If you’re wondering if I was the adorable kid with a memorable catchphrase on a hit show?Ding, ding, ding!You got it right. Alas, I’m fresh out of prizes and branded merchandise from the studio.
Like every good Hollywood scandal, my parents took all my money. Supposedly, they reinvested it in me and their production company.
At the time, I didn’t mind playing Honey Holiday, but what came after made me want to put as much distance between myself and fame as possible.
Had I been able to be completely honest with my parents and say the truth out loud, it would have been,It’seasier to disappear on my terms than try to be seen and used or ignored.For the record, my love cannot be bought with toys, jewelry, fancy clothes, and the latest tech.
Of course, they tried that.
When I was a junior in high school, Dad said my mopey face threatened to destroy their empire. Mom said I was starting to look too girl-next-door and we needed to do something about my “average look.”
Not cool.
They kept the income that I generated during the five seasons ofFriends of the Family. My parents saw me as a fast track to the world of the rich and famous. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that you can’t microwave life. There aren’t shortcuts that won’t cut you off from what really matters.
Plus, I don’t want handouts. When I made it clear that I no longer wanted to be a part of their dog and pony show, they sent me to boarding school in Boston. That was senior year.
Still sitting on the crate, I fight against the wounds of the past and mutter, “I’m a grown woman, educated, talented, but I’m living in this tiny space with about a dozen palmetto bugs—” On cue, one skitters by. I drop my head into my hands. Wisps of my blonde hair tickle my face. I blow them away when I spot a bag of chips, then I decide to whip up some frosting using already melted chocolate—thanks to the hot temperature in here. I take the bag of chips and the bowl of icing down the hall.
The day I moved in, Etta Jo and I made fast friends over our enthusiasm for baked goods and the Bible. She works at a local theme park too, but has a side hustle, selling hand-lettered prints of Psalms online. I consider her penmanship art—largely a lost one—while mine is the kind of scratch that only chickens can read.
Etta Jo opens the door. “Chips, frosting? It’s a party.” Her southern accent immediately puts me at ease. It’s the kind that could deliver bad news, scold you for sneaking an extra cookie, or tell you where to bury the body and it would still be soothing.
I scurry inside so none of her precious climate-controlled air escapes.
“Too hot to bake?” she asks.
“Yep. Figured we could have chips and dip. Think of it like chips and salsa, only salty and sweet.”
She chuckles. “Are we breaking the rules on Official Cupcake Day? International Cake Day? National Baked Anything Day?”
“It might be Fruitcake Day.” I’m big on celebrating official days of all sorts—from pizza, doughnut, and dog days to kazoo day.
“Something happened. I can tell by the lack of lift in your smile that it isn’t good.” Etta Jo wrinkles her nose in friendly commiseration.
The truth is, I only bake when I have something to celebrate or when I’m upset.Cake is comforting, people!
Etta Jo dips a sturdy corn chip into the frosting.
I do the same. “It’s kind of like sweet queso.”
Once we’re a few bites in, Etta Jo leans back and says, “Okay, what’s going on?” Her kind eyes and accent get me to cave.
“I was just saying to myself, ‘I’m a grown woman, educated, talented, but I’m living in this tiny space with about a dozen palmetto bugs...’”
“Maybe the problem is that you were talking to yourself,” Etta Jo says with a gentle but joking smile. “Also, I have this natural palmetto bug deterrent I’ve been trying.”
“Does it work?”
She shrugs.
I dip another chip in the melty frosting. “You know me. I give my all. I pour everything into my job and?—”
“And you got fired?”
My lips twist to the side because now that I think about it, my actions were rash. “No, I resigned.” That sounds less harsh thanI quit.
She passes me another chip and I tell her the whole story, leaving off the part about why I’m camera shy—well, viral video shy.
