“Okay…” She glances toward the kitchen, eager for the distraction of our food.

I change the subject, asking, “What’s your major?”

“Pre-med.” Her eyes sparkle with her response.

“You want to be a doctor?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice, unable to picture her bedside manner.

“Technically, I guess. But I am really hoping to go into medical research.” She answers my question without me having to ask it.

“Why medical research?”

She balks at the question, picking imaginary lint off her T-shirt instead of answering me. I sit and stare at her until she answers with, “I’ve just always thought biology was interesting.” I give her a go-on gesture and she meekly continues, “Humans are basically insanely complex machines that took hundreds of thousands of years of evolution to create. We’re just beginning to understand that even though we’re these complicated and sophisticated organisms, we’re all so fragile and flawed.” She stares at her hands in her lap, embarrassed by her own enthusiasm.

“That’s almost poetic.”

She shifts in her seat and says, “It’s really lame, I know. I’m such a nerd, right?

“Don’t do that.” Her eyes snap to mine at the reprimand. “Don’t belittle yourself or what you care about. The world is going to beat you down enough, you don’t need to help it out. If you believe something, own it. Fuck everybody else.” She blinks several times, holding back tears. She gazes at me like I saved a litter of puppies from a burning building. Now it’s my turn to shift awkwardly in my seat. I’m no one’s hero. “I just want to make money. Lots of it.”

“There’s a lot more to life than money.”

“Spoken like someone who has a lot of it,” I scoff. “Exactly how rich are you, anyway?”

“I’m not rich.” She sounds almost offended. “I mean, my father has money, but—”

I interrupt her. “Same difference. You have lots of brothers and sisters?”

“No. It’s just me.” Her face goes squishy, eyebrows pinched together, lips scrunched to one side. Her eyes dart up and left, trying to see inside her own mind. She’s working out what I’m getting at. It’s hideously captivating.

“You’re the only child of a rich man. I bet if you decided tomorrow you never wanted to work another day in your life, you wouldn’t have to.”

She seems lost in thought. I can’t help but wonder if she’s actually adding up her net worth in her head.

“It never occurred to me not to work. That’s just what people do. But I guess you’re right. If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have to work.” She isn’t bragging. If anything, she seems a bit self-conscious about being wealthy, as if it will make me see her differently. I’m surprised by her honesty.

“Yep, hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re rich,” I confirm with a laugh.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” she says, almost to herself. It’s a revelation to her.