“You know I always stand up for you. Please come eat dinner,” he says. “I made blackened chicken Alfredo.”
“Fuck. That’s my favorite meal too,” I say, and he laughs. “Fine, but I’m doing it for the pasta.”
“Noted,” he chuckles and stands up. I get up and follow him to the kitchen where Mom is getting her food.
“Nice of you to join us,” she frowns.
“Likewise.” I take a plate out of the cabinet and get my food when she is done.
“Salad?” Dante asks.
“Please,” I say politely. He puts some salad mix on my plate. “Thanks.”
Mom chuckles as she sits at the table, and it prompts me to close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Something funny?” I ask.
“Just interesting that you’re having salad,” she says.
“Why? Because I’m fat?” I ask with a deadpan expression.
“Hannah, stop it,” Dante says to Mom.
“Why?” she asks. “Maybe if she had more salad and less pasta, she wouldn’t be fat.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dante snaps. “The girl never fucking eats because all you do is put her down. How about shut the fuck up and stop acting like a goddamn high school bully.”
“She’s my daughter and…” Mom starts to say with her voice raised.
“Just shut up and eat your food, Hannah.” he snaps. “No one is in the mood to argue with you.” Mom huffs and picks up her food before going back to her office.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I sit my food on the counter. I turn to go back to my room, but he catches me.
“Please come eat, Ava,” he says softly. “Fuck what she says." I nod and take my food to the table.
Mom has called me fat for most of my life. My first vivid memory of it was when I was six years old, I asked for another piece of mybirthday cake that our neighbor made for me. She told me that I was already too fat and I shouldn’t even have had the one piece. Dante gets mad at her every time she does it, which makes me feel better, but it doesn’t stop the intrusive thoughts. I try not to eat around her because it always ends up with her criticizing me. Even if I’m eating something that she thinks is healthy she thinks it’s funny. That is eating healthily.
She is your typical mean type. She has long legs and a skinny waist. I am short and thick. She always tells me that I took after my dad like it’s a bad thing. Sometimes I question if she’s my mom. Not that I am a saint, but I’m definitely not a cunt. This bitch could make Regina George cry.
I force myself to push away the bad thoughts and eat my food in silence. I don’t look up from my plate because I’m afraid of seeing judgment on his face. I know I won’t, but again, it doesn’t stop the intrusive thoughts.
I don’t know why I let it get to me because I know that men find me attractive. I’m casually talking to a few different guys who I am well aware are only interested in fucking me. I’m not really looking for a relationship though so I might let them. Danny has been begging me for a picture of my tits all day. I keep telling him that if he’s a good boy, I will send it. I’m just trying to work out the courage to take the picture.
I get done eating and take my plate to the sink to wash it. While I’m here, he comes over and leans against the counter to wait for me to get done so he can do the same. I hold out my hand for hisplate because I’m already here so I may as well wash it. “Thank you,” he says kindly.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask. I can’t directly see how he’s looking at me, but I can feel him staring at me. I know he wants to say something, but he never does. Anytime he just stares at me, it’s like he’s lost in thought, but he actually says it out loud.
“How do you know I’m looking at you?” he laughs.
“Because I can feel you staring at me, weirdo,” I laugh. “What is it?”
“Why do you put up with her talking to you like that?”
“Because it’s all I’ve ever known, and she’s my mom. I feel obligated to not disown her.”
“Blood does not mean that she is entitled to your presence or your compassion,” he says. “What would you do if anyone else said that to you?”
“Probably punch them in the mouth then go cry alone in my room,” I say with a shrug.
“Then do that, minus the crying,” he says.