Page 28 of You Again

Noreen: None of this is fair. But you’re doing wonderfully with what we’ve been dealt. She’ll come around.

Me: Let me know if you or Rose need anything.

Noreen: I will. You hang in there. I’m rooting for you both.

Fourteen

“Gram, where are we going?” I am questioning her directions—big time.

“Last errand,” she says, though she’s taken me out into the woods. We’re talking tall trees and dirt roads where all civilization has disappeared. What in the world the woman would need to do out here is beyond me.

I’m about to question her again when there’s a small house in the middle of the trees.

“Right there,” Gram says, pointing to the little cabin.

“What is this place? What kind of errand would you have out here?”

Her wrinkled fingers clasp together, and she gazes out the front of my Corolla. “My pottery lesson.”

My heart must be connected to my foot because I slam on the brakes, in the middle of the road; we haven’t yet reached the driveway of the house yet. “Gram,” I growl.

“I thought you might like to see your grammy in action.” Her penciled brows bounce.

“Gram, you know that this woman knows me. You know I don’t know her. I—” I shake my head. The pounding from my chest is growing louder in my ears. “I can’t do this.”

“You said you met her at Fran’s. Formally. Now you do know her.” She pats my leg. “I think you can do this. And I’ll be right here with you.”

“Grammy, please.”

“I want to go to my lesson, dearest. I can’t make it out of here without you. It’s been six months.” She looks at me with a patient expression on her face.

“It means that much to you?” My pulse thunders in my neck and I tell myself to breathe.

“It does. But if you need to go⁠—”

“I can do it,” I say, not knowing if I actually can. I grind my teeth. She’s gone six months without her lessons because of me. I roll my neck, counting and breathing and telling myself that I’m braver than I am.

“Of course you can!” She’s giddy. “You’ll be fine. No new faces. Besides, Stella does not bite, I promise. Have you met Ivy, too?”

“Grammy, I don’t know who Ivy is.” She isn’t helping with her no new faces garbage.

“Stella’s baby, of course. It’s been forever since I’ve seen her. Yes, you’ll definitely want to meet her.”

Except that I don’t. I have nothing against babies or children—I quite like them, actually—but I’ll be just fine if I don’t meet this stranger’s baby. Ever.

But Grammy has apparently sacrificed something she loves for the last six months because of me. How can I not try?

Does that mean I came to Tesoro often? Fran is here. I suppose that’s how I met Stella and how Grammy got into pottery lessons.

“I could stay in the car. I don’t want to disrupt you.” My nerves settle with the idea.

But Grammy scoffs. “You’re being silly, Rosalie. You aren’t sitting in the car. And you need to meet Ivy again.”

Oof. I hate that word. Again. People are only allowed to use that word if it makes sense in my head. I have no memory of meeting anyone in this house. Therefore, “again” is not allowed.

Except I’m too chicken to say any of that to my grammy.

“Let’s go,” she says once I’ve slowly crept into their driveway. Her door is open before I’ve put the car into park. “Pick up your feet, now. We aren’t dawdling. Technically my lesson began two minutes ago.”