For the second time this semester, Lee, Harley, and Vell stood around waiting for someone’s parent to arrive.

“I much preferred this when it was your mother we were waiting on,” Lee mumbled.

“Yeah well, for all I know she might decide to show up too,” Vell said. “She’s been asking about you a lot, you know. You should call her, or something.”

Vell had been the unwilling recipient of every question his mother had about Lee’s new life circumstances and general wellbeing. It had been heartwarming the first few times and annoying the next few dozen times.

“I keep meaning to,” Lee said.

“Maybe stop talking to Joan for five minutes,” Harley suggested. Lee did not dignify that with a response. Harley was just about to call out the obvious deflection when Shareef came sprinting around the corner.

“Why were we the ones waiting on him and not you?”

“I have a lot of stuff to do to prepare,” Shareef said. He’d put on a suit and everything. “And I just got a text from his secretary, my dad’s going to be here in like a minute.”

“You get that update from his secretary?”

“Yeah, my dad’s a busy guy, Aziz handles all the basic communication stuff,” Shareef said. “That’s what secretaries are for.”

Lee rolled her eyes, and only rolled them harder as Shareef started to hand out three hand-made notecards filled to the brim with general etiquette notes and reference materials.

“Okay, these are all the things you need to know about the company, just throw in a handful of references to make it seem like we’ve really been collaborating for a while,” Shareef said. “The back side is all stuff about what my dad likes and dislikes, look it over when you get the chance. If you really need an anecdote, just talk about fishing, he loves fishing.”

Vell started to read his notecard while Harley gave it a quick skim and Lee tucked hers into her purse without reading a word.

“Okay, cool, yeah,” Shareef said, trying to choke down his rising panic. “He should be here any second, just keep reading, and let me…”

Shareef took a deep breath and held it as the portal flared to life. He was still holding it as the flaring stopped, and a mismatched duo walked through. A wiry young man holding a briefcase and a tablet led the way, while a man who could only be Shareef’s father trailed behind. He looked much like Shareef, but larger in every way; taller, broader, wearing an even fancier suit and with a slicker, more perfectly groomed haircut and beard. He made his approach without so much as a smile or a wave in his son’s direction, and as he did so, Shareef let out the breath he’d been holding and stood upright, squaring his shoulders to match his father’s poised posture. Lee’s eye twitched.

“Hello, Shareef,” his father said flatly.

“Hello, Father,” Shareef said. His tone and voice had completely switched, and even his accent was less pronounced. For only a moment, Lee stared at him with absolute horror, her mouth agape like she’d just been stabbed in the gut. Then, just like Shareef, her posture shifted in an instant.

“And you must be the owners of Harlan Industries,” Shareef’s father said. Only once he turned away from his son did a smile appear on his face. “I’m Ashraf Najafi. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Najafi,” Lee said, with a perfectly polite bow. Harley and Vell were shocked that she was not only taking the lead, but doing so with complete commitment to the bit. She had even let some of her old faux-British accent slip back into her voice. Shareef was equally surprised by the sudden shift, though obviously he was more excited than curious.

“Now, before we begin, miss, I assume you don’t go by Ms. Burrows anymore,” Ashraf said. “Have you taken a new last name, or is Lee alright?”

“Lee is just fine, Mr. Najafi, we’re all friends here,” Lee said. “Or it certainly feels like it, after all the stories of your fishing trips Shareef has regaled us with.”

“Oh, don’t you believe a word he says,” Ashraf said with a chuckle. “He loves to tell people all about how I caught a fifteen-foot Great White off the coast of Guinea, but really...it was fifteen feet and one inches!”

Ashraf laughed riotously at his own anecdote, and Lee joined him. Everyone else politely chuckled along and wondered what the hell was happening.

“Now, as I much as I would love to hear more, I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll try to resist temptation and stick to a schedule,” Lee said. “Would you like to see the mana harvester?”

“I do love a good live demo,” Ashraf said. “Aziz!”

The briefcase-bearing young assistant snapped to attention.

“Be ready to take product notes,” Ashraf commanded. “And see how clear my schedule is. I’d like to set aside some time to talk shop—and my recent trawl of Australia’s coastline—with Lee.”

Lee led the way, and Ashraf followed, trailing cologne and “witty” fishing quips as he went. Aziz headed out in his footsteps.

“Good to see you again,” Aziz mumbled, as he passed by Shareef. Only when the assistant was out of earshot did Shareef feel safe enough to lean over to Vell.

“I didn’t realize Lee was such a good actor,” he said.

“I don’t think she’s acting,” Vell mumbled. “At least not entirely. I think...she actually wants to help you.”

