Here the Whole Time - Vitor Martins Page 0,40

change the subject.

“In a sec,” she answers, and I know she isn’t going to. Those of us who use “in a sec” as code for “never in a million years” understand each other.

To be honest, I feel like asking why she’d rather stay here and melt in this heat, when she’s thin and can go in and out of the pool whenever she wants, and no one would make fun of her for it. If I were skinny, I’d just walk around everywhere being thin. But, of course, I don’t ask the question, because I’ve already reached my daily limit of embarrassing conversations with total strangers.

“All right, give me one of those comics,” she says.

I hand her the latest issue of Wonder Woman that I just bought.

An hour goes by.

An hour of silence between Melissa and me. An hour of Becky alternating between diving and floating. An hour of stolen glances at the phenomenon that is Caio-in-his-Speedo, taking place right before my eyes.

The sun is getting stronger, and several worried moms start dragging their children away. The pool isn’t as loud anymore, and on a couple of occasions I even enjoy the heat on my legs and the back of my head.

“Hey, nerds!” Becky yells, splashing water at us.

We’re close enough to the water that we can talk but far away enough not to be in her splash radius.

“When are you coming in?” Caio asks. When I look at him, he has a flamingo floatie on his head. Yeah, really. It’s a kid’s float toy, the kind you put around the waist. Of course, it doesn’t fit around his waist, but it fits his head perfectly.

“Whose flamingo is that?” I ask, trying to change the subject (and also because I want to know whose flamingo it is).

“Some kid left it behind. I’m taking care of it temporarily. His name is Harry,” Caio says.

“Potter?” I ask.

“Styles,” he answers, breaking into a One Direction dance that makes me laugh.

That’s when I notice Becky has become serious. She gets out of the pool and walks up to our table. She gives Melissa a quick kiss on the lips, and I look around to see if my gossipy neighbors saw it (unfortunately not).

“Hello, deary,” she says, and I crack a smile because I’ve never heard anyone call someone deary before.

The two of them start talking and I can’t hear all of it because Melissa’s voice is really soft. I can only gather what Becky is saying because apparently she wasn’t born with the ability to whisper. The conversation goes more or less like this:

Becky:

“It’s just us here; there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Melissa:

“Ssshh shhs shhsshh shhs sh.”

Becky:

“I just want to enjoy the day with you.”

Melissa:

“Shh shsh shhhhs sh.”

Becky:

“You are the most beautiful girl in the world!”

Melissa:

“Shhhhhh.”

Becky:

“I mean it, woman.”

Melissa:

“Fine.”

And then Melissa gets up, having been convinced to go into the water. She takes off her flip-flops but then hesitates before taking off her little beach dress. (What are those things called, anyway?) All of a sudden, she takes it off in one sweeping motion and starts walking toward the pool.

And then I see why she didn’t want to take off her clothes.

Melissa is wearing a one-piece, but it can’t cover her entire body. Her shoulders are covered in acne and scars from acne that was once there. Her ribs stick out against her swimsuit, as if the suit were covering a birdcage. And in the middle of her breasts I can see a long vertical scar.

Melissa doesn’t dive into the pool like Becky and Caio did. She enters the pool slowly, using the little stairs that almost nobody ever uses, and grimaces when her body comes in contact with the cold water. Becky goes in right after her and starts swimming around Melissa until they’re face-to-face. Their eyes meet, and Becky whispers an “I love you” that I can’t hear from where I’m sitting, but I understand, anyway, because I’ve always been great at reading lips. And then I’m just grinning like a fool because this is one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen in the last few days.

In this moment, I’ve come to understand three things:

Even though she’s thin, Melissa also feels insecure. Being thin is not a prize you win in the lottery of life that guarantees eternal happiness.

I’ve watched enough rom-coms and have attended enough therapy sessions to know that my happiness cannot depend on another person. And yet, I still wish I had someone to call me deary and