Turning, I saw the glass of water across the table.
Fury coursed through me. I refused to sit, to dignify this “diet” with my cooperation. This was straight-up abuse. I grabbed the water off the table, took a couple of sips, and thunked it back down, splashing the table.
“If you’re done, put it in the sink,” he said as I turned to leave.
I pretended not to hear him, snatching my backpack and heading for the door. It slammed shut behind me, and my feet carried me quickly toward the bus.
He couldn’t stop me from eating at school. He was all the way at home, and I had the money Mom had given me for pizza.
Come lunchtime, I ordered well. A meatball sub, fries, Grandma’s chocolate chip cookies, and a Coke. It felt like a victory. It tasted even better—the most delicious meal I’d ever had.
Hank once said missing a meal makes your taste buds more sensitive to flavor. I bristled, resenting that he might have been right about something.
Dinner was another salad.
I wanted to scream.
But still I sat across from him and ate.
The cordless phone on the wall bleated. Hank rose, lowering his bacon cheeseburger to his plate. Closer, I got there first.
“Hello?”
“Hi, honey.”
It was Mom. Relief flooded through me. “Hold on.”
I ran out of the kitchen and upstairs with the phone before Hank could wrest it from me. He watched me from the bottom of the stairs, his features flushed and spasmodic.
“Mom, you have to come back,” I said, locking myself in my bedroom. “Hank, he’s put me on this diet. He’s making me eat salad and drink water—”
“Are you crying, honey?”
“Mom, listen!” But I was out of breath. I couldn’t convey the gravity of the situation in a few broken words. “He’s being—so mean—”
“Put him on the phone.”
“Can you just come home?”
“I can’t, I’m with your sister. She says hi and that she misses you very much. Abby, say hi, it’s your brother.”
“Mom, are youlistening?”
A sigh, more guilty than impatient. “If you’re hungry after dinner, just wait till he falls asleep and grab something from the pantry.”
Next toI’m leaving now, it was the best thing she could’ve said. I’d already been thinking it, and now I had permission.
“I’ll call again tomorrow, okay?”
“Please don’t leave again, okay? I need you here. I love you.”
“Love you too, honey,” she said, sounding surprised. “With all my heart.” It filled me up, honeyed and rich.
But that’s the thing about love like Mom’s: an hour later and you’re hungry again.
My stomach yowled as I lay in bed that night. I hadn’t even gotten to eat the salad. By the time I returned to the kitchen, Hank had thrown it out, my punishment for running off with the phone. I eyed the clock on my bedside table, bemoaning the hour. Still four hours until three o’clock, the time I’d arbitrarily decided would be safe, Hank surely asleep by then.
I barely made it to midnight before deciding it was late enough.
