The comments pile up, one after another, the Soloists jumping to my aid. I’m touched, and I tear up. I can barely read the comments, they’re coming so fast.
You got this.
It’s bad now, but it’ll get better.
Been there. Done that. Have the T-shirt. Hang in there.
Don’t give up. We believe in you.
This community, this amazing community, makes me feel not alone. And I love it. I love them. All of them.
And don’t forget what you told us: take care of yourself. Self-care!
They’re right. I have to snap out of it. As much as I want to drown my sorrows in bacon grease, I won’t. The specter of Dad is real. He never really took care of himself, always carried extra weight, and scoffed at salads, calling them “rabbit food.” He also died of a heart attack at age fifty-nine. Despite what Nami might think, I don’t, actually, want to follow him down that road.
Maybe I’ll… make a salad. For once. Larry sniffs around the kitchen as I cut up greens. I try to feed him a cucumber, but he sniffs at it and looks at me like I’ve gone crazy. Maybe I have.
“If nobody is ever going to take care of me, I’ll have to start,” I tell Larry, who whines. Then he heads to the door but hits the foyer table, again. He needs to go out. I drag myself away from my healthy lunch, stuff my feet into my worn Uggs, grab my parka, in dire need of a wash, and lumber out to the frigid, subzero cold snap, the cold wind blasting me so hard I can’t breathe for a second or two. That’s brisk, baby. Larry whines, heads to his favorite patch of snow-covered grass, and does his business quickly, eager to get back inside to the warmth of our apartment. Overnight, we got a dusting of snow, just enough to wet the toes of my boots.
I trudge inside, Larry on my heels. As I stomp the snow off my boots, I realize it’s nearly noon, and I feel how this Saturday is stretching empty and terrible in front of me. Tonightis Jack’s big award ceremony. I wish I were going with him. That’s the truth of it. I’m wallowing in pity, when I get a text from Mom.
I’m coming over. Be there in five minutes.
What? Mom, I’m
But before I can finish the text, I hear my buzzer sound. I rush to my dining room window and look down, seeing Mom, bundled in her ankle-length, puffy white down coat that makes her look like the Michelin Man. She hits the buzzer again, impatient, and looks up at me, her hood falling back. She points to the door.
Reluctantly, I buzz her up. She clomps upstairs to my apartment and lets herself in. She doesn’t even have her coat off before she launches into a tirade.
“What happened with your sister?” she demands, full guns cocked and ready to blaze. So, Nami went and tattled. Figures. She’s been doing that since we were toddling around in Pull-Ups.
“Uh, well… the bridesmaid dress didn’t fit.” I brace myself to hear the lecture about how I should be doing FlyFit with her more often, about how we should’ve been double-dieting, like she’d wanted to do all along.
But she waves off that fault with a dismissive flip of her hand. She doesn’t seem to care that I gained weight. Interesting.
“She told me you said something mean about Mitch?” Mom plops down on my couch as she takes off her scarf and hat. Well, just make yourself comfortable. Larry comes over to giveher a sniff hello about six inches off from her knee. She gives her grand-dog a perfunctory pat on the head.
I sigh. “Yeah.”
“What was it?” She sounds ready to ground me, except she can’t anymore, I remind myself. I’m a fully functioning, independent adult.
“I told her she could do so much better than a guy with zero ambition who keeps bragging about a gaming channel that he’ll never create because you have to actually do work for it and he’s the laziest person I’ve ever met.”
Mom falls silent and pensive, as she laces her fingers together in her lap. I brace myself for the coming lecture about how I need to be a better sister, and think about my sister’s feelings, and realize the importance of a wedding day, and make it the special once-in-a-lifetime occasion she deserves, andblah, blah, blah.Nami’s the favorite anyway and…
Instead, Mom lets out a long breath of air. “Oh, thank God,” she reveals in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. “I thought I was the only one.”
Hold everything.
“Wait… what?” I don’t understand what’s happening. “I thought you loved Mitch.”
“Oh, God no. Whenever I visit, he just drinks beer and plays those darn games where he runs around shooting aliens.” She rolls her eyes in disdain. “He’s not only swimming in the shallow end of the gene pool, it’s actually an inflatable toddler pool from Walmart.”
“Mom!”
“You think you’re the only one who’s sassy in the family?Think again.” I have a sudden new and profound respect for my mom. “I’ve been wondering if dullness can be passed to my grandchildren. He makes couch potatoes look dynamic.”
“I can’t believe this,” I say, sinking down into the couch next to her. “You realize we could’ve been making fun of Mitch behind his back for years? So much wasted time. How come you didn’t say anything before now?”
