We're Okay

The One Where It's Not The Kitchen Getting Fired

   Annoyance and gratitude are two emotions that don't go together. They mix as well as oil and water. If you had asked me a week ago, I would say that I couldn't remember feeling them at the same time. Or I would have looked at you strangely and told you that it was an oddly specific question.

   And yet here I sit, trying to scratch off my own ears from just the sound of Ira's annoying voice, silently thanking him for tutoring me.

   I hate him, but I owe him.

   I hate owing him.

   "Not like that," he told me, "it should be negative, not positive."

   Rubbing my hands down my face, I huffed and asked, "Can you just show me?"

   "Sure."

   I watched him solve the equation, confused by what the point was. Who would ever use this? How could they expect me to understand theorems when I couldn't wrap my brain around the definition of the word?

   "You still look confused," he said, smiling slightly.

   "It's just...who would ever need to know this much about numbers and shapes?"

   "Architects, carpenters, engineers," he said without missing a beat, ticking each career off on his fingers, "geographers, mathematicians, accountants–"

   "Okay, okay! I get the point."

   "I take it you don't want to go into any of those fields?"

   I laughed dryly. "Not a chance."

   "What are you going to do, then?"

   "Is that your business?" I looked at him skeptically, wondering if he would use it against me if I told him about my love of baking. He might call it girly or some other incredibly creative term.

   "Not really, but it wouldn't hurt to know."

   "I'm not so sure about that."

   We looked away from each other. It might have been a better idea not to bring up anything relating to the past, even my own skepticism of him because of it, but I wasn't ready to forgive him yet. I wasn't sure if I ever would be.

   He cleared his throat, and I glanced back at him.

   "Should we take a break from math?"

   "Please," I sighed, relieved.

   "History?"

   I groaned.

   "You don't like history?" he asked, sounding shocked.

   "It's worse than math."

   "I guessed that you would like it the best."

   "Yeah, right," I scoffed.

   "Oh, come on!" he argued, "There's got to be something about history you like."

   "Nope. It's all war, death, famine. It has no originality."

   "That is so not true!" he exclaimed, surprising me.

   "What, are you a history buff too?"

   He coughed awkwardly.

   "You're such a nerd."

   "Don't make fun of me."

   "What next, do you actually enjoy your art class?"

   "It's not that bad."

   "You can't be serious. You really like it?"

   He grabbed some of my papers awkwardly, trying to take the attention off of himself. He never answered my question.