“Bottoms up!”

  I watch my thesis director clench her tiny glass before swallowing the vodka shot in one go. I do the same a second later. The alcohol burns my throat until it reaches my stomach with an aftertaste of glorious victory. “Finally over,” I whisper with my eyes closed.

  “It is. And I’m proud of you.” Isabella gazes at me with stars shining in her irises and a sincere smile on her face. “Let’s talk about next year.”

  “Can’t I take some time off? Gloat at my success? Wait for my admirers to queue up on my porch?”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “Admirers? Nobody will hear from you until you pull out a few other articles, my friend.” Her glass echoes on the table as she sets it down, her fingers crossed and her back resting on her sofa.

  When the news of my graduation resonated in all Medford to hear (just the ones I’ve kept updated, really), Isabella called me the minute that followed. At first, she probably thought of going out in a pub, with a few of her friends and even fewer of mine to celebrate the end of my labor and the start of my utopia, but as she worked with me for years and ultimately learned about my relentless shyness, she opted for two to three drinks at her place.

  Despite being a very decent, good-looking woman, it was incredibly obvious at the beginning of our collaboration that nothing would ever happen between the two of us. If anything, she was more likely to share her bedroom experiences than having some with me. Not that I feel the need to justify myself over the possibility of men and women friendship. Not that anyone asked. “What about next year, then?” I leave my glass on the table as well and lounge the same on her couch.

  “Do you have any ideas?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “I have plenty. Just shared some with you a minute ago.”

  “I meant about your career,” she rolls her eyes to the ceiling, but the smug remains on her lips.

  “Well, Boston is nearby. I’m sure I’ll have opportunities there. Especially with a letter recommendation of the best thesis director that will ever exist on this planet,” I explain with clear hints.

  She crosses her legs and straightens her spine. Her hands rest on her knees, and I feel strangely anxious. “You want to work in a research lab, is that right?”

  “Yes.” Absolutely. Of course. One hundred percent. Please, yes please.

  “Here’s the deal. You come to Tufts University, here, in Medford, tutor for a few years, and when nobody can refute your obvious talent, you’ll get a position in the lab of your choice.”

  “There’s no School of Medicine here.” Unlike Boston.

  “I know, but you’ll still have courses among the subjects of your specialty. You can always shape the program a little bit differently than usual. That would be up to you.”

  “How many years are we talking?”

  “It depends,” she continues, with her attention completely focused on me. “But we will have a change of team in two to three years. It’s still very comfortable compared to what you might have to wait for in Boston. You’ve just graduated. And you lack recognition in the medical field. Trust me. I’m doing you a favor.”

  And she’s probably right. How much could I know compared to her? Graduated fifteen years ago, seven years as a professor, then six years as a thesis director and eventually promoted to research director after two more years at Tufts. She’s proposing to me a much better option than she had to endure.

  Since the very first moments we started working together, she stated I had potential. Even when I couldn’t see it. She’s convinced I have much to offer, and she is again right, because my motivation is bursting up the roof and my reasons are important enough to get me going for years to come. I want to prove myself and I want to prove my family my worth. I want to make a difference. Help others for the ones I couldn’t protect. “What do you think?”

  Her voice emerges from my thoughts and there’s really just one answer I can provide. No one could turn down such an exciting offer. So, I extend my hand, waiting for her to shake on it, but instead she grabs my shoulders, and folds me into her embrace.