God is in the Pancakes by Robin Epstein

feel better almost immediately.
    â€œExactly,” she laughs, plucking a cookie from the bag. “It was the worst. All the popular girls used to come into the store and they’d seem so care-free, so lucky. And I’d feel so, well, stuck.”
    â€œBut now you’re going to tell me that those were their glory days and they’re never as popular again as they were in high school, right?”
    â€œAh . . . no.” Mrs. Sands smiles. “You’re not stupid, Grace,” she says. “Those girls almost always find a way to get what they want. But ,” she says with emphasis, “I promise they do become less important in your life until eventually they don’t matter at all. Popularity, like being really rich, isn’t always as much fun as it seems. I’ve seen enough of both cases to know that’s true.”
    â€œYeah, well, I wouldn’t mind giving either one a shot for a day or two.” I envision myself standing through the sunroof of a limousine waving to passersby, a tiara affixed to my perfectly styled hair, which, though blowing in the breeze, miraculously avoids getting stuck to my lip gloss.
    Mrs. Sands nods. “I know what you mean, but be careful what you’re wishing for. I’ve also learned that the man upstairs can have a very wicked sense of humor.”
    No kidding.
    â€œSo you have daughters, right?” I ask, swirling the ice cubes in my drink.
    â€œTwo,” Mrs. Sands replies. “What about you, any kids?”
    â€œNone that I’m aware of.”
    â€œGood,” she laughs, “just checking. What about siblings?”
    â€œYeah, I have an older sister, Lolly.”
    â€œLolly? Short for Lorraine?”
    â€œYep, but nobody ever gets that,” I tell her. “Actually, she won’t admit it anymore, but she’s known as Lolly because of me. I couldn’t pronounce the name Lorraine when I was a kid, and just used to say ‘Lolly,’ which stuck.”
    â€œDo you two get along?”
    â€œEr, mostly,” I say. “She’s just really into being her boyfriend’s girlfriend right now.”
    â€œI see.” She nods.
    â€œShe’s always trying to impress him, laughs at everything he says. And trust me, he’s really not that funny.”
    â€œSisterhood isn’t easy,” Mrs. Sands replies. “It’s supposed to be the most natural thing in the world, and yet an overabundance of estrogen can really screw things up.”
    â€œYeah, at my house it’s just my sister, my mother, and me now, so we’ve got a lot of that going around.”
    â€œWell.” Mrs. Sands wipes the bottom of her perspiring glass on her pants before setting it down on the coffee table. “Please know that if you ever need a break, you are more than welcome here. And,” she continues, sticking her index finger in the air, “I promise I’ll keep out of your way. You can sit, watch TV, talk if you want, or not talk if you don’t want to, and I’ll respect that.”
    â€œThanks.” I believe she really would do just that. “That’s really nice of you.”
    â€œNonsense,” she replies. “It’s not nice of me at all. I say this for purely selfish reasons. See, you coming here and spending time with me will make all the rest of the crabby old ladies in this place very jealous!”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œWell, I don’t want to keep you now, I’m sure you have other tasks you’re supposed to accomplish before you can get out of here.”
    My head bobs from side to side. I’m not sure if this is her cue or mine, but I think I probably have spent enough time here today to satisfy everyone, so I stand. “I’m back in on Thursday, so I’m sure I’ll see you then.”
    â€œOh, and hang on a second, Grace.” Mrs. Sands stands up and walks over to her purse, which is sitting on the