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year when she and my uncle George were visiting his family, half their ranch in Colorado got swept away in a mudslide. My mom and I went out to help with the cleanup. I remember the smell of the damaged house, damp and moldy, and how sad it was because so much of Aunt Joan’s stuff was ruined. She’s a quilter, and her bedroom and sewing room had both collapsed, with everything in those rooms just sliding down themountain. On our second day there, we discovered a plastic box that had somehow stayed watertight. When she opened it and saw scraps of fabric she had been saving to make a new quilt, she said that quote about needing one thing to hold on to and cried. Watsons don’t cry in front of people, so the moment was seared into my brain.
    I was remembering it because that Sunday, Joy Banks called and offered me a job at Get Happy, which gave me something to hold on to. The call came while I was in the bathroom, just getting out of the shower.
    “Aren’t you happy?” Joy asked.
    “Absolutely. Thanks.” The relief felt sweet, all the way down to the soles of my wet, itch-free feet.
    “I know this is all very quick, but the first gigs are February second. I’ll send an email with your training packet and your script attached. Print everything out. I’m hoping to have our training session next Saturday. Can you make it?”
    I wiped the steam off the mirror. Minerva Watson was going to be an actual employee. Get Happy, Incorporated, was going to pay me to make parties fun. I smiled. Employment looked good on me.
    “Can you make it?” she asked again.
    “Yes, I’d be delighted,” I said with a new professional lilt in my voice.
    “Excellent. Welcome to the Get Happy family. Look for the details in your email, okay?”
    “Okay. Wait! Who else made it from the audition?”
    “Actually, I’m adding all four of you to the roster. I’m calling Finnegan O’Connor next.”
    I dried my hair and put together a genius outfit — employment is inspirational! — waiting to call Fin until I thought Joy would be done. Fin beat me to it.
    “We got it,” he whooped. “I wasn’t even awake when she called. But then she called the home phone, and my mom woke me up and I was like, ‘Joy who?’ ” He started laughing. “This is going to be hilarious! You can’t be mad at me anymore. See, I knew you’d make it. You’re just as good as Cassie Lott.”
    I laughed.
    “We’re going to make us some money, sweetcakes,” he said. “I’m coming over so we can rehearse. I want to show you clips of Get Happy parties that I found on YouTube last night.”
    I stopped in the bathroom and smiled at myself again in the mirror.
    This might actually be fun.
    Downstairs, my mom was sitting at the computer in the kitchen with a huge mug of coffee in one hand, scrolling through her Facebook posts.
    “I got a job,” I announced.
    She didn’t respond.
    “I got a job, Mom,” I repeated.
    She looked up. “What?”
    “I got a job at Get Happy, doing kids’ birthday parties. I go for training on Saturday.”
    “What in the world are you talking about?”
    “I went to an audition with Fin for a job and I made it. We both made it.”
    She turned to face me, finally listening. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
    “I didn’t know if I’d make it.”
    Her face squinched. “Get Happy?”
    “Yes. Get Happy. You can look them up. Get Happy, Incorporated. It’s a big company. They’re opening a new branch.”
    Her fingernails began clacking on the keyboard. She was silent as she searched through the site, clicking on the various pictures, lingering on one with a girlin a princess costume, singing in front of an obviously staged living room full of smiling children. “I don’t know about this, Minny. The idea of going into strange people’s houses …”
    “I knew you’d say something like that. It’s not strange people, Mom.”
    “What if it’s a pervert’s house?”
    I laughed. “It’s going to be a