“It’s not quite ready yet, but hopefully soon.”
“Tell us about Cristina’s party,” Jen says, rubbing a hand over her stomach. “I need to live through you so I can forget my own miserable existence.”
“I had a good time. The party was nice and I wore this new off-the-shoulder dress.”
“I thought you were going to wear the dress I got you?”
My mom looks at me expectantly and I adjust my seat, crossing a leg over my knee as I close myself off a little. She’s always been addicted to buying Jen and me clothes. Problem is, she and I have had very different styles since I became a preteen and fell madly, deeply in love with a vintage sweater my aunt bought as a gift. It felt like I was donning a socially appropriate wearable quilt and there was no turning back for me after that.
“I did try on the dress you bought but you know I don’t do sleeveless.”
“You would feel amazing wearing whatever you wanted if you carried it off with confidence,” she says easily. “Living like I do, I feel empowered every day. We should make a vision board together!”
Here we go.
Ever since my mom became a fitness fanatic, she’s been continually trying to recruit Jen and me. I’ve tried to humor her. I part walked, part jogged a 5K with her last year and we’ve gone to the gym together plenty of times—I opt to use her guest pass but she would prefer that I sign up for a lifetime commitment in blood. I don’t begrudge her for loving to exercise, but I know she begrudges me for not feeling the same.
All my life, I was never overweight but I was also never underweight. Where other girls were toned and trim, I was softer and curvy. When my friends went to dance class, I played tennis and softball. I came out of the womb with my upper thighs touching and they’ve refused to be parted ever since.
I’m generally happy with my body, but my upper arms are my no-go zones. Short sleeved/off-the-shoulder shirts and dresses are my jam and I’ve done very well for myself as-is.
“Thank you for the suggestion, but the sleeveless life just isn’t for me. I’m all for making a vision board, though.”
“Me, too,” Jen chimes in. “First things I’m putting on my board are a Target shopping spree and an English country house. Or at the very least, I want to manifest a world where I can eat grilled cheeses and watch period dramas all day long.”
“Same,” I agree. “Those are actually sensational choices.”
“You girls are missing the point,” my mom says. “How is Kara going to find someone if she’s not her happiest and most confident self?”
My eyes shift to the floor as I try to remind myself that she means well. That she’s somehow blind to the fact that her pep talks feel more like sharp digs I’m never able to dodge.
“I’m perfectly happy, Mom. And I don’t think I’m destined for a nunnery just because I don’t love my arms.” My answer sounds rehearsed because it is. We’ve had this conversation a billion times.
“All I’m saying is that if you invest time and energy into healthy self-care, it will do wonders for your self-esteem.”
“But what makes you feel good about yourself isn’t necessarily the same for me,” I argue. “You may not believe it, but every time I read a new book while wearing pajamas, I physically get a runner’s high.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I know my truth.”
My mom sits back with a sigh. “I realize that this is probably a sensitive topic, but I still don’t understand why you and Mark broke up. He had a great job and he was nice.”
Of course, it’s easier to rank a man’s profession before his personality when you’re not the one marrying him.
“Yes, Mark was nice, but he and I weren’t right for each other.”
“And why was that, Kara? Because he didn’t ride in on horseback and ravish you like one of the characters in your novels?”
“Mark and I didn’t work out because we didn’t have the chemistry needed to sustain a lifelong relationship, on top of our other issues.” I then add, “Plus he always flossed in front of me and it made me want to vomit.”
“He was a dentist! There’s nothing wrong with him practicing sensible dental hygiene.”
“Okay, enough.” My voice is even but firm. “Mark and I are not getting back together and I’m very satisfied with both my physical and mental health, so you need to relax and let me live.” I then turn to Jen, not giving my mom a chance to respond. “Now, where was I?”
“The party,” she says, popping a saltine in her mouth from a travel-sized box she’s hiding in her lap.
“Yes, the party.” I’m about to elaborate when my phone vibrates in my sweater pocket. I pick it up and see a text message from an unknown number. “One second.” I type in my security code and the message pops open on the screen.
Just giving you a heads-up, I snore louder than Duke.
My stomach flips. I know I told Cristina to give Ryan my number but him texting me right now feels too strange to be real. I grip my phone with both hands and type, Not surprising. Guess I’ll have to break out that new sound machine after all.
Blinking dots pop up right away. At least he’s not one of those guys who take five hours to text back.
I also do chanting meditation at 5:00 a.m. with a substantial gong solo, performed live by me. Would you like to participate?
I smile to myself and look up to find Mom and Jen watching me. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s Cristina with wedding stuff.” I glance down and quickly type, I’ll take a rain check. Thanks, though.
My phone buzzes.
Let’s get down to business, Sullivan. Are you luring me to your apartment so you can seduce me or what?
I laugh then and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Mom
