Face burning, Jody ran downstairs and threw on jeans and a sweatshirt, the baggiest she had. He’d enjoyed seeing her exposed like that, at a disadvantage, beneath him, uncomfortable; she wasn’t going to let it happen again.
She was halfway up the stairs when she changed her mind.
If she showed up in these old, oversized clothes, he’d know he’d rattled her. She returned to her dresser and, with a sigh, put on skinny jeans and a slightly fitted T-shirt. She wasn’t going to wear a cocktail dress, but this would do.
She checked her face in the mirror. Her dark-blond hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, which was fine. But a hike over the weekend before had sunburned her nose, and now it was peeling. She spit on her finger and rubbed away the dead skin.
Then she stopped. What am I doing?
She didn’t care about what a man like that thought about her, about anything. Suppressing the urge to put on some lip gloss, she went upstairs without another glance in the mirror. Her grandmother stood at the counter chopping broccoli into florets, which told Jody everything she needed to know about tonight’s meal. Nana didn’t complicate her life with new recipes, new foods, new menus; she rotated between the same dozen dinners; each detail, down to the brand of butter, stayed the same. If she was chopping fresh florets, they were having chicken stir-fry. Frozen broccoli would’ve meant London broil. Both called for a mixed-green salad, although the stir-fry meant she’d throw in a few vacuum-packed chow-mien noodles and canned mandarin orange slices.
Jody was taking the cans out of the pantry when her grandmother said, “He changed his mind about staying for supper.” Her tone was flat, which hinted at disapproval.
“Oh.” The tension eased in Jody’s shoulders. “Is he…”
“He’s still moving in, thank goodness.”
“Mm,” Jody said.
“I take it you two had a history together when you were in high school,” Nana said.
Closing her eyes, Jody peeled off the plastic lid from the chow-mien noodles. “He wasn’t my boyfriend.” She ground out the last word.
Nana waved the possibility aside. “Of course not. You didn’t have any boyfriends. You were such a late bloomer.”
“That’s me.” Jody popped a crunchy noodle in her mouth. It tasted like a cross between a pencil and a potato chip. She ate another one and went to the fridge to take out the lettuce.
“Well, he is a very handsome man,” Nana said. “No wonder you had a thing for him.”
Jody spun around, clutching the bag of spring mix. “There wasn’t a thing.”
“It’s not his fault you found him attractive,” Nana said. “No reason to carry a grudge.”
“I don’t. At least, not about that.”
“You were a late bloomer,” Nana continued. “He could hardly be expected to see a pretty girl under all those sloppy men’s clothes you used to wear. You looked a little bit like your grandfather after he retired.”
With anyone else, Jody might’ve been insulted, but her grandmother didn’t intend to be hurtful; she was simply—agonizingly—honest. Jody walked over and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t be mean, Nana.” In high school, she’d been really into 1990s grunge. Her four closest friends chose decades of their own to emulate: ’50s, ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s. Hers was the most recent but hardly the most cool, not in trendy southern California. They’d called themselves the Fab Five, but nobody else had; their classmates called them the Freaky Five, Flab Five, Fat Five…
“I’m sorry, dearheart,” Nana said, shaking her head. “I’m just afraid of losing this one. He has such a nice credit rating.”
“I’ll get along. Don’t worry.”
“You seem awfully angry at him.”
Jody fitted the can opener over the mandarin orange slices. “Do you remember that friend of mine who ended up in the hospital?”
“The crazy one?”
“Melissa had some issues.”
“Crazy issues,” Nana said.
Jody drained the oranges, sighing. She hoped Melissa never had to chat to her old-fashioned grandmother about mental illness. “She was dating Simon when she tried to kill herself.”
“Did he try to help her finish the job?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you can hardly hold him responsible,” Nana said. “Especially after all these years.”
Jody sprinkled the oranges over the lettuce. “He never visited Melissa in the hospital. We’d all known each other since kindergarten, lived on the same block, went to the same schools. And then they started dating. But after she dropped out of school, he never talked to her again. Not even an email.”
“He was young.”
“He was the same age as I was,” Jody said, “and I knew I never would’ve done that.”
Nana grunted and then measured out one tablespoon of olive oil and poured it into the nonstick frying pan. “We’ll use the sesame ginger dressing tonight on the salad, don’t you think?”
Glad her grandmother had dropped the topic, Jody shook the bottle on the counter. “Got it.”
The aroma of sizzling garlic filled the kitchen. Conversation halted as they finished preparing the rest of the meal. Ten minutes later, when they were done and sitting at the table, filled plates in front of them, Nana poured Jody a glass of iced chamomile tea.
“Do you think he ever figured out you were in love with him?” Nana asked.
Jody brought the tea to her lips and closed her eyes. I sure as hell hope not, she thought.