“I was being facetious,” she says with a little roll of her hand. “Of course we should celebrate.”
“I’m still not entirely convinced that this breakfast isn’t some kind of bribe,” I say, going back to eating.
“So anyway, what are you planning to do this summer?” she asks, her voice light.
“Not a single thing,” I say with a smile. “College will be hard, so I want to take it easy.”
“Or—” she says, giving me this wide-eyed look like she just thought of the idea. “You could help out my dear friend Julie. She gets so busy during the summers and it’s so hard running that shop by herself . . .”
I shake my head. Grandma’s friend Julie owns this little boutique on the beach that sells overpriced (but cute) trinkets, clothing, baby stuff, and gifts.
“Not happening. That place is full of rich annoying people.”
“Julie’s not rich or annoying,” Grandma says, as if she’s making some kind of point here.
“I don’t really need a job,” I say, reaching for the jar of honey on the table. “Mom and Dad sent me more money a few days ago.”
My parents have been traveling my entire life, but they show their love, or whatever they want to call it, by sending me checks in the mail every so often. Sometimes they come once a month, sometimes a year or two will pass between the checks. I always get a birthday card and a Christmas gift, though. Recently, I received a check for five thousand dollars in an envelope that simply had a Post-It note stuck to the check. “Love you” was scrawled on it in handwriting that I’m not sure is Mom’s or Dad’s. Their checks still have Grandma’s address on them, even though they haven’t lived here since I was born. The life of a nomad is a strange thing, and I don’t pretend to understand it.
“It’s not exactly about the money,” Grandma says. She rolls her bottom lip under her teeth and gives me this shaky smile. “I kind of already told her you’d love to work there.”
“You what!” I drop my fork and it clangs to the plate, making this awful sound that grates on my nerves. “I don’t want to work at the beach, Grandma! There’s nothing but skinny jerks there!”
She gives me a look. “There are skinny people everywhere, kid. There’s also fat people, and tall people, and short people.”
I sigh. “I don’t care aboutthosepeople. I only care about the women who are beautiful and stunning and make me feel like a total loser.”
Grandma snorts. “You are being silly. Julie really needs you. You can refuse her if you want, I guess, but it’d be good karma if you just get over your insecurities and go help her out for the summer.”
“I can’t just get over it,” I say, shaking my head as I stare at my food. Suddenly, and probably for the first time in my life, I am not hungry. “You don’t understand,” I say. “There will be girls I know from school there.”
“Bess, I wish you’d realize you’re a beautiful girl,” Grandma says. “Your weight is not an indicator of that. Working at the shop is just a job. You’ll probably be behind the counter the whole time. In that case, who cares? You’re not going on a date here, or joining some reality TV show beauty contest for God’s sake.”
I bite the inside of my lip. I guess she’s right about that. I can’t hide out in my room forever, as much as that might sound like a nice idea.
Besides, Ididhope to go on a diet this summer. Maybe being at the store will keep me on my feet and give me more exercise. I could pack healthy snacks for the day, that way I can’t go into our pantry all day and eat junk. This could work, I guess.
“Fine, I’ll take the stupid job,” I mutter, focusing on my fork instead of my grandmother.
She reaches across the table and pats my hand. “You’ll be okay, sweetie. I promise.”
