"Mrs. Cylon, Victor thought you might not be comfortable with those tall, grand hotels with many rooms, complex elevators, and keycards, so he chose this eco-resort for you. If you prefer grand hotels, I can make the arrangements," I offered.
Mrs. Cylon quickly waved her hand, saying, "No, no. I'm fine anywhere. But you're actually right. I'm really not used to those high-rise buildings with elevators. They scare me, honestly."
Feeling slightly better than before, Felicia held her mother's arm, smiling. "After the college entrance exams, my mom took me to town to buy clothes. She was terrified from just standing on the escalator."
With a smile, I remarked, "It's just a matter of getting used to it. After trying a few more times, it'll feel normal."
Right then, Mrs. Cylon suddenly started scolding Felicia, mainly telling her to tolerate Mrs. Brown, not talk back, and avoid conflicts.
Felicia said she would do as told, but her expression clearly showed that she didn't want to. I watched them with a smile, choosing not to interrupt. To be honest, I really admired this trait of Felicia's. She was a lot like me.
When others treated her horribly, she would tolerate it no matter what, acting like a pushover who was indifferent to everything. But once someone she cared about received the same treatment, like what happened to Mrs. Cylon and me, she couldn't help but step in.
Mrs. Cylon's nagging turned from scolding to showing concern. Just as the mother-daughter pair was about to cry again, the beat-up SUV finally arrived.
Feeling anxious, Mrs. Cylon rushed to the car to check on her things. She opened everything to make sure that none of the pickle jars were broken. Only then did she feel relieved.
When I saw the enormous plastic container of olive oil, my eyes nearly popped out. "H-How many gallons are in this?"
Mrs. Cylon laughed, answering, "There are two gallons in each container. I brought three—one for your counselor and two for your parents."
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