“Yeah.” She smiled into the phone. “Sorry, it’s been really busy.”

“How’s that calculus class going, still tough?”

“Well, yeah,” she said. Calculus was trending at a D. “I think I’m going to drop it. I’m the only sophomore in the class and I think it’s just too advanced for me.”

“What? No, honey, don’t drop it. We’ll get you a tutor. Do you want me to find one?”

Karina paused, annoyed by his intrusiveness. “I don’t want a tutor, Dad. I don’t want to take the class. I just . . . it’s just not the right class for me.”

Her father chuckled, which chafed her more. “What do you mean, not the right class? It’s the next math class in the series, right? You’ve always been strong in math. Maybe you just need a little extra help this time.”

“Dad.” Karina spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ll figure it out for myself. Okay?”

The pause on the other end of the line brought her some satisfaction, as she imagined him recoiling. “Gotta go, Dad. I’m in the library and can’t be on the phone.”

“Okay. Bye, honey, I—”

She ended the call and jammed the phone into her back pocket as she left the break room to begin her shift. A few minutes later, a text appeared from him: I trust you know what’s best for you. Just here for you, whatever you need. Also, sent bank transfer this morning. Love you. Karina shook her head and replied with a quick smiley face emoji.

* * *

A month after she began working at NatMark, one of her colleagues went on an African safari, and the store manager put Karina in charge of receiving deliveries in the back and ensuring all the produce on the floor was in good condition. Karina enjoyed wearing the rubber coveralls over her clothes and dealing with the forklifts and pallets in the back, so different from the cerebral work her parents did, which she’d always been expected to do as well. Though her grades hadn’t improved much, Karina asked for additional hours at NatMark, gravitating more to her job and the feeling of being good at something and valued for it. As her earnings increased with both her promotion and hours, Karina became intrigued by the possibility of gaining full independence from her parents.

One day, as she was stocking a new shipment of navel oranges, Karina felt someone watching her. She looked up to see a man standing about ten feet away. He was older, maybe early thirties, with wavy brown hair and a rugged complexion.

“Oh, can I help you with something?” With the back of her gloved hand, Karina brushed away the loose hair from her ponytail.

He smiled at her. “My neighbors have a tree of oranges with the most amazing zest—intense flavor and aroma. Have anything like that?”

“Hmm. Well, I’ve never had that question. I can tell you the best orange for juicing.” She held up one of the navels she was stocking. “Or . . .” She took a few steps over to the clementines and held up a pair, joined by their leafy stems. “The most popular for lunch boxes and picnics.”