Free Real Women Don't Wear Size 2 by Kelley St. John

traditional daily attire, which was anything but traditional. A hot pink silk dress, its top clinging to her enormous chest like a mud wrap, was paired with a skirt that flowed like liquid around her legs and brushed the tops of floral tapestry heels. She looked the picture of summer, which was to be expected for Gertrude Robinson, in spite of the calendar proclaiming January as the month of choice. Hot-natured, that’s what she called it, and Clarise had obviously inherited the trait; she didn’t have a jacket to her name. And she suspected she had also inherited more than a smidgen of Granny’s feistiness, though she’d never really given it the chance to surface. Time would tell.
    She grinned. Looking at her grandmother was like looking in a mirror . . . with an extra forty-two years tacked on, but time had been kind to Granny Gert. True, she’d gone through a slump five years ago, after Grandpa Henry passed. He’d been her true love and enjoyed life nearly as much as she, but he wanted his “spitfire” to move on. He’d told her so, before he died, and now she had, accepting Clarise’s offer of a place to stay, close enough for her granddaughter to help her if she ever needed it, but a place of her own to allow the independence she craved. From Clarise’s point of view, it was a good situation for everyone. If only her father approved of her efforts to nurture her grandmother’s free spirit, then everything would be super. Unfortunately, Granny Gert’s disposition had skipped a generation, leaving him out in the cold. Thank goodness Clarise’s mother had enough liveliness and positive attitude for a small army. The two of them were living proof that opposites attract.
    “Have mercy, child. You look like you just rolled out of bed.” Gertrude Robinson proclaimed, her pink-glossed lips stretching into her porcelain cheeks as she smiled. “Looks like you better tell me about your day. If you have enough energy left, that is.”
    “Energy?”
    With her heels barely clicking on Clarise’s hardwood floor, Granny Gert glided down the hall, crossed the tiny living room and stood in front of Clarise. Then she placed her index finger beneath her granddaughter’s chin and tilted her face from one side to the other. “It’s all right if you don’t want to talk about it, sweetie. But I’m curious—it’s that good-looking boss of yours, right? The one you spend your Friday nights with?”
    Clarise blinked. What was she talking about? “We have coffee, Granny, on Friday afternoons, not evenings.” She situated her shopping bags. “And what about Ethan?”
    Another shiny, knowing grin flashed, and Clarise saw a hint of her blurred reflection via her grandmother’s lips.
    “Ethan. Yes, that’s the one. I knew it, you know. I suspected last year at that company picnic, when you let me tag along. I could see it happening between you two, but I figured it wouldn’t take this long. Usually a spark starts a fire a bit quicker, or it used to, back in the day when your grandpa Henry came courting me. God rest his soul.”
    Any way Clarise looked at it, Gertrude Robinson was still in “the day.” “What did you suspect?” she asked.
    “Grandmothers are keen to these things, you know,” Granny said, chuckling softly. “It’s in our nature.” She draped an arm around Clarise and guided her to the couch. “I’ve been waiting for this to happen, so I hope you’ll indulge me in a bit of how it got started. Not the, er, overly interesting details, just the basics.”
    “The basics?”
    “Or not,” she said, shrugging. “It’s up to you, dear. I’m pleased either way. So, is he going too?”
    Clarise was suddenly tempted to believe her father’s claim that Granny Gert lived in another world. He’d said as much when he deemed her ready for the retirement village. Clarise had nothing against the place, but her grandmother had way too much spunk to be trapped in a complex where the main activities were