Life in the Fat Lane (6 page)

“H
oney, are you gaining weight?” my mother asked as she slid a blueberry pancake from the skillet onto my plate.

It was a month later, the Sunday morning before Halloween, and we were having our usual Sunday morning breakfast of blueberry pancakes and turkey bacon.

Not that Mom ate any kind of bacon at all. Ever. Every morning she had the same thing: one half of a whole-wheat English muffin with one teaspoon of all-fruit jam. Half a grapefruit. Two cups of coffee, black.

“She’s a warthog,” Scott said, reaching for the butter.

“That’s enough from you,” Mom told him. She sat down and cut into her grapefruit.

“Do I look fat?” I asked anxiously.

“Of course not,” Mom said, spooning up some grapefruit. “But your jeans look a little tight, sweetie.”

She was right. They
were
a little tight. A
lot
tight.

Right after homecoming I had started getting hives almost every day. Sometimes my lips and my eyelids swelled. My parents took me right to the doctor. Stress, he said. But I didn’t feel stressed. I felt fantastic. It didn’t make any sense.

When my hives wouldn’t go away, my mom took me to an allergist, who put me on a drug called prednisone, which seemed to work. But the prednisone made me retain water. So I’d stop taking the prednisone, and get the hives back, and then I’d go back on the prednisone.

According to my scale, I had gained ten pounds.
Ten pounds!
In a month! I now weighed 128. It was more than I had ever weighed in my life.

I could hardly zip up my jeans. My stomach pressed against the zipper. The tiniest roll of skin poufed above the waistband. I looked over at my mother. She had on white leggings and a cropped white T-shirt. Perfectly slim and perfectly aerobicized.

“That’s it, I’m on a diet,” I said, pushing my plate away. Scott grabbed it and dumped the pancake on top of his own plate, then drenched it with maple syrup.

Mom frowned at him. “You don’t need all that sugar.”

“Oh yeah, I do,” he said, his mouth full.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and resisted the urge to add cream and sugar. I took a sip. It was so bitter. I eyed the package of English muffins and decided to toast the other half of my mom’s.

“Your very first diet,” Mom said, sipping her coffee. “Now
this
is something we can definitely bond over.”

“All it takes is willpower,” I said coolly. “I’ll up my workouts. It’s not a big deal.”

“Try skateboarding,” Scott suggested, his mouth full of pancake. “It’ll take the lard off you real fast.”

“Your sister doesn’t have any lard, it’s from the prednisone,” Mom told him. She lit a cigarette.

“It was a joke,” Scott explained. “You know. Humor?”

“Well, it wasn’t funny,” Mom said. “Gaining weight is no joke.” She turned to me. “I can write out a great diet for you, if you want.”

“Mom, I know how to diet.”

“I just meant that you never had to do it before, and I could help you,” she explained. “Believe me, I know every trick in the book.”

“Yeah, like cancer sticks,” Scott said, taking another bite of pancake. “Better thin and dead than fat and kickin’, right, Mom?”

“Very funny. I’m going to quit,” Mom added, taking a deep drag on her cigarette.

“Sure,” Scott said sarcastically.

I could hear my dad coming down the stairs. Mom quickly put out her cigarette and waved at the air.

“Oh yeah, like
that
’s gonna fool him,” Scott said with disgust.

Dad came into the kitchen, his hair still wet from the shower. He looked as fit as my mom. I felt like a blimp. I decided to skip the muffin and just go with black coffee.

“Morning, all,” Dad said. He sat down and poured himself some coffee. “It smells like smoke in here, Carol.”

“Mmmm, you smell good,” my mom said, hugging him from behind. “Want pancakes? Turkey bacon?”

“One pancake, no bacon,” Dad said, patting his
stomach. He took a sip of orange juice. “So, what’s up with you today, princess?”

“I have to practice piano for two hours, for my recital,” I said. “Then I’m working out with Molly, and after that Jett’s coming over to help me with precalculus.”

“Good girl,” Dad approved. Precalculus was the only class where I didn’t have an A average. He looked at Scott, taking in his baggy shorts and even baggier T-shirt. “Son?”

Scott just shoveled more pancake into his mouth.

“Would actual words be too much to hope for?” Dad asked him.

“You know, whatever,” Scott mumbled. “Hanging.”

“
Hanging?
”

“With my friends. You know.”

Dad sighed. “What about homework?”

