Dirty Working Hero (Hard Working Hero 2)

1

Millie

The coldness of the tiles pricks the bottom of my feet as I walk through the kitchen. I'm half awake, still feeling the effects of a night of celebration with my friends. I absolutely drank too much and partied too hard, but it was worth it.

After four long years of hard work, I finally received my BA. I've lost sleep and blown off friends to be here. I glance down at the counter, seeing my diploma in its frame. Picking it up, I smile.

I set it back down as I feel the shake in my fingers. My body is achy and sore, craving a tall glass of orange juice to fight off the alcohol haze still coating my brain. Yawning wide, I pull open the fridge and grab the jug of juice. I don't even bother with getting a glass, I just open it and chug down as much as I can in one gulp.

I exhale a long sigh, wiping my mouth with the back of my wrist. “That's good,” I say out loud.

“That's an attractive look for a you in the morning. It's not like your father and I raised you to be a lady,” my mother says with her signature spear of condescending tone. “How about you get a glass and drink from it the proper way.” She eyes me from behind her mug, sipping her coffee with finesse.

Where's the upturned pinkie?

My mother comes from a world where women are expected to dab the corners of their lips while they're eating. White gloves, fancy hats, and an exaggerated laugh that isn't natural, that's my mother.

If it were up to her, she'd still be dressing me, brushing my hair, and posing me like a damn porcelain doll. Luckily, it's not up to her anymore. Thank God.

Without a word, I open the cupboard and take out a glass. I pour a cup of orange juice and take a sip. “Good morning,” I say.

“I'd say the same to you, but you look like hell. I'm guessing Michelle, Kristen, and Kelsie didn't just take you out for dinner like you said, did they?”

I walk to the small table by the window and sit across from her. “I told you I was going out to celebrate.”

“To celebrate what? That so-called degree in farming you have? Really, Millie?” She smugly shakes her head.

Here we go again. . .

I don't answer her. Not that she's going to give me a chance to anyway.

My mother squints her eyes, glaring at me like I've done something wrong. “When you told us you were going to study sustainable agriculture, I assumed it was just some phase you were going through. I mean, you don't honestly think that degree is going to take you anywhere, do you?”

I glare back at her, arching a brow. “Of course it is. Why wouldn't it? People around the world need help growing food and more effective ways to do it. Resources are becoming scarcer, and people are suffering. I want to help. I want to make a difference.”

My mother shakes her head, letting out a light chuckle. “Make a difference. . . God, you sound like one of those hippies from the sixties.” She sips from her mug, letting her eyes shift to the window. “It's time to grow up, Millie. You're twenty-two. This nonsense needs to stop.”

“Isn't that what I'm doing? I just graduated for God’s sake. You act like I'm still a kid that doesn't know what she wants to do when she grows up.”

“You are,” she says flatly as her gaze darts back to mine. “You don't know the first thing about being grown up. And now that you're done with this little playtime soul search of yours—”

“Playtime soul search?” I ask, cutting her off.

“Yeah, your father and I let you do your thing, we allowed you go to school for something that has absolutely no future, and now that you’re back home, you can finally start your real career.”

“My real career? What is it you don't understand? This is my real career, that's why I went to school for it in the first place. I mean, I have a damn interview this week for a position at Farm to Table.”

Her eyes veer, a look of complete disappointment and disgust on her face. “There's no way on this earth that my daughter is going to spend her days digging in the dirt. That's not who you are, Millie. You are a Chambers, period.”

“A Chambers? So I'm just supposed to live my life around my last name? I don't get to make choices in my life at all?”

“Your name comes with status and privilege. I won't let our name get tarnished because you want to ruin it with your plant play. It's absurd, Millie. You're done with all that.”

“Mom, you can't tell me what I can and can't do with my life.”