Swim

seven. My eyelids would get heavy, my lips and tongue too heavy and immense to maneuver.
    After my final surgery I jolted awake, my arms and legs itching, not knowing how long I’d been unconscious—days? Weeks? The right side of my face felt as if it had been soaked in gasoline and set on fire, with the invisible hand back, squeezing, squeezing. My right eye was bandaged and my left eye was stuck shut, the lashes pasted to my cheek with tears and blood and Betadine. The inside of my mouth, where the surgeons did most of their stitching, was so tender that for days all I’d be able to manage would be puddings and ice cream and milk-soaked Life cereal. The television and the notebooks were my anchors, my constants. “Write it,” Nana would tell me, her legs crossed at her trim ankles, her blouses perfectly pressed, in spite of a day in the punishing August heat. “Write it all down.”
    “It hurts,” I managed, even though it was agony to move my jaw and tongue enough to even get those words out.
    “I know,” said Grandma, stroking my hair. I picked up a pen with hands that felt as thick and clumsy as Mickey Mouse’s mittened extremitie. I remembered Katie and her mother walking through the curtains, bathed in the sunset’s apricot glow, headed back to the world of normal people, where nobody stared, where girls got normal things: friends, boyfriends, a husband, a home. I opened the notebook, and wrote I will never be beautiful . Then I shut my eyes, turned my face toward the wall, and pretended I’d fallen asleep.
    That was the only night I ever saw my grandmother cry. She picked up the notebook, read what I’d written, closed it slowly, and turned toward the window. I saw her reflection in the glass, saw her shoulders hitching up and down, saw tears shining on her cheeks as she whispered, fiercely, over and over, not fair, not fair, not fair. I made myself stop looking, aware that what I was seeing was private, not meant for my eyes. The next morning, her cheeks were dry, her eyes were bright, her lipstick and mascara as perfect as ever. The page I’d written on had been missing from the notebook. It had been ripped out so neatly that it took me the rest of the summer to even notice that it was gone.

Reviews
    Praise for Then Came You
    “Absorbing . . . a beach read in the classic sense.” —Philadelphia Inquirer
    “One of the biggest names in popular fiction.” — USA Today
    “An emotional and affecting story of the unlikely village that forms around the creation of one small person.” —Miami Herald
    “ Then Came You is most centrally about women being each other’s fairy godmothers, each other’s ‘mysterious benefactors’—with money, with inspiration, with love, with learning, with luxury. If you’re a Weiner fan, you’ll lap it up. And if you don’t know her yet, here’s the place to start.” —Washington Post
    Praise for Fly Away Home
    “She writes the best page-turners around.” — Elle
    “Hilarious! An unflappably fun read. . . .The message is choosing to live an authentic life. As always, Weiner gives us a woman who stands taller, curvier, and happier when she does just that.” — USA Today
    “Witty and irreverent. . . .A compelling beach read.” — The Washington Post
    “Weiner is a writer of innate brilliance. Fly Away Home is a well-tuned hymn to the resilience of women in the wake of heartache, regret, and the failed promises of Botox.” — Philadelphia Inquirer
    Praise for Best Friends Forever
    “A smart, witty fairy tale for grown-ups.” —Maureen Corrigan, NPR
    “One of our favorite heroines of the summer. . . .Another superlative novel by Weiner, about a big girl with a bigger heart, that will have women and men of all sizes cheering.” — USA Today
    “Touching and true-to-life.” — The Washington Post
    “A hilarious caper, resplendent in charm and poignancy.” — Booklist (starred review)
    Praise for Certain Girls
    “Fresh, funny, and real. . .” — The Miami Herald
    “ Certain Girls is the kind of book that gets under your skin, reminding you what it felt like when you were thirteen and capturing exactly what it feels like now.” —Laura Zigman, The Washington Post
    “Hilarious. . . .Weiner offers her signature snappy observations and spot-on insights into human nature.” — Publishers Weekly
    “Positively delightful. . . .Enjoy the charisma of Cannie’s earthy and mature female voice.” — Entertainment Weekly
    Praise for