Measuring Up

You know, the typical night around the Conway household.

“Hey, kiddo. I didn’t know you were here.” Dad gives Em his infectious smile and she returns it. He’s actually another person she can add to her list of people she trusts, though I’m not sure she’d admit it to me.

Mom, on the other hand, paints that fake smile on her face. It’s not like she reserves it for Em specifically. I get it all the time too. A lot of people do because she’d never cause a scene about anything. Always smiling.

“Emily. I didn’t know you were joining us.”

“Yep.” Before anything can go wrong, I say. “Let’s go get your plate, Em.” A few minutes later we’re back in the dining room with her utensils. Sitting on the

table is a lasagna, salad and bread sticks. Not homemade mind you. Dad probably picked it up on his way home, but cooked in the kitchen or a restaurant, I’m positive this isn’t on my meal plan. At least not very much of it.

I love Italian. It’s my favorite.

Dad takes a helping, and passes it to me. It looks so good. Smells so good, the sweet basil tickling my nose, and I want to indulge, but I don’t. I cut myself a tiny square of the cheesy goodness. Maybe an inch by an inch. I haven’t been keeping track of my calories like I should, partially because I spent a whole week sabotaging myself.

But Tegan also talked about portion control. Not denying myself, but limiting myself. Something about this not being a diet, but a lifestyle change. This tiny

square is probably equal to or less than Mom will eat, so why am I feeling guilty?

“You okay over there?” Em snaps me out of my lasagna analysis.

I smile at her. “Shut up.” And then I hand her the dish. She takes a piece about triple mine. Em was blessed with nice metabolism. I skip out on the bread sticks and scoop a little more salad than I usually would on my plate. Vegetables have never really been my favorite, but during a lifestyle change, vegetables are my friend.

My eyes find Mom. She looks at my plate, then at me and smiles. It’s a real smile and I can’t help but return it. Somehow my plate has overpowered my fake run

this morning.

“Wow. I brought home lasagna special and that’s all you’re going to have? I’m crushed.” Dad winks at me.

“Daniel, don’t. There’s nothing wrong with her plate. You’re pushing bad habits onto her.”

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it. I was making conversation. Teasing our daughter.”

Em squeezes my knee under the table, knowing how much I hate it when they argue about me. “Well, I know I’m starved. I can’t wait to eat the lasagna, Dr. C.”

“Don’t you eat all my food. I’m going back for seconds.” Dad’s teasing breaks the mood. I use the light dressing on my salad, thankful Mom buys it anyway so I

didn’t have to ask for it. Soon we’re all concentrating on our food and not playing, ‘dissect A

“So, Emily. Did A

My fork clanks against my plate. I scramble to pick it up. Both Dad and Em’s eyes are on Mom. And I know I’m screwed because I know what she’s going to say

and I know how Em’s going to feel.

“No, she didn’t Ms. Conway.”

Mom claps her hands together. “Oh. It’s so exciting. We’re going out for a girl’s spa day. She wants to get her hair and nails done. And shopping of course. There are clothes out there to help enhance almost any figure and—”

“Why does her figure need enhanced?” Em’s voice is tense.

Dad adds, “She wants to do all this? If she does, I’m all for it. I just want to be sure it’s something she really wants.”

Yep. I’m definitely screwed.

“Why wouldn’t she, Daniel?” Mom asks.

“I’m still trying to figure out why she has to find clothes to enhance anything when she’s perfect the way she is,” Em says.

“All girls want to maximize their assets and hide their imperfections.”

Em blanches at Mom. “I don’t!”

“Wait a minute. What assets are we drawing attention to here?” Dad breaks in. I feel dizzy as their words all run laps around me. All three of them, trying to talk for me. All of them thinking they know what’s best for me. All of them making me feel smaller and smaller. Unfortunately, not in the good way.

“Paulette, you’re always doing this!”

“I’m only trying to help!”

“You’re perfect the way you are, Bell,” Em says from beside me.

Suddenly the food isn’t sitting so well in my stomach. That same anger from my boxing day is begging to burst free, until I can’t hold it back any longer. I shove myself up from the table. “Stop it! All of you, just stop it!” The room is dead silent as six eyes are on me. “I can’t do this. I don’t need you all arguing about me like everyone knows what’s best for me. Just…just back off. Right now I just need all of you to back off.”

Part of me feels bad for leaving Em, but I can’t stay. On my way out the door, I grab my keys and purse and I’m gone. With no clue where to go, I drive. Drive

and drive until I’m sitting at a stop sign by the middle school. There’s a track right behind it.

I jerk into the parking lot, park and head straight for the track. I’m not wearing the right shoes. I have on capris, but I don’t care. I don’t need Mom. I don’t need Tegan. I get out and run. My legs ache. My lungs burn, but I make myself jog the whole lap. It’s still freeing. Like each of my steps is healing me from my day. Like I’m healing me by doing something. When I make the whole loop I fall into the grass and die. Okay, not really, but I feel like it. But it feels good too. I just did something incredible.

CHAPTER SEVEN

A MOTHER’S HUG

I return Tegan’s smile when I walk into the gym. “What are we doing first?” Instead of waiting for him to reply, I keep walking through the gym. Luckily my

voice doesn’t sound as a

He steps up beside me. “Cardio, like always.”

This time it’s me who leads the way to the machines. I can do this. I can do this. I’m not even sure how many times I say the words, trying to make them true. It’s not as easy as I thought it would be to pretend I don’t care, that I expected more of him and he let me down.

It’s me who pushes the buttons to get my tread going today. I fall into a slow jog, without waiting to see what Tegan will do. Again, he climbs on his own

machine beside me. We jog in silence for ten minutes and forty-five seconds. Stupid timer.

“I know you’re mad. I pla

Something came up? Something came up?! Boys suck. So I ignore him for two minutes and ten seconds. “Something came up? I know you stole my phone

number. You used my address, you could have used my number too.”

“I know.”

He knows? Now I’m even more a

how to make.” Part of me knows I shouldn’t be making this big a deal of it. He owes me nothing, but I can’t help it. Somehow he made me expect something and

didn’t follow through.

“It was important.” His voice is soft, but firm.

“Oh? And what was so important. I waited for you Gym Boy.”

“Shit.” He steps off the treadmill. “I wanted to be there. We have work to make up for and…It was important,” he says again, but still not telling me where he

was. Somehow, I know he won’t.

We have work to make up for. Did I really expect the jog to have been about anything else? It still stings. “You know what? I don’t care. Let’s just finish our

workout.”

I step off the machine. Tegan walks away and I follow. We go through our routine. Abdominals, which let me tell you, is super embarrassing. Today’s an arm day

so he walks me through a bunch of arm exercises. He only talks to tell me how many repetitions to do or to urge me on. I only talk when I have to, which thankfully isn’t very often.