Page 22 of Role Model
She’s there now. She’s wearing her reading glasses, which is usually her version of a do-not-bother sign. She glances up as I step into the dimly lit room.
“Aeriel,” she says, and she sounds exhausted. “You should be asleep.”
So should you, I want to say. “I can’t.”
I expect her to tell me that my insomnia is psychosomatic, like she always does. It’s a massive word which means that she thinks it’s all in my head. The doctor did tell her that being autistic sometimes comes with difficulty sleeping, but she83thinks I can power through it.
But she doesn’t say it this time.
“Well,” she says softly. “Come and be useful then.”
Being useful is the most important thing to Mum. She doesn’t understand being funny or being clever. Or at least, she doesn’t have time for those things in the same way. Being useful is always the most valuable thing a person can be, according to her.
She’s called me useless a few times, usually when I don’t do something as quickly as she would like me to. I know that’s her version of saying that she hates me.
I sit next to her, a little gingerly. She’s wearing a fluffy white dressing gown and her feet are on the coffee table. She hands me a sheet of paper.
“Check that for spelling errors, please,” she says.
I take the paper, plus the red marker pen that she’s offering me. “Is this part of being Prime Minister?”
“Only when the press office insists on forgetting how to spell certain important words,” she says. “If you’re not sure about how something is spelled, look it up, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good.”
We both read in silence for a good five minutes. I find no mistakes. If Mum knows they’re there, I can’t84see them. I add an unnecessary comma just to feel that I’ve corrected at least one thing.
“I got ninety-seven percent on a history essay,” I tell her.
She doesn’t speak for a moment. Maybe she didn’t hear me.
Then!
“Was that the best mark in the class?” she asks softly, still glued to her papers.
I grimace. “No. Jaya was higher.”
“Well, it’s what I always say, Aeriel. Second is the first loser. Where did those other points run off to?”
Ijust want you to say that I did a good job. I just want you to tell me I’m not bad. I know I’m not what you ordered but you can’t send me back.“What is it you’re doing?” I finally ask her.
“Studying,” she says, not looking at me. “Sort of.Prepping for interviews tomorrow.”
“Is this job hard?”
“Yes. Hardest job I’ve ever done.”
I pause. Then, “Do you wish you had chosen to do something else?”
“No,” she says, without hesitation. “Things that are easy are never as rewarding as things that are difficult.”
I want to tell her that I’m finding all of the attention85very difficult. That the rewarding parts are keeping themselves hidden.
But I know she would just give me that face; the one that’s a cross between confusion and irritation.
So, I say nothing at all.
