"Oh my God, Grandma! No. If there was, do you think I'd show you?"
"You'd deprive a dying woman of a juicy pic?"
"If it was meant for my eyes only, yes."
"You're not convincing me to stop looking."
I laugh as I steal my cell back. "You're sick. You know that?"
"Of course." She smiles. "How is school?"
"Good. Hard. But good."
"And work?"
"It's fine. I... um... I might extend my trip and—"
"Don't miss school for me."
"Grandma. You're... I'm staying here as long as I need to be here. You won't talk me out of it."
She looks up at me with a sad smile. "You really are a strong young woman."
I wipe my tears. "I try. But I don't feel that way. Not usually."
"If your boss gives you shit, tell me. I'll call him. Cough a lot. Guilt him."
I shake my head. "No. I can find a place with better tips, so I can drop to two days a week."
"You should, Kay-bear. And play up the flirting. You'll never go broke appealing to a wealthy man's ego."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"You won't. If things were different, you'd lecture me about integrity."
"They aren't different." I press my lips together. "You were a single mom. I get it."
She nods. "You're such a good kid. And so strong, going through everything on your own. But it doesn't have to be like that, Kay-bear. Don't make the sa
me mistakes I did. Let people in. Let them see when you hurt. Even if it means risking your heart."
"I'm trying."
"Your mom told me about your depression."
"What?" How does mom know?
"You're on SSRIs. Insurance, they send a summary of benefits. Billing codes. All that shit. She wanted me to know, so I could look for signs that you might be thinking about hurting yourself."
"Oh."
"Let her think it was our secret."
I nod. If things were different, I'd argue. But they're not. "Okay."
"Your mom probably never told you, but she had terrible postpartum depression. She couldn't get out of bed. And she felt so guilty, thinking there must be something wrong with her. She had a new baby. She was supposed to be happy."
"Oh."