“Oh. Well, good,” Shareef said. “I’ll have to ask her why she changed her mind.”

Vell and Harley shared a long, knowing look. Now that the initial shock had worn off, they were starting to piece things together. The minute Shareef had seen his father, his voice and demeanor had entirely changed in a way that was tragically familiar -but he didn’t seem to be aware of the changes the way Lee had consciously changed her behavior around her dad. The two of them opted not to say anything for now, and followed in Lee’s footsteps towards the product demo.

----------------------------------------

“Oh, fantastic performance,” Ashraf said. He looked over the data readout yet again. “Truly one of the most well-optimized machines I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Lee said, with a smile that was only half fake. She loved to watch pretentious rich bastards talk out their ass. The “data readout” he was watching so intently was nothing more than a prerecorded video of numbers going up, attached to a mana harvester they hadn’t finished assembling yet. Lee had taken the liberty of setting up a dummy, to avoid any corporate espionage, and knowing people like Ashraf were almost always too dumb to notice the difference.

“Now, a good product is one thing, good marketing is another,” Ashraf said. He snapped his fingers loudly. “Aziz! Notes!”

Aziz stepped up, put his briefcase down, and readied the tablet as Ashraf stepped up and bent down to look at the dummy harvester. He stared and got closer until his nose was practically pressing against the metal shell.

“Is this safe to touch? I do like to get hands on with my materials.”

“Perfectly safe,” Harley said. “You could kiss that thing.”

“Ha! That, unfortunately, is a privilege I reserve for my lucky wife.”

Aziz looked up from his tablet and shot a raised eyebrow at Harley that very clearly communicated that Ashraf did not reserve any privileges, nor was his wife that lucky. Harley stifled a giggle, and Aziz went back to his tablet. Ashraf ran a finger along the curved surface of the harvester and seemed to contemplate the texture.

“Smooth, sleek...no, this is an aquatic product,” Ashraf said. “We want to talk about power, stability, a machine that can tame the raging tide and turn it into power. Aziz, write this down: Power. Stability. Control.”

Aziz dutifully jotted down the notes. Vell sat in a corner and tried not to think too hard about the fact Ashraf was probably making four figures an hour to say adjectives out loud. Ashraf said a few more adjectives, then stepped back and circled around the harvester.

“The steel gray color works, but have we thought about red?”

“Well, at optimal operating depth, red light doesn’t really penetrate,” Vell said. Lee glared at him. “But, uh, it’d look great on the showroom floor, you’re right.”

Lee nodded approvingly as Ashraf pumped his fist.

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“Aziz, ‘Red’, write that down,” he said. “Now, to consider the audience. You’ll want to market to tech-savvy, environmentally friendly coastal residents, I imagine.”

“Of course,” Lee lied. So far the tech was simply not economical to produce for a consumer market, and they could only sell to governments or large corporations. Ashraf didn’t need to know that, though. This was still a very temporary arrangement.

“Perfect, we’ll incorporate ocean iconography,” Ashraf said. “Maybe a fishing boat. Aziz, write down ‘fishing boat’.”

Aziz continued to tap away without a word.

“You know, Mr. Najafi, with all this brilliance flowing so freely, I’m beginning to think I’m taking advantage of you,” Lee said. “I’d hate to go any further without a contract of some kind in place.”

“The real brilliance hasn’t even begun,” Ashraf said. “But I suppose a break might be in order.”

He snapped his fingers, twice this time.

“Aziz! Shareef! Find a suitable place for us to have lunch,” Ashraf ordered. “I’m feeling Parisian.”

“We don’t actually have a lot of fine dining options here,” Harley said. “We cap out around Olive Garden-level.”

“However, I have been taking cooking lessons from a renowned Parisian chef,” Lee said. It was even technically true. Renard was a famous chef. “I’d be more than happy to accompany them on a trip for ingredients and whip up something suitable for a refined palate.”

“Oh, you needn’t go to all the trouble.”

“I insist,” Lee said. “Consider it an early payment for all the help you’ve given.”

After he briefly considered having to eat anything even vaguely Olive Garden-adjacent, Ashraf graciously accepted the offer of a meal. Lee let Harley and Vell take over the technical talk—and having to put up with Ashraf—and headed out with Shareef and Aziz. They’d only made it a few steps out of the lab when Shareef leaned over to whisper in Lee’s ear.

“Lee, not that I don’t appreciate the help, but what’s up? I thought you were just going to shake some hands and move on.”

