She turns, smiling. “Yes, hi.”
“I’m Meret Edelstein’s mother.”
“Meret,” she repeats, as if she is shuffling a deck in her mind. I can see when she remembers my daughter.
“She told me what you said to her today during gym class.”
The coach looks puzzled. “That she should try out for tennis?”
“Mom.” Behind me, I hear Meret’s mortified voice. “Shedidask me to join the tennis team. I didn’t get a chance to finish.”
The coach puts down the bucket of balls. “I started playing in ninth grade,” she explains. She takes out her phone and scrolls through photos until she holds one up to me. There is a younger, chubbier version of the woman with a bad haircut, a racket balanced in one hand. “I wasn’t fast or strong but I was really good at videogames. That’s the same kind of hand-eye coordination you get when you work in a science lab, like Meret has.” She looks at Meret. “I hope you’re still thinking about it.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Meret says. She grasps my arm and yanks, hard. “We, um, have to go.”
I stare at the coach, then thank her for looking out for my child. We walk back to the front of the school. Just before we reach the car, Meret wraps her arms around me—in full view of other students.
“I’m sorry. I thought—”
“I know what you thought,” Meret says, smiling a little. “It was lit.”
We get into the car and I turn over the ignition. “So she wasn’t saying that about the changing room to be mean.”
“No. She’s pretty awesome, actually. She’s the first person who ever thought I’d be good at something with my body instead of my brain. Everyone else thinks I’m lazy because I’m fat.”
“Youhavefat. You aren’t fat. You have fingernails, too, but you aren’t fingernails.”
Meret looks at me from the corner of her eye. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever admitted that I’m…” She corrects herself. “That Ihavefat.”
Talking about this, instead of dancing around it, feels right. “There isn’t only one type of body. Anyone who makes you feel that way is only trying to make themselves feel better by finding someone to pick on.”
“Yeah, but when you stand up, people listen. When I stand up, people notice my size. I’m literally the elephant in the room.” She shrugs. “It’s so weird. They can’tnotsee me. But also, I’m invisible. I can walk down a hallway and see everyone looking away.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
She looks surprised. “For ambushing Coach Thibodeau?”
“Well, maybe,” I admit. “But mostly for not letting you talk about this with me. I figured if I did, it was like I was admitting that I agreed with you about how you look.” I glance up. “And for the record I do not.”
“Noted,” Meret says.
“It doesn’t matter how perfect I think you are, if you don’t.” I hesitate. “Are you going to start playing tennis?”
“Do you think I’d lose weight?”
“I couldn’t care less,” I say. “And that shouldn’t be the reason why you do it. Our bodies are just what hold us together, you know. They’re not who we really are. Everyone leaves them behind, eventually.”
“Yeah, but I’d rather die skinny,” Meret replies.
I roll my eyes. “Trust me. People who are thin aren’t happier.”
“Well,you’dknow,” Meret says. “When I was little, I used to think I was switched at birth.”
“WhenIwas little,” I tell her, “people used to ask my mother if she ever fed me. I cut the tags out of my jean jacket so no one would know I was a 00. Literally, less than nothing.”
“I don’t think I was even a 00 when I was born.”
“You were.” I smile at her, and pull away from the curb. “I was there.”
