Letting Ana Go (14 page)

2. After practice today, no more lying on my CalorTrack calories. I’m going to honestly type in what I have to eat.

3. I’m going to eat the staff meal at work today. At least I’m going to have a few bites.

4. I’m going to call Dad. I miss him.

Turns out, I didn’t have to call Dad. He showed up at lunch today.

I wasn’t really paying attention, and when Andy told me we’d just sat at table fourteen, I grabbed two glasses of ice water and a basket of breadsticks and was setting them down on the table before I realized who was sitting in the booth. I get into a zone at work, just running the food, looking for empty plates and half-full water glasses. I don’t even look at the faces of the customers that much anymore. Usually they’re chunky and chewing with their mouths open. It grosses me out. I might
have dropped off the water and breadsticks and left without even noticing but Dad said my name.

Dad: What are you doing here?

Me: I work here. What are you doing here?

Dad: Having lunch. This is Annette.

Dad nodded across the table to a woman with the brightest red hair I’d ever seen and mesmerizing green eyes. She wore a silky white top that swooped low under her emerald blazer. She smiled and said hi. For the first time all day, my Parmesan’s Team Smile faded. I couldn’t smile, I couldn’t say hello back, I couldn’t look away. I just stood there holding a basket of breadsticks, staring at this woman.

Have you ever had a moment where you just
know
something out of the blue, no questions asked? I had one of those moments standing in the middle of Parmesan’s, my nose full of garlic and ears full of forks scraping the final bits of bottomless salad drenched in Italian dressing from chilled ceramic bowls.

This woman was why Dad left Mom.

I’m sure I only stood there staring for a couple of seconds, but it felt like time stood still. Dad doesn’t get flustered easily, but I could tell he was flustered when he spoke again.

Dad: When did you start working here?

Me: When did you stop having Korean barbecue for lunch?

I turned and headed toward the kitchen, blindly. As I walked around the food prep bar toward the dish room I heard Melanie chirp, “Full hands in!” at me, but I didn’t stop. I walked past the dishwashers, through the door to dry storage in the corner, and leaned against a big metal rack stacked high with the boxed wine they use in the marinara sauce and to sauté mushrooms. I closed my eyes and took about ten long, deep breaths. All I could see was Annette’s face, her bright red lipstick, her bright red hair, her bright green eyes. She was gorgeous.

And thin.

Mom never stood a chance.

I got a quick drink of water and found Melanie at the hot food counter. She took one look at me and knew something was up. I tried to plaster on my Parmesan’s smile, but she doesn’t miss much.

Melanie: Everything okay?

Me: Fine.

Melanie: Really?

Me: Yep. My dad’s here.

Melanie (grinning): Oh, great! Which table?

Andy: Fourteen, and they need more water.

Me: Already?

Andy: Is that thirsty redhead your
mom
?

Me: Are you brain dead?

Melanie thought this was hilarious. I grabbed a pitcher of ice water and Andy followed me with their bowl of salad sputtering apologies. Melanie bought them dessert. Annette didn’t eat a single bite. I stood there watching her refuse the bites of cheesecake Dad offered her while he tried to convince me to come to dinner with him the next night. I told him I’d think about it and that I had to go do my side work. He stood up and hugged me. When I tried to step back, he held on for a little bit longer, and something in his touch told me how much he missed me. His cologne smelled like pepper and peach blossoms and I heard myself whispering into his shoulder.

Me: Yes.

Dad: Yes what?

Me: I’ll come to dinner.

Dad: Pick you up at seven o’clock.

Me: I’ll meet you at Buster’s. Some guy bought me this great SUV. I drive it everywhere.

I didn’t tell Annette good-bye. I just walked to the back and joined Andy at the staff meal. I drank a glass of water and took a plate of chicken Parmesan. I picked off all the cheese and breading and just ate the chicken. Even without the fat and carbs it was delicious. I had a second piece and a small bowl of salad greens with no dressing. Andy asked me a bunch of
questions about Mom and Dad. I answered some of them, then told him I had to go.

Andy: Hot date tonight?

Me: Actually . . . yes.

