iron, slowly bringing each unruly strand under control because of this awesome nickname.
Every morning, Elizabeth would take absolutely forever getting ready for school. She would do her hair, apply makeup—all the girly activities I had no interest in. One morning, when Elizabeth’s mom was late picking me up in the carpool to school, I was more impatient than usual. It was the last day of school, so I didn’t have any last-minute notes to study and distract myself with because there were no exams and grades were already finalized. Actually, there was no point in going to school at all, except to keep up my perfect attendance record.
It was unusual for camp to start so quickly after school ended, but we were leaving for it the next day. I wasn’t excited, I didn’t want to leave my mom and dad and the comforts of home. Except I knew I needed to work on my soccer skills and other top-secret goals. Because lately there was something else bothering me. I’d started to take notice of my changing body for the first time. Suddenly I had curvy hips and a round bottom, thighs that jiggled when once they’d been taut as trees. Fat. Fat. Fat. Disgusting.
While I waited for Elizabeth’s mom, I glared at myself in the mirror. Why did I have such a big butt? And my thighs, ugh! My stomach was getting so big! Scowling in disgust, I vowed that summer I would lose all of my puberty weight and become even skinnier. Then I would feel better.
“Dani, Lizzie and her mom are here, where are you?” My mom’s shout echoed through the vents in the bathroom. Dani had been my nickname ever since I was a little girl. My parents and those closest to me knew me only as that…and Fluffy. Lucky me.
“Be right there, Mom!” I shouted, deep-breathing in. One more day…
“Have a great day, Dani.” My mom kissed me on the cheek and handed me a brown lunch bag, which a quick glance revealed to contain a tuna fish sandwich, yogurt, and two chocolate chip cookies. Usually I’d just eat the yogurt and nibble on half a sandwich, but no longer. All I could think was more thigh fat, butt fat, stomach fat—fat, fat, fat. I kissed her back and stuffed it into my backpack. She would be so disappointed and confused if she knew I was going to toss it into the girls’ room trash.
Dinner at my house was not a family affair, so I never had to worry about not eating there. It wasn’t like in most of my friends’ families, where I heard rumblings about togetherness and grace before meals. I imagined something out of a 1950s movie—the mother cooking and the father demanding his steak medium rare with a side of buttered mashed potatoes—and the child sitting with her legs crossed, napkin placed neatly in her lap, and talking about her day while politely declaring, “Oh, shucks” if she dropped her fork. No, that wasn’t our house. All of us had hectic schedules, so family dinners were pretty rare. My mom stopped cooking once I got picky and “stopped appreciating her efforts” (direct quote). “I would never, not appreciate your scrumptious meals!” I’d retaliate, deadpanning. In my defense, Mom wasn’t a cook.
So we ordered in every night from different places. I would usually pick at whatever I got in the computer room while doing homework. After soccer, this athlete had little time for chitchat while refueling—I had a processing problem, for God’s sake! I needed to study! That excuse let me eat—or not eat—as peacefully and privately as I liked. My dad and mom would usually do something separately when he got home from work. As much as they didn’t act like it, in other ways—in the romance department, for instance—they were the cute 1950s adorable lovey-dovey couple that actually enjoyed each other’s private company. And it wasn’t even vomit-inducing for my snarky preteen self; I loved witnessing their solid foundation.
But there was one thing my mom and I always did together—late-night snacking before bed. We usually chatted about our day as we nibbled, munched, and nibbled some more. So later that last day of school, my mom and I were munching on cereal straight from the box for dessert. This evening I had Cinnamon Toast Crunch and she had Honey Nut Os. I was starving, since I’d skipped breakfast, thrown out my brown-bag lunch, and only picked at dinner, trying to start my diet pre-camp. It’s hard to sleep on an empty stomach, so I usually gave in to the hunger pangs during evening snacks. Plus, the comfort of hanging out with my mom, my best friend, sealed the deal.
“I am so full, I need to stop. I am getting so fat,” I said, loosening the waistband on my sweatpants, trying to relieve the pressure of my expanding tummy.
“Dan, no you aren’t. You always lose weight at camp anyway,” my mom said, putting a Honey Nut O into her mouth.
“Well, I need to!” I exclaimed, popping a piece of Cinnamon Toast Crunch into my mouth. “You see, I can’t help myself,” I added. “Ugh.”
My mom chucked a Honey Nut O at my head.
“What are you doing?” I laughed and threw a handful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch in her direction. It hit her right in the face, leaving a cinnamon and sugar mark on her cheek. “Bull’s-eye!” I screamed, hands waving in the air declaring my victory. We laughed so hard that my stomach hurt, or it could have been from eating too much, but either way, I knew one thing in that moment—I was going to miss her. I was going to miss this.
“I am going to miss you so much,” I said, making a pouty face while sitting back in my chair.
“I am going to miss you too, but camp will be so much fun.” My mom had loved sleepaway camp in her youth. She went until she was the oldest age allowed and was even a counselor for some summers afterward. I wasn’t sure camp was my thing like it was for her. Even though Mom was my best friend, we had very different personalities. Everything always seemed to come much easier to her than me in the friends and fun category of life. She had the face of a model and a flawless body. A personal trainer and spin instructor, my mom was a walking billboard for the classes she taught. She was perfect, and I was…well, I couldn’t even compare. I just needed to go to camp to lose weight, to get everything back in order. I was out of control. Look at me over here, stuffing my face with Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
“Yeah…” I trailed off.
“I am going to miss walking in on the two of you this way,” my dad interrupted our powwow, entering the kitchen from his office, taking a work break by pouring himself a big glass of milk.
That night, my dad’s wild curly hair was tight against his head with a thick coat of gel—dark black with slight salt on the edges. He likes the gray because he thinks he looks distinguished, and he does. My dad is a tough businessman and an extremely hard worker, with a huge personality and a confidence that is both awe-inspiring and intimidating. Yet he is a family man and has a big, generous, sensitive heart that even manages to break at every Disney movie, including Aladdin and The Lion King. I mean, gut-wrenching sobs, inducing thick tears down his cheeks, which no one would suspect based on a first impression.
“I was just saying that. It was like you read my mind,” I finally spoke, coming out of a trance—eyes focused straight ahead at nothing in particular.
“Mark, why don’t you come sit with us for a bit?” My mom said, pulling out the seat next to her and patting it, gesturing him to come.
“Okay, Linda, but I only have five minutes. I have a big meeting in the morning I need to prepare for.”
“We are going up to bed in less than that anyway.”
As my dad sat down, finishing his glass of milk, and their chatting continued, I put my hands on my stomach, sizing it up. This was the last time I’d binge on cereal. Tomorrow at camp would be the start of my diet, no slips ever again. Tonight was the last night of late-night eating and talking with my mom. This really was the last time. I pinky-swore—and a pinky swear means business. I’d never break