“I’ll admit that was the plan,” Lee said. “But I realized- excuse me, I should apologize for being so rude to you earlier. I of all people should know how hard it is to keep up appearances for an abusive parent.”

Shareef had seemed confused earlier, and now shifted into outright shock, and he actively scoffed at the idea.

“Abu- no no no,” Shareef said. “Look, no, my dad’s high maintenance, but he’s not out here beating me or psychologically tormenting me or whatever your dad was doing to you.”

“Then why did you change everything about your posture and the way you talked when your dad showed up?”

“Everybody gets a little tense around their parents!”

“Now, see, I also believed that for a while, but actually: no,” Lee said. “We should not have to be afraid of our parents, Shareef. That is not a healthy relationship.”

“I’m not afraid of him, I just want to keep him happy, make him proud of me, you know?”

“Then why were you saying your dad would kick you out or disown you if you didn’t impress him?”

For a moment, Shareef’s eyes were looking a thousand miles past Lee, and then they snapped back to her just as fast.

“That was hyperbole,” Shareef said. “Everyone does it when they’re desperate!”

“Pardon me for interrupting,” Aziz said, as he stepped up to the whispering duo. “Shareef, I’ve finished your portion of the grocery list.”

“Oh, uh, excellent, I’ll get started right away,” Shareef said, happy for a quick exit from the conversation. He nabbed the note Aziz handed to him and sped off towards the commissary.

“That won’t be necessary, Aziz, I already have all the ingredients in mind,” Lee said.

“I know, those were the ingredients for his favorite food,” Aziz said. “You’re going to buy frozen chicken and a premade salad kit and pass it off as fine dining.”

Lee stared at Aziz for a while. He didn’t blink.

“Frozen salmon, but yes,” Lee mumbled. “So, I assume you overheard our entire conversation?”

“The Najafi’s have a habit of underestimating my hearing,” Aziz said. “Don’t push Shareef. He’s not there yet.”

“So you agree with me?”

“Mostly. Ashraf isn’t anywhere near as bad as I assume your father was,” Aziz said. “I’ve worked with the Najafi’s for a long time. I know them. Shareef will put the pieces together in his own time.”

“He shouldn’t need to take his time,” Lee said. “He could be-”

“Like you? Not exactly,” Aziz said. “Shareef doesn’t have supergenius friends or a billion-dollar business idea waiting to bail him out if he defies his father.”

Lee bit her tongue. From what she had learned in just the past day or so, Shareef had few academic prospects and no friends on campus. If he tried to make the leap of faith to freedom, there would be nothing and no one there to catch him. Not the way there had been for Lee.

“But there could be,” Lee said. Aziz crossed his arms.

“Really?”

“We do need a marketing department,” Lee said.

“Hmm. Maybe,” Aziz said. “But like I said: don’t push him. It’ll be better if he realizes what’s wrong on his own.”

“Perhaps,” Lee said.

“But in the meantime...I need to at least let him know he has a friend.”

“Feel free,” Aziz said. “Now, there is one more thing I need you to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Skip the salmon and stick to chicken,” Aziz said. “I have to eat this dinner too, you know.”

“Reasonable,” Lee said. “You’re working for the wrong man if you dislike fish, though.”

“It’s not Ashraf I’m there for,” Aziz said. “But yeah. It’s terrible. I have to eat so much god damn fish.”

Lee gave him a pat on the shoulder, and led him towards the chicken.

----------------------------------------

After a quick cooking time, Lee had prepared a meal of Fine Corsican Game-hen (frozen chicken) with herbs de provence (parsley and black pepper) and Laitue de Renard (prepackaged salad with store-brand dressing transferred to a glass bottle). Ashraf greedily devoured the entire meal unaware of its actual quality, and, just as Lee had hoped, the meal kept conversation to a minimum. Over years spent with her parents, she’d developed the odd but useful skill of making sure her mouth was always full whenever someone tried to speak to her. It stymied all conversation and minimized the amount of stupidity Ashraf could unleash on his captive audience.

However, even without anyone willing to participate in conversation with him Ashraf was still capable of long-winded monologues about fishing trips.

“All in all I wouldn’t say the Amazon River Dolphin was worth all the trouble,” Ashraf said. “Very rubbery texture.”

“I wouldn’t say the taste of the meal is the operative problem, Ashraf,” Harley said.

“Oh I’m sure a competent chef could’ve done the meal better, but it wouldn’t really be worth the effort,” Ashraf said.

The conservationist in Harley wanted to scream at him for eating an endangered animal, but she knew from experience that people like Ashraf didn’t care. She settled for silently clenching her fists beneath the table as Ashraf finished his anecdote and his meal.

