Page 180 of Charlie

"What do you mean you 'got me an interview?'"

"You know my friend Jana? Her son – who's single, by the way – is the director. Jana took me over there the other day. I showed him a picture of you; I wish you could have seen his eyes light up! He offered an interview before I could even ask!"

I recoil from her arms, taking a step back. "Mom. No."

"Honey, you need a job. You don't have any sort of career experience to speak of. You have a lot of time to make up for."

"I built Rob's entire business, Mom."

She waves her hand in dismissal. "That's his business, Charlotte. Look what you have to show for it."

"Well, hopefully, I'll have half of it by next week."

"Oh, honey, surely you don't plan to do that?"

"Do what? Take what's rightfully mine?" I clench my jaw, stopping myself from saying something I'll regret.

"That poor man is working like a dog to keep that business running."

"That poor man? He's working like a dog because I'm not there to do it for him. Don't forget he's the one that cheated on me, Mother. With Bethany, no less."

"Well, that doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

"What do you mean?"

"They broke up a couple of weeks ago," she gloats, liking that she knows something before me.

My chest tightens. "How do you even know that?"

"He comes over every Sunday for dinner."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Watch your language, young lady. Go sleep off your awful attitude. I'll drive you to the interview in the morning."

"I'm not going to the interview." I stand my ground, my heart in my throat.

"Yes, you are. Don't be rude."

"I'm not being rude. You're the one that scheduled the interview. Doesn’t it give you the ick that he wants to interview me based on my looks?"

"The interview is at ten a.m., Charlotte."

"I already have a job, Mother." And there it is. The cat's out of the bag.

She huffs. "Why didn't you just say that to begin with?"

I shoulder my backpack, needing to put some distance between us.

"What job, Charlotte?" she presses, her fingers digging into my elbow to stop me from leaving.

I don't face her, trying to decide if I want to get into his right now.

"Are you lying to me to get out of the interview?" Her voice pitches higher with every word until she's screeching at me.

Fuck it. "It's in Scotland, Mom. I came back to deliver Arty's family tree, get the divorce over with and apply for my visa." I can't help the panicked giggle that escapes my throat at her fish-out-of-water look.

"Doing what?" she says finally. "You have no experience in anything that matters. Who would hire you?"

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