Page 15 of Lessons in Love

“Yeah?” If I wasn’t so distracted thinking about you.

“That’s impressive.” She says that with no malice, no teasing. “This would take me years.”

Even Ben can’t understand how I could possibly enjoy sitting in silence and getting lost in other worlds for hours. It’s refreshing to have this sort of response instead.

There’s a part of her that I think understands. Knows what it’s like to love something other people have a level of disdain for. And I appreciate it.

“So, the work for next week. What were you struggling with?” As much as I could talk to Eden forever, I want to get the session back on track. She’s not paying me all this money to just hang out with her for a couple of hours.

A flush settles across her cheeks as she tenses, and I mentally kick myself.

A girl like Eden probably doesn’t want to be asked what she’s struggling with. The concept is probably so foreign to her, so strange to not understand something the first time. I take a breath, and try again. “Sorry. What did you need my help with?”

“Let me just find it…” Tapping away on her laptop for a few moments, she pulls up a journal article and flips her screen around to show me. “This.”

“This what?” My eyes scan the page as she watches me. I can always feel her eyes on me, even when I’m not looking. “Were there questions to go with this? Or was it just to read it? It’s a lot easier to go through with an idea of what they want you to draw from it.”

Working with Eden has made me realise so much of what I know I take for granted. I excelled at English at high school, and Literature was just a natural extension of that. I could tell you what this article means in my sleep, every connection that could be made from it. And I’m sure Eden could do the same for chemistry. We just have to work on the ways that we can combine that reasoning to this area of study.

She gives me the questions, and we spend the next hour working through the document in front of us.

Over our last sessions— and from what she has told me — I’ve started to realise that Eden hates the limitless nature of Literature, the blurred edges and areas of grey. Chemistry has a very clear beginning, middle, and end. While there are infinite things to do within that, the concept of ‘maybe’ is one that practically doesn’t exist. Everything can be proven. Everything can be rationalised.

Literature is more open-ended than that.

I planned some exercises to go through with her, to get her to consider things beyond what’s written in front of her. This article is perfect for that, and it’ll help her feel more prepared for next week and what comes beyond that.

By the end of the session Eden’s laughing, saying that she’ll now be the smartest person in the class. I’m grateful for that. That what we’ve been working through has helped take some of the weight off her back. God knows she needs it.

* * *

My fork scrapes against my bowl, and the sound makes me clench my teeth. It’s the only noise in the otherwise silent dining room. The meal isn’t too bad. I could never say my dad is a bad cook. But the company could use some improvement.

Family dinners like this is something Dad enforces at least once a week. I always try to avoid it. Stay at university longer. Go out with Ben. Have a headache. But I got stuck with it tonight. Dad came upstairs and told me the moment he got home from work. No way to dodge it then.

“Pass the salt,” Jason says to my left, and I do as he asks. Not another word is uttered. Just us, eating in silence. Like a real family.

It was better when Mum was here. There was laughter, colour, love. The dining table looks too big with only the three of us, and it feels so obvious that something, or someone, is missing. I guess we all lost a bit of ourselves when we lost her. An ache settles in my chest and when I look up, I see my dad watching me expectantly, like I’ve missed what he said. There’s something like hope in his eyes. Weird.

“Sorry?”

“Something has come up for you, in the business.”

Images flash through my mind. Working out in the weather; rain, hail, or shine. Back-breaking labour when I’d rather be curled up with a book. “I don’t want to be a tradie.” I go back to picking at my pasta with my fork, wanting to shut down this conversation as soon as possible.

“It’s not a labour role, Oliver. It’s more to do with the business side.”

That gets my attention. Never has anything like this been offered. Dad must notice my interest, because he continues without my response. “Businesses are getting more and more digital. A role has opened up in the communications area, and I put your name up for it.”

I’m shocked, momentarily. He wouldn’t do something like this out of the kindness of his heart, so there must be strings attached. But just for a moment, I let myself think he did this just for me. “Oh. Thanks, I guess.”

“Good money, too,” Jason adds without looking up.

Dad continues. “I thought it would be a good opportunity. A good way to use your writing skills in a way that actually matters.”

There it is. I swallow the sting of his words. “I’ll consider it.”

Nodding, he smiles. “That’s all we want you to do.”