My head was swimming. Maybe it was all the protein and roughage at once. Or maybe I was overwhelmed from seeing Dad with this Annette chick. Or maybe I just missed Jack.

When I got back home, Mom told me Dad had called her and said he’d seen me and that I’d agreed to go to dinner with him.

Mom: He was at Parmesan’s?

Me: Yes. He came in for lunch.

Mom: By himself?

I opened my mouth to lie, but nothing came out. Mom saw in an instant, just like Melanie had earlier. A smile wasn’t going to help any of this. And why should I be the one helping? This wasn’t my fault.

As I trudged up the stairs to take a shower I heard the cabinets banging and the potato chip bags rustling and the spoon for some ice cream clank on the counter. I wanted to scream down the stairs. I wanted to yell at Mom: WHY DO YOU THINK HE LEFT? But what could I say? I was the one who had gobbled up a cubic ton of chicken during the staff meal. I had decided last night to eat lunch at work today. I told myself it
was because I was freaked out by those pictures Jill showed me. Was it really? Maybe I was just eating my feelings too.

I stood in the shower and let the hot water pound onto my head. When I got out the house was still and I knew Mom had left for work. I let out a long, slow sigh and slipped into a clean T-shirt, then slid between the crisp, cool sheets on my bed.

I woke up a few minutes ago. My pillow is damp from falling asleep with wet hair. I’m going to blow it out as soon as I’m done writing. Jack is coming by to pick me up in an hour. I want to look perfect. I need to look perfect. I need to be close to him tonight. I need to feel his arms around me, and taste his lips on mine, and hear him tell me how beautiful I am.

Weight:
120

Jack told me all of that and more.

Mini-golf devolved into Rob making chip shots at the windmill and purposely trying to hit the rotating blades. He finally succeeded, sending an orange golf ball ricocheting directly into Jill’s leg. She was furious, and insisted we leave immediately so she could ice the purple welt halfway up her thigh. When we pulled into the driveway at their place, Jill stormed into the house, and Rob moaned and banged his head against the back of Jack’s seat three times.

Rob: Why do I
do
this shit?

Jack (smirking): You’re a glutton for punishment.

Rob: Or maybe I just like the makeup make-out session.

Jack (not smirking): Don’t. Make. Me. Come. Back. There.

Rob got out of the car quickly. Jack rolled his eyes.

Jack: It’s a good thing I like him. He’s a scoundrel.

Me: I’m pretty sure Jill doesn’t let him get away with a thing.

Jack: The question is, are
you
going to let me get away with anything?

Me (Southern accent): Why I de-
clare
, Mister Jack.

Jack laughed and reached over to take my hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed my fingers. He held on to it while he backed out of the driveway again, and as the moon rose over the mountain, we drove in silence. It was a comfortable silence, not a loaded one—no pregnant pause. It wasn’t that either of us had something to say and was holding it back. Everything that needed to be expressed was happening in the way he laced his fingers through mine, and the way my thumb kept time with the music on the back of his hand.

I finally understood the phrase “Less is more.”

Jack pulled into an industrial park behind the little airport in the center of town. He drove between the low adobe buildings filled with stores that sell construction contractors their windows, doors, and fixtures, scuba divers their gear, and
mechanics their auto parts. Behind the last row of self-storage units was a twelve-foot-high chain-link fence that ran along the runway. Jack backed up against the fence, then pulled a stadium blanket out of his extended cab behind the seat. As the moon rose higher in the sky, we lay on our backs in the bed of his truck, holding hands, listening to the roar of the plane engines drown out the sound of the music filtering through the open window at the back of the cab.

Eventually, Jack rolled over on one elbow and stared at me. I felt his eyes on my face, then his hand sliding across my stomach, tucking beneath me, pulling me close to him. Both of his hands gripped my waist, and I realized that his fingers almost touched on either side. Something about this made me smile, and he smiled back.

Jack: You have such an amazing body. It’s perfect.

