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“Hi, Mom,” I answer.
“Hi, honey.” Her tone is warm. “Is this a bad time?”
“Never. I’m about to go to a charity skating event with the team, but it doesn’t start for a bit.”
“Skating?”
I smile at the ice, where event staff are setting up. “Yep. Skating. Rory taught me.”
And tomorrow afternoon, Christmas Eve, we’re flying out to spend Christmas with my family. I’m in so fucking deep.
She makes a pleased noise. “The photos of you two from when we had dinner together are so sweet.”
The family dinner. My stomach wobbles as I remember what Rory and Pippa both said. I know I need to bring it up, and that I can’t avoid it forever.
Keep being a safe place for her to land, Pippa said.
“I wish I’d gotten a photo with you,” I admit.
She makes that joking, dismissive noise she always does. “Next time, after I’ve gotten rid of the vacation weight.”
I shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s a tiny cut to my heart every time she says those things. The words lodge in my throat, but I force them out.
“I don’t like when you make comments about dieting and needing to lose weight.”
“Honey, that’s because you’re thin.”
“No—” I catch myself, trying to keep my cool. “You’re beautiful, and it’s hard to hear you insult yourself.”
“So I want to go running more, so what?” She laughs but it’s brittle. “I feel better when I’m thin.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” I sigh. “I want you to feel amazing regardless of what size you are. You’re so many things, Mom. You’re funny and smart and an incredible mom, and none of those things have anything to do with your weight. It’s fine if you want to be skinny, but you’re still beautiful and amazing if you aren’t.”
She’s quiet, and I reach past all the reluctance, down to the most vulnerable parts of myself.
“I love you,” I tell her. “And I want you to love yourself as much as we all love you. I want you to take a dance class and feel the same joy you used to feel—”
“Dance class?” Her tone is weird and tight, and my stomach knots.
“There’s a dance studio in Evergreen.” The town next to Silver Falls. “They do adult classes on Thursday evenings.”
She scoffs, crushing me. “So I can wear a leotard and have everyone stare at me?”
My face falls. “People just wear normal workout clothes. They do barre exercises to pop music.” My voice gets quieter because I know this isn’t working.
“You’re always going on about how we’re the boss of our own bodies.” Her tone is sharp. “So let me say what I want about myself.”
My mouth clamps closed, and silence stretches between us.
“I should get going,” she says.
“Okay.” Cold misery settles in my stomach. “Bye. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Bye.”
The call ends and I sit there, staring at nothing. I failed her. Again.
“Hey.”
