Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
I sigh, gathering my hair into a no-nonsense bun. “I think you’re totally wrong. So, this is my plan and I’m sticking to it.”
I could have just been talking to the moon outside my window, because Nana isn’t listening. She’s too busy rummaging through my closet with the energy of a woman half her age and the mischief of a teenager sneaking out after curfew. When she spins around—albeit while holding onto my closet door because she might have energy but she’s still old. Sadly, she’s holding the tiniest red skirt I’d ever seen. I swear it was no bigger than a napkin. I don’t even know where it came from! As I stare at it, I think it might be the skirt my mother wore before she left me here with Nana and disappeared with husband number seven. In fairness, it could have been eight or nine. Since I haven’t heard from her since she left my fourteen-year-old self here, I ceased to care a while back.
“Absolutely not,” I practically whine. “That thing’s indecent.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she argues, waving it in the air. “You’ve got good legs, might as well use’em now.”
I fold my arms. “Nana, I’m not using anything. I’m wearing something simple and appropriate. If you won’t agree to the dress, I can wear my favorite skirt.” I go to the closet, and she steps aside—albeit grudgingly. It only takes me a minute to find what I want. “This one!” I proclaim happily. I pull a long black skirt off a hanger and hold it up triumphantly. “See? It’s pretty and best of all, conservative.”
“I think the word you are looking for, Georgie, is antique. That thing looks older than I am,” she mutters while giving me a look that could curdle milk. Before I can respond, she grabs the skirt, whips out her sewing scissors, and begins snipping away at my favorite skirt in the whole world. I’m forced to just stand there and watch as sad little strips of fabric fall to the floor like raindrops into a mud puddle—useless and depressing.
“There,” she said, holding up what is now a mini skirt—just slightly longer than the red one she had. “Now it’s perfect!”
I stare at her in horror. “You cut it! You actually cut my favorite skirt!”
“Don’t fuss, Georgie. It’s just fabric,” she reasons.
“It’s ruined!” I snap.
“It’s improved!” she chirps happily, reaching into my dresser. “And you’re wearing this with it.”
She holds up a red satin camisole.
I nearly choke on the air I’m trying to drag into my lungs. “No way. Nana, that’s… that’s lingerie.”
“It’s classy!”
“It’s indecent,” I counter. “Heck, my boobs will fall out!”
Nana smirks. “Now you have the spirit!”
“Nana!”
“Oh, hush. I swear you are going to die an old, dried-up prune if you don’t loosen up.” She lets out an annoyed breath and shakes her head at me. “Fine. If you won’t wear that, then you’ll wear this,” she says while reaching into my closet once more. I’m scared of what she’ll find. I’m expecting a sports bra or that see-through shirt I bought and wore so much the fabric is translucent. I should throw it away, but I love that top. I keep it as a reminder that if I ever find another one to buy thirty of them. Instead, however, she pulls out my peach silk shirt, the one I wear to church sometimes.
I frown. It’s actually a good choice. The peach shirt is nice. It has a little V-neck collar, soft flutter sleeves, and it drapes nicely without showing too much. It makes my skin look a little sun-kissed, and it matches my peach nail polish perfectly.
“Fine,” I grumble, letting her win. “I’ll wear them both if you will stop encouraging Griffin.”
“I don’t need to encourage him. You got that boy hooked and hanging on the line. You just don’t realize it,” she laughs. I ignore her and the small feeling of joy that hits me at the thought of Griffin caring for me. He doesn’t. He just wants sex and that’s not who I am.
“Whatever. I’ll wear the clothes, are you happy now?”
“Ecstatic. Now go shave your legs and your hoo-hah,” she orders.
“Nana!”
“I’m not saying you have to get naked with him. I’m just saying do it. It will help you to feel confident. That’s a good thing, right?”
“I just want to survive the evening with my dignity intact,” I grumble.
“You will and hopefully not with your virginity intact.”
“Nana, please,” I beg, feeling as if I’m close to crying.
“Get going, Georgie. You don’t want to be late. I’ll lay everything out.”
I go purely out of self-preservation, my grandmother might be old, but she is sharp as a tack and I’m tired. Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom with damp hair and a sinking feeling that I’ve lost complete control of my own life. My outfit is laid out just as promised: the newly cropped black skirt, the peach blouse, black high heels, and a smug grandmother waiting to pounce.