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I don’t answer. I can see this isn’t going to end well, because the thing about favors is eventually you have to pay them back.
“DON’T WORRY,” she tells me, pointing at the food that is my lifeline until I find real work. “We’re going to clear all of this out. And then I’m going to give you a diet plan and a grocery list.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say cautiously. “I can manage. In fact, I’ve been meaning to—”
“No.” The tone she uses with me is rough and abrupt and suddenly, I’m thinking of all of the fun things we could be doing instead. “I’m not here to hold your hand, Sadie. I’m not going to give in to what you think you want. I’m going to give you what you need.”
What I need is to get her out of my house.
What I needed was a friend like her. Six months ago.
What I need are her fingers inside of me, her mouth on mine.
What I need is to stop caring what she thinks.
“You have to see how far you’ve sunk Sadie. If you don’t know where you are, how will you
ever find your way out?”
I fold my arms and push my feelings down. If she weren’t here, I’d eat them. Now, I can only think about eating her. Anything to shut her up. And these thoughts are worse, worse than the cookies, and the chips, and the ice cream combined. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want to teach you how to make people do what you want them to do. But first, you have to become someone worthy of influence.”
I want her to teach me this too. I just want her to teach me without so many words. Finally, I think all of my dreams are going to come true when Ann crosses the kitchen and takes my hands in hers. “You have to show people your best side and your best side only. Do you know what that means?”
I’m not sure I do, which must be why she bends a little at the knees so we’re eye to eye. She stares, she searches, she probes. I’ve had pap smears that were more enjoyable. “Now, you probably think I’m calling you fat. But I’m not. I’m just saying there’s room for improvement.”
First, my eyes register vacant surprise, and then my brow rises in astonishment. I don’t know what I expected her to say. But it wasn’t that.
She squeezes my hands. Harder this time than before. “You remember that woman at the coffee shop?”
It takes me a second, because my thoughts are running around my head a thousand miles a minute. “The cheater?”
“That’s right,” she nods. “The cheater.”
I sigh. I was afraid she might play it this way. She feels guilty. Or she wants me to. But that particular emotion isn’t in my limited repertoire. “Essentially,” she says, “You’re no better than her. Only instead of cheating someone else, it’s worse,” she says. “You’re cheating yourself.”
My head cocks. I back away from her. She isn’t who I thought she was. Or rather, maybe, I’m afraid she is.
She’s saying the opposite of everything she’s supposed to be saying, and it’s like we’re in some parallel universe where all of life is inverted. “That’s harsh.”
“Life is harsh, Sadie.”
“And you know what else? I bet when that woman came out empty-handed to find that she couldn’t easily get away after being stood up…I bet she felt at least a hint of shame about what she was doing. To have to explain your tires being slashed in a parking lot—well, it makes you think, doesn’t it?
I look away. I roll my eyes. If this is what having an affair with a woman is like, count me out. This is more bullshit than I can take in a day.
“Well, I bet it made her husband think. Why would a person do such a thing? But you see, Sadie, she knows why— and I bet you it will make her think twice the next time she tries to sleep with someone else’s man.”
I don't say anything. Although, when she asks me to look at her, I do. I want to tell her people aren’t property. You can’t own a person. But I know this isn’t true.
Ann takes my chin in her hand. Her eyes search my face for understanding. “The next time you decide to eat shit—or let yourself go—you’ll think about this moment, Sadie.”
She isn’t wrong.
“And with any luck— maybe— just maybe— you’ll make a different choice. The truth is,” she says, earnestly, “I can’t see myself with you…intimately…not with you like this. Not unless we make some changes.”
Tears fill my eyes. But not for the reason she thinks. She isn’t telling me she hasn’t made another move toward me because of Paul or because she’s worried about messing up our friendship. She’s saying it’s because of the way I look. I’m momentarily relieved. Fat is far easier to get rid of than a husband.
