ANNIE

“Nope, not ugly enough.” I look in the mirror at the fabric draped over my body. I officially look like some odd combination of a first grade art project and an ancient Egyptian goddess. The suit is probably intended to be cool and edgy, maybe a bit on the upscale fashion side, but it’s not nearly horrible enough for my intentions.

“Sweetie, I really love that metal collar on you.” Gran pokes her head underneath the stall. She has no shame. I suppose when a person reaches a certain age, the amount of embarrassment they have left in stock begins to vanish. In Gran’s case, however, it’s evaporated. All of it. “The padding at the back gives you nice definition in your rear end.”

“I’m not looking for definition. I’m looking for a parka.”

“I thought you wanted a bathing suit.”

“I do. A bathing suit parka,” I correct. “Something so ugly you can’t help but cringe when you see it.”

“Pop that door open for me. I’d crawl underneath the stall, but my knees don’t work like they used to, and I don’t feel like getting stuck again.”

“Again?”

“Gertrude trapped her head in one of them new lingerie sets, and I tried to rescue her last week after church. Turns out, security had to rescue us both and call the ambulance while they were at it because Gertrude’s hip was on the fritz. But we were the talk of the town at bridge club.”

“I’ll bet,” I mumble under my breath, sliding the lock open and letting Gran sneak through the door. “Do me a favor and don’t go crawling underneath dressing room doors. That sort of thing can get you kicked out of the mall, and you know mother hates picking you up from security.”

“I raised your mother good,” Gran says. “Ellie’s way more of a tightwad than me. Now, spin around, dear. Let me size you up.”

I give her a twirl, Gran’s eyes scanning me over from top to bottom.

It’s just me and Gran shopping today. Mostly because my mother swore a long time ago that she’d never accompany either of us to Target again. All because of a single incident with marshmallows and a bottle of bubbles. Let’s just say the fire department was called.

That’s why she’s getting her nails done next door while Gran and I are on the hunt for a swimsuit that’ll turn Cohen James off me for life. I may not be interested in him, and he might be bound and determined not to get involved with me, but I might as well not take any chances.

“Let me get this straight.” Gran raises a blood-red fingernail to her lips. “You said this suit is for Cohen James?”

“Sort of. It’s like a... let’s call it a Cohen James repellent suit.”

“I thought he was a hottie.”

“Gran, you’ve got him by fifty years. At least.”

“My body might be wrinkled, but my eyes can see just fine, honey.”

“I’m trying to prove a point to him.”

“Sorry, but I’m missing the point.”

“He thinks he can get any girl he wants,” I explain, thumbing through the rack of clothes we hauled into the room with us. “But I’m out to prove that he can’t.”

“Sit down, baby,” Gran says. “Let me explain something to you.”

I sit, mostly because my grandmother doesn’t give me a choice—she yanks me into the seat and stands over me. All she needs is a ruler to smack against my knuckles to complete the picture.

“You want to show a man what he’s missing?” She paces back and forth in front of me. “You’re going about it all wrong. The way you’re doing it, you’re hiding everything he’s missing.”

“But—”

“Nope,” Gran interrupts. “I take that back. You’re burying it halfway to China. Honey, you shouldn’t care so much. If you’re not interested, just tell him so.”

“Oh, I think I made that clear,” I tell Gran. “But this is a safeguard. There’s no sense tempting the man if it’s not going to go anywhere. I know what I want, and it’s not him. He’s not my type, so I might as well ward off the trouble. I can’t afford a distraction, not now.”

“You’re a better woman than I am,” Gran says. “Have it your way. But in the meantime, check this out—what do you think?”

Gran slithers out of a dress she’d been trying on and stands before me in... what the heck is that? I blink several times, my eyes burning from all that I shouldn’t have seen. “Why Gran?”

“It’s one of them European suits!” Gran turns around, a thong so far up her cheeks it’s mostly vanished. “Don’t I look edgy?”

“First of all, you have to buy that now because... you can’t possibly put them back. I can’t even see it anymore.” I shield my eyes with a hand. “Second of all, no. Just... no.”

“So these won’t work for my synchronized swimming team uniform?”

I shake my head. “Not unless you feel like asking mom to bail you out of jail for indecent exposure.”

“That’s just fine, I suppose,” Gran says. “Dolores wants something with a skirt, anyway. Says she has to cover her baby fat.”

“I think Dolores has a great point.”

“Well, I think it’s silly. A woman can’t have baby fat after the age of sixty,” Gran says. “That’s just regular fat.”

“Gran!”

“What? It’s true. I have fat and skinny days just like anyone else.” Gran swivels toward the door, twists the knob open, and halts abruptly before stepping through. “Oh, that reminds me! I signed you up for our synchronized swimming class.”

I’m looking in the mirror already, wondering if I could somehow sew a burlap sack together to make an ugly wetsuit. Gran’s comment registers with a thud in the back of my skull. “You did what?”

“Signed you up for synchronized swim team.”

I whirl around to face her, my mouth hanging open. “Why would you ever do that? It’s a horrible idea. First, I can’t swim. Second, I’m not retired. Third, I’m not graceful.”

“Dolores isn’t retired. Well, she says she’s not, but I think she’s a liar. That woman doesn’t work.” Gran shrugs. “Why not join us? We’re all old farts and we need one more woman. We’re looking for a man, too, but those are harder to come by. Any recommendations?”

A fleeting thought crosses my brain—Cohen James—and I can hardly hold back a smile. The image of him and all his tattoos and tough-as-nails attitude floating around with a bunch of old ladies makes me nearly giddy with glee.

Unfortunately, my sail deflates the second I realize that would mean we’d just have to spend more time together if he agreed to help. Nix on that idea.

“Nope,” I say. “Can’t think of anyone.”

“Well keep your ears peeled because we could really use that masculine touch,” Gran says, disappearing from the stall. Now you hold tight dear, and I’ll make you the ugliest spinster you’ve ever seen.”