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"They're fun," she says. "I like to dress differently than everyone else. It's boring to be the same."
I shuffle the box into my right arm, so I can offer Parker a high-five. "I like the way you think," I tell her.
"It's kind of like you and Melody. You two are sisters but completely different from each other. I don't think anyone would ever confuse you."
"This is true. You have to own the person you are," I tell her.
We walk into the school, and if I was the type of person to have social anxiety, I'd probably drop the cookies and run, but I'm the type of person with social anxiety who takes meds for that, so I can see through the crowd in search for the empty tables. "I see our table," Parker shouts, pointing in the opposite direction from where I'm looking.
"Good eye," I tell her.
The school lobby is swarming with moms and their kids. I see a spattering of dads tagging along too, but the adult portion is female dominant. I thought there was an equality of gender-related activities with this new generation?
I set the down the box filled with the bags of cookies, taking up a small section of our white-linen table. We have about ten minutes before the event starts, so I unload the bags of cookies, the tin trays, and the pricing sheet from the box. For a guy, Brett is very organized. I'll give him that. He even sent us with a package of napkins.
As I'm displaying the goods—I mean, cookies, I notice the women surrounding one of the dads by the front doors. My God. They look hungry, and I'm willing to bet at least half of them are married. The guy has a beard too. Gross. What's this attracting for grizzly men with beards? Has anyone considered how much dirt gets caught in those little hairs throughout the day?
"We're all set up now," Parker says.
"Fantastic. Just in time," I tell her, taking a seat behind the table. Parker is already sitting down with her hands folded neatly over the table.
A little girl approaches the table, looking directly at Parker. She's probably a few years older but smiles. "I didn't think you were coming tonight. Where's your dad?"
"Yeah, we got it all figured out. He's not here, but I am, so I can still sell the cookies," Parker tells her.
The girl leans over the table and covers her hand around the side of her mouth. "Who is that?" I hear her whisper.
Parker looks over at me as if she doesn't know how to introduce me. "I'm just the babysitter for the night," I tell the other girl.
The girl gives me the stink-eye I expected to get from the moms. "Oh," she says. "You look fun."
"Thanks," I tell her, clearing my throat. "I like to think I can entertain a crowd." I'm talking to what is probably a ten-year-old like she's an adult. I should stop talking. The girl rolls her eyes and walks away, but not before stating, "I need to get to my table before the doors open."
"Good luck," Parker tells her.
"You too," she responds.
Parker glances over at me with a worried simper. "Sorry, Hannah has a little 'tude problem sometimes," Parker says.
My eyes widen in response, agreeing with that statement. "Ah, is she your friend?" I ask. The little twerp better be nice to Parker if she is, or I'll show her what kind of babysitter I can be.
"We're family," Parker says.
Wonderful.
Parker begins to rearrange some of the tins, making sure they're all equal distance from one another. My gaze drifts back to the women trying to get the bearded man's attention, and all I see is the guy trying to slip away from the group. He's laughing like he's uncomfortable with the attention. Yeah, I'm sure you're super uncomfortable by the look of that cocky grin.
3
A bell rings, and an announcement over the loudspeaker introduces the start of the bake sale. There are so many tables full of baked goods that no one will likely have a long line. It's probably better that way for the kids, so they can ring up the sales themselves.
We get a few gazers every minute or so, and we sell a few cookies every few minutes. It's a steady pace, not bad. Parker seems to be enjoying every minute of this, at least. She hasn't needed me to do a thing, which is fine by me. I've taken my phone from my pocket and have been mindlessly scrolling through Instagram when the table shakes. One might think there's an earthquake.
I drop my knees from the edge of the table and straighten my posture, looking up to find the grizzly man with the gross beard.
"You're new around here," he says.
"Yeah, just helping Brett out tonight," I tell him.