Scott shrugged again.

“A shrug is not an answer!” Dad exploded. “If I ask you a question, I expect an answer!”

“Yes,
sir
!” Scott replied, saluting as if he were in the military. “Whatever you say,
sir
!”

Dad pushed his chair back. “I give up. I really give up.”

“Come on, guys,” Mom pleaded, “let’s have a nice Sunday—”

“Well, tell him to get off my back, then,” Scott suggested icily.

“Scott, all Dad did was ask what you were doing today,” Mom pointed out.

“And I
told
him. But what I said wasn’t
good
enough!” Scott got up and stormed out of the room.

Dad turned to Mom. “Are you sure he’s really our kid?”

“It’s a phase, honey,” Mom soothed. Her fingers, with no cigarette to hold, drummed nervously on the table.

Dad scowled into his coffee.

Mom began to knead his shoulders. “Come on, Jimbo,” she coaxed, “don’t get all tense over Scott.”

Dad shook her off. “I don’t need a backrub, I need to get through to my kid. He acts like he hates me.”

“I love you, Daddy,” I told him.

He grinned at me and cut into his pancake. “Yeah, I know you do, princess. Thank God for you, that’s all I have to say.” He looked at the empty place in front of me. “Aren’t you eating?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Lara’s been putting on a little weight,” Mom explained.

“Mom!” I exclaimed. “It’s because of the prednisone.”

Dad frowned. “How much?”

“Just a little,” I said nervously, sipping my coffee.

“You have to nip these things in the bud, princess,” he said sternly. “Otherwise, forget it. One day you’re perfect, and the next day you wake up looking like Molly.”

“It’s just water retention from the allergy medicine. I only gained four pounds, and I’m going to lose it.”

“It looks like more than four,” Mom said.

“Well, it isn’t,” I lied.

“Okay,” Dad said. “Let’s drop this subject. I know my princess, and she accomplishes anything she sets her mind to, right?”

“Right,” I said firmly.

“That’s my girl.”

Mom leaned over and put her hand on Dad’s. “Hey, how would you like a date with your wife tonight?”

“Can’t,” Dad said. “I’ve got to catch a plane at six for Philly.”

“Tonight?” Mom sounded surprised.

“I told you last week. I guess you forgot,” Dad said. “This could be a big client for us, all the agencies are after him.”

“Can’t you leave in the morning?” Mom asked.

“I’m playing golf with their CEO in the morning, Carol,” he said. “I can’t be on a plane and on the golf course at the same time, now, can I?”

“No, of course not,” she agreed.

Dad got up and kissed me on the forehead; then he kissed Mom. “I’m going over to the club to play a few sets. Why don’t you meet me there for lunch? Say, twelve?”

“I’d love—” Mom began.

But Dad was looking at me. “I hardly ever see you, princess. Between school, piano, your friends, and Jett, you’re one busy girl.”

Mom’s face reddened with embarrassment, but Dad’s back was to her so he didn’t see.

“You’re always working, Dad,” I said. “You and Mom should have lunch together.”

Dad picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it. “How about it, Carol? Can’t have both my girls shoot me down!”

“Lunch is fine,” Mom said.

“Great.” Dad took another bite of his apple and
winked at me. Then he strode out of the kitchen, picked up his tennis bag, and went out the front door.

As soon as she heard the front door close, Mom pulled out a cigarette and lit it. She inhaled hungrily.

“Is he mad at you or something?”

“Of course not, honey,” she said, her voice as bright as overexposed film. “He’s just preoccupied with work.” She paused. “If you didn’t know me, Lara, how old would you say I was?”

My stomach rumbled. Maybe I would eat just half a grapefruit. I eyed the other half of Mom’s, sitting wetly on the kitchen counter.

“I don’t know. Thirty.”

“Thirty,” Mom repeated with satisfaction.

She inhaled from her cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. Then her eyes focused on me. “Which of my features do you like best?”

“I don’t know.”

Half a grapefruit couldn’t be that bad.

“Come on, which?”

“Your eyes, I guess.”

Mom nodded. “Your eyes are nice, too.”

I really wanted that grapefruit.

Suddenly my arms started to itch. And I had already taken my prednisone.

“Your nose is a little short and upturned, a little too cute,” Mom mused, studying me. “Mine is more classic.” She pulled on her cigarette. “You know, if you have a small, upturned nose and you gain weight in your face, it can look kind of piggish.”

