“The bottom line is, you’re broker than a ‘77 Ford Pinto. You need that job, at least for right now. Hell, it was four years overdue what with your spending habits,” Scott said. I was out at the docks, helping to finish up with the last bit of restaurant preparations. Opening was a week away, and the place was really coming together. “How much is left in the Piggy?”
The “Piggy” was what Scott and I had called my savings account, the one my parents had worked so hard to build up for me, and the reason I hadn’t completely floundered yet.
“Not a lot…” I muttered.
“See there? Unless you have something good lined up, dumping this job would be a bad move.”
I sighed. “It’s just… I don’t want to make people feel bad with my writing. It’s the one thing I can do; my superpower. I want to use it to make people laugh and smile.”
“I get it, Twilight Sparkle. But us plebs don’t have the luxury of giving up good wages because someone’s feelings might get stomped on.”
“I know, I’m being stupid,” I said. “I’m happy to have the job. Chelle’s just breathing down my neck and angry breathing makes me uncomfortable.”
“Suck it up, Buttercup.”
I smiled. “Remember how Dad used to say that all the time?”
She laughed. “Yeah. It was sound advice. Damn, I haven’t seen him in so long.”
“You haven’t been home in a while. You should come for Christmas this year. I know they’d both be happy to see you.”
“Lane, I dunno, I’m going to be so busy with the restaurant—”
“Just think about it?” I asked. “Please?”
“Ah, yeah, sure. I’ll think about it.”