Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,24

and cutoff shorts. “I’m glad you’re here; I’ve got a book for you.”

Before I can say anything, she backs out of the door, letting it slam behind her. I let my shoulders drop. I know what book she has. Well, I don’t know the book exactly, but I know the type.

For most of my life—at least after puberty—my mom has been bringing me info on the “hot new diet” that’s out there right now. From high carb, to low carb, to eating only protein, to eating only plants, to counting macros (whatever that is . . . I never could understand that one).

Nothing has ever worked for me. It must be hard for my mom, having me as a daughter. She has Tessa, though, who’s naturally thin. She doesn’t even have to try—her body just stays that way. I, on the other hand, have tried nearly every diet under the sun; and while I’d lose weight temporarily and my mom would praise my success, I could never stick with anything long term. It’s like my body won’t even let me do it. Like it fights me at every step.

The retreat I went to was all about learning to get back to our bodies. Learning to trust them. The problem for me is that my brain is so full of info, so full of tips and tricks, it’s hard not to go back to them. I woke up today thinking I should start using an app that counts calories. I lasted through breakfast.

My dad says nothing, and the room is quiet as we continue to work on the cabinet while my mom is off looking for whatever diet book she’s got for me. I wonder if he sees it—the disappointment I feel every time she brings up a new diet. Maybe it’s not on his radar. Maybe he feels the same way as my mom. That I could stand to lose a few pounds.

When we were younger, people would comment on Tessa’s looks and say things like how pretty she was and that she should be in pageants. I was more unfortunate looking as a child, needing to grow into my big blue eyes and my even bigger, toothier smile. My mom would often tell people how funny I was. “Tell them a joke, Quinn,” she’d say. As if it was important for people to see me for something other than my awkward toothy grin.

I eventually grew into my face, and people would comment about what a lovely family we were and that we should be models for stock photos. My mother gushed at the compliments. I think it was her dream to be that picture-perfect family. But then puberty happened, and so did the extra pounds.

At first she’d make comments, telling me that I didn’t need to have seconds. Or giving me a look when I went to the pantry for a snack. Then it became a “let’s do this diet together” thing, with her saying she needed to lose a few pounds, too, which was never true. Tessa got her naturally thin body from my mom. Then she’d have me write down everything I ate and we would discuss it later. After college, when I’d gained the freshman fifteen, the books started.

She comes back into the garage, a gust of hot air entering the space with her. She hands me the book. The cover is mostly white with a plain red title that says, The Magic of Intermittent Fasting.

She smiles at the book and then up at me. “I was just talking to Roxanne about this. You know my one friend—the chubby one? She’s lost all this weight by only eating like five hours a day or something. It’s all the rage right now.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll take a look at it,” I say, walking over to where I put my keys and setting the book beside them. I’ll take it home and put it on the shelf with the other twenty or so dieting books she’s given to me.

She smiles brightly at me. I love my mom, I do. Her heart is in the right place; I believe it is. I know she wants what’s best for me. I just think her idea of what’s best for me may not actually be what’s best for me.

I didn’t even tell her about the retreat. I didn’t want her to be disappointed if it didn’t work, if I came back not having lost any weight. I was going to tell her