this situation. She was trying to sell me to “Mr. Swift,” and she was on the weak end, driving a hard bargain.
Again, this was something that Anthony already knew about me, and he seemed to have a little too much fun with his response to Mom.
“I hear it’s pretty hard to find a job these days,” he said. “Even coffeehouses are giving applicants a hard time. Rumor has it they demand experience.”
Mom looked at Anthony curiously. I wondered what she was thinking. Was she thinking that it was odd that Mr. Swift mentioned a coffeehouse when I’d applied to one recently?
Like a pro, Mom continued with her campaign, despite any reservation. “Well, they mustn’t forget, we all have to get our feet wet somehow, don’t we?” Mom sounded dorky using the word mustn’t in casual conversation, and she only made it worse with her next question.
“Wouldn’t it be great if Kirby followed in her father’s footsteps and joined the ranks of Parker & Swift?” she asked in a not-so-rhetorical manner. “She could be your next big ticket, your power employee—like Paul. Some of his genius has got to be genetic.”
Paul was my father’s name, by the way, and, if anything, I’d inherited his sense of humility. I could barely stand the saccharin way Mom was talking about him, and I know there was no way Dad would stomach it well, either.
“Are you interested in a career in advertising?” Anthony asked me.
I looked straight at him and replied firmly, “No. Not really.”
Mom made an audible gasp, and both Anthony and I turned in her direction. She rebounded rather
Nonetheless, Mom seemed a little taken back by his comment. When I said such things about my name at the dessert shop, it was just an exercise of self-deprecating humor. But when Anthony said it, there was something more cutting about it, as if he were being critical. Mom shrugged it off, though, and giggled. I guess she figured a billionaire is allowed to be a little bit eccentric.
“Kirby just graduated,” Mom said as she tossed back her hair and changed the topic. “A psychology major…with honors.” The way that Mom said that was accurate, but not completely honest. She made it sound like I was a psychology major who graduated with honors, when, in fact, I’d graduated with a 3.1 QPA, and only had honors within my major, which is much more than a subtle difference.
“Congratulations, Kirby,” Anthony said, pretending he didn’t already know this information. I was still so shocked by everything, yet he was handling it so coolly. I couldn’t believe the situation I was in, and couldn’t understand his ability to navigate it so gracefully.
“A psychology degree is pretty versatile, don’t you think, Mr. Swift?” Mom asked. It sounded weird to hear Mom call him Mr. Swift, when I, so much younger and unaccomplished, had known the privilege of calling him Anthony.
Mom didn’t even give Anthony time to respond before she continued. “As a psychology major, Kirby has learned a great deal about the way people think—and that has prepared her for a job in many different fields.”
Shit. I did not like where Mom’s monologue was going.
“Take advertising, for example,” Mom went on. “Understanding people’s motivations, impulses, desires, and fears gives someone a competitive advantage when it comes to designing labels, slogans, or other things meant to attract them…don’t you think? Isn’t advertising all about reaching people and doing something to move them?”
This time, Mom did wait for Anthony to reply. He simply nodded. It wasn’t that this farce was catching up with him; I just don’t think he had anything to say in response to Mom’s questions and statements.
“Kirby’s looking for work, you know,” Mom asserted, moving on to her ultimate objective. If anyone knew anything about advertising, Mom sure did in this situation. She was trying to sell me to “Mr. Swift,” and she was on the weak end, driving a hard bargain.
Again, this was something that Anthony already knew about me, and he seemed to have a little too much fun with his response to Mom.
“I hear it’s pretty hard to find a job these days,” he said. “Even coffeehouses are giving applicants a hard time. Rumor has it they demand experience.”
Mom looked at Anthony curiously. I wondered what she was thinking. Was she thinking that it was odd that Mr. Swift mentioned a coffeehouse when I’d applied to one recently?
Like a pro, Mom continued with her campaign, despite any reservation. “Well, they mustn’t forget, we all have to get our feet wet somehow, don’t we?” Mom sounded dorky using the word mustn’t in casual conversation, and she only made it worse with her next question.
“Wouldn’t it be great if Kirby followed in her father’s footsteps and joined the ranks of Parker & Swift?” she asked in a not-so-rhetorical manner. “She could be your next big ticket, your power employee—like Paul. Some of his genius has got to be genetic.”
Paul was my father’s name, by the way, and, if anything, I’d inherited his sense of humility. I could barely stand the saccharin way Mom was talking about him, and I know there was no way Dad would stomach it well, either.
“Are you interested in a career in advertising?” Anthony asked me.
I looked straight at him and replied firmly, “No. Not really.”
Mom made an audible gasp, and both Anthony and I turned in her direction. She rebounded rather
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