“Ah, lovely to the last bite,” Ashraf said. “This friend of yours who owns a restaurant could hire you as a chef, Lee.”

“Something to keep in mind for a backup plan, I suppose,” Lee said.

“Not that you’ll need one,” Ashraf said. “Your oceanic ley harvester is the talk of the industry. On that note-”

“If I could interrupt, Mr. Najafi-”

“You may not, Aziz,” Ashraf said. “As I’ve already told you twice.”

“Yes, but sir, as I was trying to say the other two times,” Aziz said. “We’re running late for your next meeting.”

“What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Aziz had several snarky comebacks running through his head, but he said none of them. They weren’t even late, technically. Aziz held the schedule and could rearrange it as he saw fit, and had deliberately bumped up a meeting in order to cut their time on the island short.

“Can we rearrange anything, Aziz?”

“Not unless you’d like to anger the royal family and miss out on a five-hundred million dollar contract,” Aziz said.

“I most certainly would not,” Ashraf said. He hurriedly stood and grabbed his coat. “Lee, we shall have to discuss this matter another time.”

“I should be able to hammer out the basic details with Shareef in the meantime,” Lee said.

“Ah, yes, right. Shareef!”

Ashraf turned to his son and made eye contact with him for the first time all night.

“Don’t mess this up.”

“I’ll do my best, dad,” Shareef said. Ashraf brushed past him without a word on the way out, though Aziz stopped long enough to give him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, which Shareef just seemed confused by. Lee waited until she heard the door slam shut before breathing a loud sigh of relief and letting out all the tension in her shoulders.

“God, I can’t believe I used to hold that kind of posture year-round,” Lee said, as she rubbed a sore shoulder.

“So you’re sure your dad isn’t going to bother us?” Harley said. “He seemed pretty into our tech.”

“He seems ‘pretty into’ every new thing that comes out. In a few months they’ll release a new iPhone or something and it’ll be like you guys never existed,” Shareef said. He waited a few more seconds and then let out his own sigh of relief, his posture shifting back to normal in much the same way Lee’s had. “Thanks, you guys. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do,” Harley said. “You can start repaying your life debt by doing the dishes.”

Harley pushed her plate closer to Shareef. He stared at it and the picked-clean chicken bones on it a moment before relenting.

“Okay, alright, I’m doing it,” Shareef said. He grabbed Harley’s plate, then his, and hauled them into the kitchen. They had set up dinner in his dorm room, so these were all his own dishes anyway

“Here, let me help,” Vell said. He had only just picked up his own plate when Lee snatched it out of his hands.

“Let me,” she insisted. “I believe you are overdue for some time spent with Skye.”

The two of them both held on to the plate for a second, but Lee gave him a reassuring smile and a nod towards the door that told Vell everything he needed to know. He said goodbye to Shareef, grabbed Harley on his way out, and left the dorm. As he left, Lee gathered up a few more plates and joined Shareef by the sink to join him in doing the dishes.

“So, I believe I owe you another apology, dear,” Lee said. “I believe I projected some of my own issues on to you.”

“Eh, it’s fine,” Shareef said. “I get where you were coming from. I can’t say my dad doesn’t have some issues, but he’s still my dad, y’know?”

“I exploded my own father through a wall, so I don’t think I do know.”

“Right. Whatever, I just appreciate the help.”

“Of course. And...speaking of help,” Lee said.

“You need something?”

“I think I am in need of a marketing department,” Lee said. “And you seem to have...some talent for it.”

He wasn’t exactly a prodigy, but with a guiding hand to stop Shareef from plastering candy logos across everything, he did have some potential. Shareef stopped washing dishes for a moment, and Lee continued.

“There’ll be a job for you at Harlan Industries, if you ever want one,” Lee said. She left the ending of that sentence, “or need one”, unspoken. The plate Shareef had been washing stayed frozen in his hands. The motionless contemplation lasted long enough that Lee actually got a little mad he wasn’t pulling his weight with the dishes.

“I guess I’ll think about it,” Shareef said. “Still got three years before I graduate, plenty of time to work out a plan.”

“Quite. Take all the time you need, dear.”

“And hey, worst case scenario, I can just flex the offer to get dad to give me a raise,” Shareef said.

“If you must,” Lee said. She tried to hide the way she rolled her eyes. Shareef had more than a bit of capitalism embedded in his heart, apparently. That would be something to work on.

“Though, hey, as an early collaboration,” Shareef said. “I really think I might have been on to something with this idea to advertise candy-”

“No, Shareef.”

“Okay, okay, I’m dropping it.”