“So you start when?” my mother asked me. We were sitting at the table in the kitchen, eating dinner and discussing my new job. I finished the piece of potato I had in my mouth and told her.
“What?” my mother said. “Nine o’clock tomorrow? On a Friday? Why?”
“Mum, if you saw the state of my office, you’d understand. And Dad, stop eyeing off my chips. I’m going to eat them and I’m not going to give you any. And don’t you dare try and steal them. I have sharp cutlery and I am not afraid to use it.”
My mother continued, oblivious to the chip war my father and I were engaged in.
“But still,” she said, “why not wait until Monday? I mean, new job, new week, new start…”
“I’m not complaining. You know –” Dad made a grab for my food and I stabbed at his hand with a butter knife. He didn’t get the chip so I continued. “I’m getting paid pretty good money.” I didn’t actually know how much money I would make, but I knew saying that would make Mum happy. In Mum’s head, Charlie + Money = Charlie getting a house. If Charlie got a house, Charlie wouldn’t be living with her parents. If Charlie wasn’t living with her parents, that, in my mother’s head, was a really good thing. It meant Charlie was growing up. Getting a life. And Mum could change that hideous carpet in the lounge room.
“Oh, well, you didn’t mention that!” She said it a bit too quickly and looked embarrassed. “I mean, that’ll be great for you. Well, I hope you enjoy it.”
Dad made another grab for my chips and I tackled him to the ground. For the first time, Mum appeared to notice what was going on.
“What are you two doing on the floor? Charlie, get up and finish your dinner.”