When my 13-year-old granddaughter, Lily, arrived for the summer, I was thrilled. She’d always been such a sweet girl, and I couldn’t wait to spend quality time with her. As she bounced around the house, I suggested she explore while I unpacked her suitcase.

I lugged the suitcase to the guest room, expecting the usual clothes and perhaps that old teddy bear she loved. But when I unzipped it, I gasped. On top were tiny crop tops that looked more like handkerchiefs, and shorts so short they barely covered anything.

I dug deeper and found makeup, perfume, and high platform shoes. This wasn’t my Lily. I sat down, trying to process what I’d seen, and decided to call my daughter, Emily.

“Hey, Mom! How’s Lily settling in?” Emily answered cheerfully.

“Emily, we need to talk,” I said, my voice shaky. “I found some things in Lily’s suitcase. Crop tops, short shorts, makeup—”

There was a pause. Then Emily sighed. “Oh, Mom. It’s not a big deal. All her friends dress like that.”

I felt my jaw drop. “Not a big deal? She’s thirteen!”

“Times have changed,” Emily replied, her tone patient. “Lily’s just expressing herself. The makeup is just for fun.”

I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “But don’t you think she’s growing up too fast?”

“Mom, relax. Lily’s a good kid. She knows her boundaries,” Emily insisted.

After we hung up, I sat in silence, grappling with my feelings. Over the next few days, I watched Lily closely. She donned those outfits and experimented with makeup, but she was still my Lily, laughing at her grandfather’s jokes and helping me in the garden.

One evening, I noticed George frowning as he watched Lily text on her phone in one of her new outfits.

“Nora,” he whispered, “shouldn’t we say something?”

I sighed. “Emily thinks it’s normal nowadays.”

George shook his head. “Doesn’t seem right.”

That night, I decided to talk to Lily. I found her on her bed, lost in a book.

“Lily, honey? Can we talk?”

“Sure, Grandma. What’s up?” she asked, smiling.

I sat down, searching for the right words. “I wanted to discuss your… new style.”

Lily’s face fell a bit. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that,” I said quickly. “I’m just surprised. It seems very grown-up for someone your age.”

Lily hugged her knees. “All my friends dress like this. I just wanted to fit in.”

I understood that need. “You don’t have to change to fit in, right?”

She nodded. “But it’s fun to try new things.”

I smiled. “When I was your age, I begged to wear go-go boots. My mom thought they were scandalous.”

Lily giggled. “Really? You?”

“Oh yes! I thought I was cool.”

We laughed and shared stories. As I stood to leave, Lily called out, “Grandma?”

“Yes, honey?”

“I’m still me, you know. Even if I look different.”

A lump formed in my throat. “I know, sweetie. I know.”

The next morning, I found Lily in the kitchen with George, wearing one of her outfits but with one of my old cardigans over it.

“Morning, Grandma! Want some pancakes?” she chirped.

“Of course, honey,” I said, feeling warmth spread through me.

As I watched her banter with George, I realized the clothes and makeup were just part of her journey. She was growing up, finding her way, and that was okay.

Later, Lily asked, “Can you show me how to make your famous apple pie today?”

“Absolutely,” I replied, grinning.

In the kitchen, we laughed as we prepared the pie. Lily was a natural at peeling apples, and I shared stories of my go-go boots.

“Did you wear them to school?” she asked, eyes wide.

“I did,” I said, grinning at the memory. “Thought I was the bee’s knees.”

“The what?” Lily giggled.

As we waited for the pie to bake, we swapped stories about friends and crushes. I pulled out old photos, and we laughed at George’s handlebar mustache from the 70s.

As the sun set, I watched Lily curled up on the couch, flipping through a photo album, my cardigan wrapped around her.

In that moment, I understood: the clothes and makeup were just her way of figuring out who she was. At her core, she was still the same curious, kind girl I’d always known.

As we sat down for dinner, I felt a sense of peace. Lily smiled at me, a smudge of flour on her cheek.

“Thanks for today, Grandma. It was really fun,” she said softly.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” I replied, squeezing her hand.

Later that night, as George and I got ready for bed, he asked, “Feeling better about things?”

“I think I am. Lily’s growing up, but she’s still our Lily,” I said, smiling.

As I drifted off to sleep, I felt grateful for the time spent with Lily and for the reminder that people don’t change that much. We’re all just trying to find our way, and sometimes all we need is a little understanding—and maybe a slice of apple pie.