ANNIE

“Are you sure you can’t get married on firm ground? Absolutely positive?” I face my mother and cinch the fluffy towel closer to my body. “I’ll bribe you. Name your price; I’ll do anything.”

“Annie, please. Claude loves the ocean.” Ellie Plymouth tucks a freshly highlighted bang behind her ear and issues a smile brimming with sympathy. The sympathy doesn’t matter much, however, since she’s clearly not budging on her decision. “It’s just a ten-week class. Once per week, and then you’ll be a swimming guru.”

“Saturday mornings. Ten weeks.” I turn and face the mirror. “For what? I’m not going swimming on the cruise. I’m not going to throw myself overboard or flip around with the dolphins.”

“You promised you’d learn before your birthday, dear.”

“That’s the other thing! You didn’t have to get re-married on my birthday.”

“Seven is Claude’s lucky number.”

“So why not the seventh of June? How about August? It just had to be July?” I frown at my reflection in the mirror. There’s no possible way I can pass for a normal human being in this outfit. “Green, mom? At least you could’ve gone with black. It’s slimming.”

“You’re plenty slim. And you look great. Now shower off because your instructor won’t wait for you all day.”

I survey my body—and the swimsuit on it—and decide there’s no hope for me. I’m wearing a one-piece bathing suit made from a shade of green that resembles alien vomit. There are ruffles on every available surface. So many ruffles. Probably enough extra ruffles to make a dress from the excess material.

It’s my fault, really. I’d made my mother a stupid promise. When she’d gotten engaged to Claude, she’d begged me to learn how to swim before my twenty-third birthday. Because ironically, that is the same day as their wedding.

The wedding will take place on a cruise ship, and therein lies the problem.

I hate water.

Now, this hate is not a casual dislike of lakes, or even a modest mistrust of the ocean. It’s not even a slight hesitation to go swimming without a life jacket. No, my fear is all consuming. I am utterly, undeniably terrified of large bodies of water.

I’ve managed to get by so far in life without learning the art of the front crawl—it’s always “that time of the month” during pool parties. My gym teacher probably thought I had a chronic case of the flu thanks to my spectacular acting performances to avoid swim class. At home, I generally avoid taking baths because I’m terrified of falling asleep and drowning in my own tub, but showers work just fine.

My mother once tried to enroll me in swim lessons through the local community center, but I cried so hard that my teacher begged my mother to reconsider. Now that I’m twenty-two, she thinks enough time has passed to try again.

I’m as equally unenthusiastic as I was the first time around. The only difference is that this time, I can’t sob my way out of it.

“Dear, you need to face your fears,” my mother says again as I drag my feet into the locker room, dreading whatever the next hour will bring. “It’s for your safety.”

“Yeah, right.”

“What do you mean by that?” she snaps. “It is! I don’t want you to fall overboard after you’ve had one too many margaritas and die, Annie. Not on my wedding cruise. You’re the maid of honor for crying out loud.”

“Right, and it’d be really inconvenient to plan a funeral from your honeymoon.”

“We love you,” she says. “Claude and I care for your safety.”

“Claude calls me Amanda. He doesn’t care about my survival.”

She huffs, but doesn’t reply. She’s run out of arguments, I guess, which is just fine with me since I don’t want to discuss this any longer. I’m angry enough standing here at eight a.m. on a Saturday morning, in the middle of a late February snowstorm, freezing my ass off in a lime-green bathing suit.

My mother’s lucky that I can’t stand it when she cries. When the tears started flowing at Thanksgiving, I broke down and agreed to swimming lessons as part of her wedding gift. Not a day later, she’d signed me up, paid for the class, and told me she’d supply the swimsuit. I am regretting all of it, especially the swimsuit.

It’s too late to come up with an excuse, however, which leaves me stuck here with two choices: wear the stupid ruffles, or scale down to my birthday suit, and nobody wants to see that. I mean... it’s February. I’m whiter than Frosty the Snowman. People will need sunglasses to look at my butt.

“There you are!” Gran putters into the showers with a huge smile on her face. “Did your mother tell you we were all coming together today? She said you might be nervous. That’s why I’m here. I’ve got moral support coming out the wazoo.”

The spray of water splutters over my shoulders as I swipe a hand across my eyes and peek at my grandmother. “No, I didn’t know you’d be here until you showed up at my apartment this morning. I could’ve come by myself.”

I glance at her festive attire. It’s a testament to how upset I’d been earlier this morning that I hadn’t even noticed my Gran’s clothes until now. I’d been too annoyed at my mother to speak at all on the ride over. I couldn’t be mad at Gran, though. She’d just come along for the ride.

“It’s really not necessary. None of this is necessary.”

Gran follows my gaze down to her tube socks straight out of That Seventies Show. One sock says “Go!” and the other says “Annie!”

