Hello, Privet! #1: Hello/Привет

Chapter 23

SOPHIE

I find my mother in the apartment in New York when I get back from Toronto. She is making tea in the kitchen. I dump my bags in the hall and sit with her.

At first she seems intent on discussing a luncheon she is planning with Cornelia Murray for the Winthrop Foundation, as if it's perfectly normal for me to be home right at this moment when I'm supposed to be still in Toronto. And then finally, after the small talk, she asks me about my week.

I pick up a piece of biscotti and nibble it. "It was okay," I answer vaguely, hoping she wouldn't pry further.

"I thought you were supposed to come back tomorrow."

But I guess she might as well know now. "Um—I quit."

A crease appears in her forehead. "Why?"

"Anton Alexandrovich Akhmerov is an asshole, that's why."

"Oh, Sophie—" My mother's face softens, then she says, "You should have stayed at least a month. What about your salary?"

"I don't care about the money. I'm not working for that person anymore."

"Oh, Sophie. Don't be melodramatic—"

"He's horrible."

"It can't be that bad."

"You weren't there, Mother. You don't know what he's really like. He would have these unrealistic demands, and he tried to humiliate me every chance he got. And—" I can't tell her what he really did. Even if I did, I don't think she'd believe me.

"Sophie, you cannot give up on a job just because it appears difficult." She seems exasperated, she really does. She presses the back of her hand to her forehead. I've never seen her this serious. "If everyone walked away just because something seemed difficult or unpleasant in the beginning—how will we ever get anything done, Sophie?"

My mother pours herself more tea, and takes my teacup and refills it as well. I try to think of an argument, but before I can even begin to argue with her, she says, "You're so used to everything being so easy for you and being told you're smart that when you're not immediately excellent at a task, you give up."

"Well, thank you, Mother," I begin to say.

"Let me finish," she says, cutting me off. "It's not entirely your fault that you're like this. I blame myself—"

"Mom, I appreciate the speech and everything," I interrupt. "But I know what to do. I'm going to look for another job."

"Where?" she asks, almost hysterically. "At a McDonald's, perhaps?"

"Wow." I stare at her, my mouth dropping open slightly. "What's wrong with working at McDonald's?" I demand. "At least it's an honest job."

"Sophie, we did not raise you and send you to college to work at a McDonald's," she says, her hand shaking as she lifts the cup to her lips.

"Well, I didn't graduate, did I?"

She sighs theatrically, possibly hoping to get a reaction from me. "I just don't know when you'll get tired of this 'not going to college' business."

"You talk about it like it's just a phase. I've made my decision," I say. "I just—I just want to make my own way, and maybe, one day, I might even go back to college."

"You will?" she asks, smiling hopefully, but still somewhat skeptical.

I shrug. "Maybe," I say. "But I want to do it on my own."