“Hey, how was your shift?”
“It was good, the usual people and a few passers through. Señor Perez came by, and we ate cake together, I’ve got you to thank for that.”
“What do you mean?”
She chuckles. “That first time you came into the diner, you paid for your meal with a hundred-dollar bill, but it only came to like, thirty dollars, so I’ve been using the leftover cash to pay for his soup and cake.”
“Fair enough. You know that money was meant for you though, right?”
“Yeah, but I was so pissed off at the time, thinking you were flashing your money by giving me a tip which is basically what I get paid for the entire shift. So that’s why I put it aside for Señor Perez.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, trying to work out the math. “How much do you get paid?”
“It’s a diner, Angel, I get fifteen dollars an hour, and that’s more than some people make, trust me.”
“You get paid less than a hundred dollars a night to work in that diner, while trying to pay off your parents’ medical bills and renting your own place?” I ask.
“Pretty much.”
She shrugs as though this is normal. I know I’m out of touch with legit working and wages, shit, most of the money I have in savings all comes from illegal work. It may not be ethical, but running drugs and guns certainly pays well. Even now, working at the garage, the amount we can charge for our work means we’re more than comfortable, and the money I earn is mine as I live at the club, so I don’t pay rent or a mortgage.
“Well,” I say, “that needs to change.”
“Excuse me?”
“That needs to change,” I say again. “It’s crazy, Elizabeth. You’re running yourself into the ground; with college, and your diner shifts, you’re barely earning enough money to survive, and you live in a sketchy-ass neighborhood.” I shake my head. “No, I can’t have that, you should’ve told me.”
“I can’t have that?” she says, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, ‘I can’t have that’. I’m not having my girl working herself ragged for no money, not on my watch. Not when it’s my job to look after you.”
“Oh, that’s what you think, that I need looking after?” She crosses her arms and moves closer to the passenger door, away from me. “I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t.”
“So what?” she scoffs, “You want me to come and work at the club, dress up like the girls, serve you drinks, entertain the bikers that ride through. Would that earn me more?”
“No,” I say, gripping the steering wheel at the thought of her entertaining other bikers. “I mean, yeah, it would earn you way more than a hundred dollars a night, but no, that’s not what I want either.”
“So what then, if things need to change, what’s the solution?” she asks.
“I’m not saying I have a solution; I’m just saying that you deserve better than this, you’re better than that diner. Shit, you wanna be a writer, or a literature teacher, it’s all you talk about, that’s what you should be focusing on.”
“Yeah well, that’s easier said than done.”
“I’m not saying it’s easy…” I pause trying to think of the words, “Elizabeth, I’m asking you to let me help you.”
She goes quiet, retreating into her thoughts, and I let her, knowing she needs space to process. Silence fills the car and I try and focus on the drive, I just want her to trust me enough to let me help.
“Accepting help from people isn’t easy for me,” she says softly, “nobody came to help me after my parents passed away. I’m used to being on my own and I like being independent. But, if I were to agree, how would you want to help me?”
“I don’t know, but there’s got to be a way that I can. I could lend you money for the medical bills, or pay your rent? Shit, you could stay with me at the clubhouse, my room is practically the same size as your apartment anyway.”
I realize once the words are out of my mouth that I basically just asked her to move in with me, and I’m very aware that she isn’t responding.
Shit.
When we reach her apartment, I pull into the parking lot and come to a stop in my usual space.
