A FULL FACE
RORY
I pouted at the camera,then made a kissy face. “That’s all for now! Tune in for my next broadcast, starting in one hour!”
I turned off the video, then shut down my ring light. I hastily pulled a sweatshirt over my head, covering my lacy purple bra.
Covering the evidence.
“Rory, honey, I made breakfast!” My grandmother called from the kitchen.
“I’m coming, Grammy!” I hustled to the mirror, making sure no purple lace remained visible. My grandmother wouldn’t approve of me wearing sexy lingerie.
Grammy wouldn’t approve of most of what I was doing.
She also might wonder why I wore a full face of makeup at seven a.m., but I didn’t have time to scrub it off. My grandmother didn’t know that the internet never sleeps and that many of my European viewers were on their lunch break, hungry for more than just a baguette and a glass of rosé.
The tiny kitchen smelled like bacon, pancakes, and maple syrup. My grandmother commanded the ancient stove, wearing an old-fashioned apron, wielding a spatula. “Why do you have all that makeup on your face?” She scowled. “You’re beautiful just the way God made you!”
“Thanks.” I gave her a quick hug and started setting the table. “Are Josie and Bo up yet?”
She laughed. “They’ve been outside chasing the chickens for an hour already.”
I shook my head. “They’re crazy! I’ll call them in.” Josie and Bo were my younger siblings. Josie was ten, and Bo was eight. They were from my mother’s second marriage, so they were technically my half-siblings, but that didn’t matter to me. I loved them and fussed over them nonstop—even more so since our mom took off.
But I didn’t want to think about that.
I opened the battered screen door and hollered, “Josie, Bo, come in! Time for breakfast.” They ran inside, smelling like grass and dirt and Chewie, the ancient Chocolate Lab who’d been my grandmother’s constant companion for thirteen years. Chewie ambled in behind them, tail wagging, looking forward to table scraps.
“Hey, Rory!” My brother Bo hugged me, then made a beeline for the table. The only thing he loved more than playing in dirt was eating.
I ruffled his hair. “Wash your hands first, Bo.”
My sister hugged me, too. “When’re you going to teach me to use mascara, huh?” Josie whined, fake-frowning at me.
“Never.” I grinned and squeezed her. “Mascara’s for adults. Not ten-year-olds.”
“You’re not an adult,” she said.
“Yes, I am. I just turned twenty-two,” I reminded her.
She rolled her eyes. “So?” Sometimes Josie seemed a lot older than ten.
“Soit makes me more of an adult than you—go wash your hands, and help Grammy get breakfast on the table.”
Josie did as she was told. Both she and Bo were good kids. They never gave my grandmother any trouble, and they’d alwaysbehaved for my mom. Not that it mattered. My mother wanted her freedom—freedom to vape and party, freedom to follow her new roadie-boyfriend across the country, freedom to only care about herself, freedom to leave her children behind without a backward glance.
Thank God for my grandmother. When my mom left, Grammy had taken us in, put a roof over our heads, and kept food on the table. But we’d been at the farm for close to six months, and I knew she couldn’t afford to take care of us. She was on a fixed income and was barely making it on her own.
I’d found foreclosure notices tucked behind the calendar—her beloved farm was weeks away from auction. I knew she’d been spending all of her savings on us. We had doctor and dentist appointments, my brother had outgrown all of his clothes, the kids needed new shoes, and food, food, food. Food was so expensive! There wasn’t enough money to cover everything.
Which was why, at seven a.m. on a Tuesday morning, I was wearing a purple lace bra and a face full of makeup.
“May I be excused, Grammy?” I asked.
She motioned to my empty plate. “You didn’t eat a bite.”
“I had some toast earlier,” I lied. I knew there wasn’t enough money for groceries, so I’d been trying to skip meals.
