talk.” Not anymore, anyway. I’d had enough of that lately.
Plus, Michelle was super skinny. She was like five foot eight and a hundred and fifteen pounds. She was the kind of pretty that made you want to just eat vegetables and fruit and sacrifice all the fat/delicious in your diet. She had always been gorgeous. The only reason she wasn’t the queen of the school was because she was too shy, not good with makeup or hair or clothes, and wasn’t willing to claw her way to the top of the social ladder. And because I wouldn’t let it happen.
But even though the situation warranted me saying something reassuring like that, I just kept shouting at her.
“I didn’t say you’re fat, Michelle. I wouldn’t say anything like that. But if you feel fat, eat a salad or something, I don’t know. It’s all in your head. Just don’t blame your insecurities on me!”
She was so obviously thin that this conversation seemed ridiculous, and I didn’t want to waste time catering to Michelle’s compliment fishing.
“It’s not my insecurities only, Bridget, you’re always making comments about what I should do to look prettier and telling me my clothes are all wrong, and I just can’t—”
“I’m your friend, Michelle, it’s called advice?” Then something occurred to me. I hushed my tone in disbelief at what this whole thing might be about.
“Is this about the gym shorts? They’re from freshman year. And they just don’t fit you anymore!” And there’s nothing wrong with that, I should have said.
Instead, I shushed her when she tried to talk, and turned the TV back on. We spent the next hour in awkward silence, each with our faces pointed in the direction of the TV show neither of us were interested in, pretending that the argument hadn’t happened.
A FEW HOURS LATER, I wondered if what I’d said to Michelle was too harsh. I was considering dialing her number on the phone in my hand when I heard a car door slam in the driveway.
I raced down the stairs so that when Meredith opened the front door, I was standing on the bottom step with my arms crossed and my lips pursed.
She looked at me and sighed.
She was impatient with me?
“Listen, Bridget—”
“What did you guys talk about? Did you swap stories about how awful I am?”
“Bridget, please,” she pleaded, quietly.
I closed my mouth only because I was desperate to hear what had happened.
She walked into the sitting room off the foyer and sat on the love seat.
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