My name is Annie Plymouth. Everyone will be able to see that quite clearly, thanks to Gran. There are also pom poms in her hands, and I cringe as she begins to wave them around.

“Annie, Annie, go... Bananie!” She does a high kick, but the floor is a little slippery, and she grasps onto a towel rod for balance. The whole thing clatters to the floor, a cacophony of metal on tile as Gran screeches for help.

I leap for her just as she’s starting to topple with it, cradling her in my arms, praying she doesn’t dislocate a hip. I needn’t have worried. Within seconds, she’s popped right back into her cheer.

“G-O Annie Bananie!” Gran finishes. “Rah, rah, rah!”

“No cheerleading in the bathroom,” I tell her as I do my best to reattach the towel rod to its mount. “You’re a liability.”

Carefully, I lean the pole against the wall after determining the entire thing is ruined. I can’t chastise her too much, though, since she’s newly widowed. My grandfather died last year, and it’s been rough on her. I’m just happy to see Gran waving pom poms again. “What are you really doing here?”

“Besides cheering for my favorite granddaughter?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I have synchronized swimming lessons right after you.” Gran bats her eyelashes at me and offers up a brilliant smile. “I’ve moped around long enough. I loved your grandfather dearly—still do, but I need to meet some new friends and get some social interaction. I’m going crazy in my house all alone, day after day.”

“Aw, Gran, but I come to visit.”

“Only three times a week.”

“Mom lives there.”

“Yeah, but sometimes she’s boring. Plus, she’s busy with work and Claude.” Gran winks in my direction. Then, her eyes cross slightly as she appears to notice my bathing suit. Giving a low whistle, she shakes her head in appreciation. “That suit is gorgeous, Annie Banana. You think they have one in my size?”

“I’ll tell you what—I’ll give you this one. Just as soon as I get a new one. Like, in an hour. As soon as possible.”

“What are the kids saying these days? You rock?” Gran extends a hand and gives me a fist bump. “I’ll gladly adopt your bathing suit.”

“Annie, it’s time!” My mother yells from outside of the showers. “Hurry! If you don’t get a spot in this class, I am not going to be happy! I called months ago to reserve you a seat.”

I shuffle out of the showers with a towel the size of a comforter wrapped around my body. Stepping in front of my mother, I stop and exhale a sigh. “Look, mom. I’m doing this for you. As a favor. I hate the water, you know that, and I have no desire to learn how to swim—”

“—but it’s for your safety!”

“Mom!” I take in her brows, furrowed in confusion, and lower my voice. “Please. I’m doing this to make you happy. So can we please cut the crap with the cheerleading squad? I told you not to show up today... but you didn’t even trust me to drive myself, and you brought Gran?”

“I had to bring you the suit,” my mother says, crossing her arms. “I also happen to know how stubborn my daughter is, and if I hadn’t shown up, I’m willing to bet you wouldn’t have attended class at all.”

My lips are a tight line, and I don’t have anything to say because she’s right. Until about ten minutes ago, I’d planned to show up, slip the teacher twenty bucks in exchange for whatever stupid certificate I need to pass the class, and skedaddle.

It’d never been my intention to actually go through with the entire lesson. For crying out loud, I’m twenty-two. If I haven’t learned how to swim by now, I can probably manage for the rest of my life.

Plenty of other people don’t have skills. Some people never learn how to ride a bike, or roller blade, or ice skate. It’s not that weird, but clearly, my mother disagrees.

“We have got to make a deal,” I tell her, my voice a low hiss. “I’ll show up for ten weeks, but you must keep Gran and her socks away. Including today.”

“But she has synchronized swimming lessons—”

“Away!” I move past her, trying not to wimp out. I can’t help but add a polite, “Please.”

My mother and I never fight. She’s odd sometimes, and makes choices that I don’t approve of (Claude), but we’re friends. My snappish attitude is probably coming from the fact that I’m steps away from facing my worst fear: big, open pools of water.

“Honey.” My mom’s hand catches my arm before I get much further. She waits until I turn to face her, the sparkling hazel eyes mirror images of my own. “Thank you. It’s going to be okay—really, I promise. This is a good thing.”

I take a deep breath. “I hope so.”

“I’ll buy Gran an ice cream cone,” my mom says, her lips lilting upward in a smile. “That should give you a good head start. Who knows? Maybe we’ll wind up in Target for an hour and she’ll miss your lesson.”

I offer my mom a half smile and a wave. This is our version of a truce, and I’m glad we’ve reached it because it’s just her and me—it always has been, and it always will be.

Except for Claude, but he doesn’t really count. We’ve had men come and go over the last few years, but none of that matters much because we’ve always had each other. I’m an only child, and my mom is my best friend, and the only horrible thing in the world right now is getting into that stupid pool.

Until everything gets worse.