GB96 s2 - Working Girl Part 3

Five days into Ellen acting as Mr. Gibson’s apprentice, and so far so good. She’s not an automotive savant, but she’s hardworking and sensible enough, so Mr. Gibson is happy with her. Things have become a little less brutal at work. Ellen’s happy to work long hours, and Mr. Gibson is able to tell her what to do. Stef is willing to work long hours as well, but only if her father will finally fix her old motorcycle, which was given to her by her grandfather. She’s obsessed with that thing. She’s never ridden it, but it’s her prized possession.

Things are looking up.

At home, you step out of your shower and grab a towel. It’s muggy as usual and your mom isn’t home. Nude except for the towel around your shoulders, you head downstairs. So of course it’s as you’re bent in front of the refrigerator, reaching for the pitcher of iced tea, that your mom chooses to walk in from the garage.

“Wow,” she says.

You straighten up, embarrassed, but you try to act cool and just pour your tea.

“Sorry. I thought you would be later,” you tell her.

She sighs and puts her purse down. “Can you put that on?”

You wrap yourself in the towel and take a big gulp of tea.

“We should talk since you’re here,” she says.

“Oh shit,” you reply.

She shoots you a reproving look, but she can’t really come after you for language now that you’re almost nineteen.

“I’m proud of you for what you’re doing,” she says without preamble.

“But you want me to move out.”

“I want you to be independent.”

You nod, sighing. “I know. I’m sorry. We talked about it a few weeks ago. I need to bring that up with her again.”

“That’s what we need to talk about. Can we sit? I’ll take a glass of that," your mom adds.

You pour tea for your mother and join her at the kitchen table. You can hear kids playing and a sprinkler outside. The curtains are open. You should not have been walking around naked.

“What did I do now?”

“Besides traumatizing me with nudity? Listen, Carla. There’s a place that just went up for rent in town. It’s on the second floor. One bedroom. Pretty cheap.”

“Why’s it cheap?” you ask suspiciously.

“It’s close to a coffee shop that students go to really early. And these biker assholes ride right up that street twice a day,” your mother says with a shrug. “It’s not perfect. It’s not a palace. But your first place doesn’t have to be.”

“Sounds like a cozy little love nest.”

Your mother grimaces. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I think you should move in there yourself. Not with Stef.”