“I’m on a diet,” I said lamely.

“I know you are, sweetie.” She patted my hand, got up, and kissed me on the top of my head. “And I have
the most wonderful, perfect daughter in the whole world.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

I went upstairs and tried to ignore my grumbling stomach. Willpower was the key.

“Hey, did he leave?” Scott asked, sticking his head out the door of his room.

“He went to the club.”

“Great, I can breathe again,” my brother said. “Man, he’s so suffocating that he, like, sucks all the air out of the room.” He sucked air through pursed lips. “The Amazing Vacuum Man!”

I followed Scott into his totally trashed room.

“What is it about Dad that bugs you so much?” I asked Scott, leaning against his wall.

He plopped down on his unmade bed and reached for a Hacky Sack that lay on his pillow. He threw it in the air and caught it, over and over. “He’s a pain in the ass.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“Sure, you don’t think so,
princess
,” Scott jeered.

“So what if he calls me princess? I think it’s sweet.”

“Did Vacuum Man send you in here?” Scott asked warily.

“Of course not! I just can’t stand to see the two of you fight.”

“Yeah, it’s bad enough that
they
fight all the time.”

“They do not!”

“They do so. He hates her. He treats her like cold crap.” Scott tossed the Hacky Sack into the air again. I leaned over and caught it before he could.

“Scott, come on …”

“ ‘The Ardeche men are really proud of our beauty queen,’ ” Scott said, imitating Dad, his voice deep and
mocking. Then he switched to a falsetto. “Uh-uh! ‘Beauty
queens
!’ ” he said, imitating Mom. “Gimme a major break!”

“What’s wrong with being a beauty—”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong!” Scott exploded. “Everyone in this family cares more about how things look than how they really are!”

“That is totally not true,” I said vehemently.

“It is true,” Scott said bitterly.

“That is so stupid—”

“Just leave me alone. Leave me alone and get out of my room!”

“Fine,” I replied, “just fine.” I tossed his Hacky Sack at him and walked out. He slammed his door behind me.

What a brat. No wonder my parents fought.

It was
his
fault.

“ ‘I
’ve lost seventy-five pounds and have a new life,’ ” Molly read to me from a magazine.

It was after lunch; we were back in my home gym. I had just finished forty-five minutes on the StairMaster, up from my usual thirty. It was weird—I was hardly sweating, though my face felt flushed from the exertion. Maybe I was just raising my fitness level. Molly, who had been on the treadmill at the slowest possible setting, had long since gotten off and plopped down on the floor.

I stepped onto the treadmill and reprogrammed the setting to five miles per hour.

“Who lost seventy-five pounds?” My legs moved steadily over the treadmill, and I leaned into the front handles.

“Ms. F. P. Stevens,” Molly read. “F.P. must stand for
Former Pig, huh? She says here that the Skinny Strip changed her life.”

I upped the speed controls. “What’s a Skinny Strip?” I asked, breathing harder.

“ ‘You will see how the Skinny Strip makes you lose that weight, really lose that weight,’ ” Molly read. “ ‘With no dangerous medication and no tough exercise.’ ”

I laughed. “Anything that eliminates exercise is for you, right, Mol?”

She ignored me. “ ‘Skinny Strips are sold all over Europe, but now with this risk-free trial offer, you can try it right here in America.’ ”

“It’s a scam,” I said, wiping a single bead of sweat from my forehead. “If it were for real, it would be on the front page of every newspaper in the country.”

“How can it be a scam if it has a guarantee?”

“I don’t know, but it is.”

“But what if it isn’t?”

“Mol-ly,” I groaned.

“What? I’m a desperate woman!” She stood up and shoved the magazine in my face. “It says that some doctor saw weight loss of as much as thirty-eight pounds in a month. Do you realize that means I could be thin in a month?”

“While you’re reading that, you could be working out.”

I raised the speed setting again. I could feel my heart pounding. I felt strong, in control. After having nothing but black coffee for breakfast, I had eaten just half a bagel with the insides scooped out, and a dollop of fat-free cottage cheese for lunch. Molly couldn’t believe it.

“I’m on a diet,” I’d told her primly.

“Get out of here,” she’d guffawed.

“I’m completely serious. I’ve gained ten pounds from the medicine I’m taking. So now I have to lose ten pounds.”