I didn’t speak, but I let my lips do the talking. I felt him pressing into me with that same reckless abandon he’d had on the deck of the boat last month, and I knew it was because he wanted me. I felt the thrill of his touch and the strength in his arms and legs. I recognized the fierce nature I’d stirred up inside him, and relished his passion. He wanted my body—this new, beautiful body of mine—and as his hands explored every inch of me, this time they slid under my clothes, taking my breath with their warmth and their tenderness. His hands were everywhere,
his touch making me sure of his feelings for me even before he whispered, “I love you,” into my ear. When he did, something rushed through me like the roar of the jets overhead, and using my perfect body, I assured him I felt the same without ever saying a word.

Weight:
120.5

I can’t believe he brought her.

When I walked into Buster’s, Annette was sitting there next to him in the booth, smiling like it was Christmas morning and Santa had brought her a pony. When I saw her, I stopped short and just stared. When Dad spotted me and waved, he nudged her to slide over so he could get out of the booth, and she actually jumped up grinning, ran up to me, and gave me a hug.

A hug.

She pressed her enormous boobs, which were spilling out of her little strappy tank top, against me and said that it was great to see me again. Then Dad took a turn hugging me, and I whispered in his ear.

Me: Um . . . what is
she
doing here?

He tried to pull away, but I kept my arms around him, so his ear was close to my shoulder as he stuttered.

Dad: I . . . I . . . just . . . thought . . .

I plastered on my Parmesan’s smile and peered over his shoulder at Annette.

Me: Would you excuse us just for a second? My mom gave me some stuff to give Dad, and I want to make sure I don’t forget to get it out of the car later.

Annette nodded enthusiastically, and Dad sputtered protests as I dragged him by the hand into the parking lot, my smile now a grim line of determination drawn across my face, my cheeks hot with anger. In the parking lot, I let him have it.

Me: What the
hell
are you doing?

Dad: Now wait just a second—

Me: Nope. You don’t get to talk right now. You get to listen. I did not sign up to have dinner with you and whoever that is, tonight. I agreed to have dinner with
you
.

His face clouded, and he crossed his arms like a toddler.

Dad: Her name is
Annette
. She’s the office manager at the dealership. And she’s my girlfriend.

Me: Really, Dad?
Really?
It’s been what? Two months? Not even. It’s been like
six weeks
since you walked out on me and Mom, and I’m just supposed to show up and have dinner with you and the chick with the tits in there?

Dad: You watch your mouth, young lady.

Me: I’ll watch it all the way to my car.

I didn’t look back as I walked to the enormous car he bought me. I didn’t want him to see the tears sliding down my cheeks. He doesn’t deserve to see me cry.

I get it that Mom is not a skinny, big-chested model. I understand that’s what he wanted. I’d rather look like her than Mom, too. But he’s my
dad
. Isn’t he supposed to care about my feelings a little bit? Shouldn’t he want to talk things over with me one-on-one at least
once
before I’m required to start having “family meals” with Boobalicious the office manager?

The worst part of it was that he didn’t try to stop me. He didn’t try to follow me. He just stood there in the parking lot and watched me go. This was supposed to be a special night. It was supposed to be this time when we regrouped, and talked, and cried—when he told me how sorry he was and when I told him that I understood more than he thought I did.

This was supposed to be the night when our relationship grew up. When he stopped being just my dad and started being my friend. I don’t let my friends treat me this way. I’m not going to let him treat me this way either. I don’t care if I never see him again.

It’s just as well. There was nothing I could eat at Buster’s anyway.

Weight:
120

Couldn’t sleep last night. Seeing Dad again ripped the scab off, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him and Mom and everything that went wrong. Mom was up and in the kitchen in her sweatpants eating Lucky Charms and chirping to Pam on the phone. She was chewing with her mouth open and laughing really loudly, and I just couldn’t deal with it. I drank three glasses of water, then brought a cup of coffee and a hard-boiled egg back up here to my room.

All I know for sure is that it grosses me out to watch Mom eat and act like that, and as much as Dad shouldn’t have brought Annette to dinner last night, I can’t blame him for wanting to be with her. In any sort of side-by-side comparison, Annette wins over Mom every time in the looks department.