Because Fat Girl

Chapter Thirty-Two

When I got back to Arcadia that evening, I heard Cecily down the hall reading The House on the Cerulean Sea to the kids. I crawled into bed with Ellis and listened in. It felt soothing, losing myself in someone else’s story, Ellis’s little body dramatically clinging to mine. They loved playing up their reactions. Exaggeration was their specialty. When Cecily reached the end of the chapter, she closed the book and asked us all to say what we were grateful for that day, her usual bedtime ritual with the kids.

“I’m grateful that it was my special helper day at school.” Reggie beamed with pride. She loved special helper day because it allowed her to be two of her favorite things: in charge and of use.

“I’m grateful that I sold a new canvas today,” Cecily said.

This was news to me. I was excited for her and sad that she hadn’t texted earlier to tell me about it. Usually that was the kind of information she couldn’t wait to share.

“I’m grateful that I got to see Aunt Didi tonight.” Ellis looked up at me. “We never get to see you anymore.”

“I’m grateful,” I said as Ellis snuggled against me, “that you all are being very patient and understanding with me as I follow my dreams and get this movie made. And I’m sorry I don’t get to see you as often as before, but I’m very grateful I got to be here to tuck you in tonight.”

Ellis cuddled closer to me as their mom and I sang “I’ve Got Rhythm,” one of our favorite bedtime songs, then we tucked them in, turned on the night light, and headed back to the living room.

“I was thinking maybe we could pour some wine and talk on the back porch,” I suggested.

Cecily agreed, and we headed outside, me with two glasses in my hands, her with a half-empty bottle she’d opened at some point while I was gone. Cecily poured the wine, looking at me expectantly.

“I am so sorry,” I began. “So, so, sorry. For lying to you about Drew, and especially for what I said.”

“I just don’t know how we got back here,” Cecily replied, her voice hitching. “I thought we were past the anger, lies, and bitterness, past the fighting we did as kids. I thought we were adults in sync now, working together toward a common goal of building a home and raising these kids.”

“That’s the problem, though. This was never my goal.” I pointed around me. “This house, those kids, they’re your dream, not mine. I like this home. I love those kids. But two kids and a house in Arcadia is not the life I want to live.”

“You think this is the life I wanted?” Cecily challenged, her voice rising. “I moved to L.A. to make something of myself, too, you know. But life happens and we can’t all just wait around for our dreams to come true. Some of us have to grow up and support our families.”

“It may not be the life you wanted,” I countered, “but it is the life you chose. Marrying, having kids, moving here. These are all your decisions. I didn’t make you give up on your dreams, you did that on your own.”

“You chose it, too, when you moved in here,” Cecily reminded me. “I didn’t drag you out to Arcadia—you came willingly.”

“You’re right. I chose to come help you out after your divorce, and I chose to stay so I could save money,” I agreed. “But I never gave up on my dreams. This was always supposed to be temporary for me. I was always going to leave.”

“I knew you’d move out someday.” Cecily’s eyes were now swollen with tears. “But I thought we were in this life together after Henry died. I thought you’d always be here for me.”

“I am.”

“Are you?” Cecily sobbed. “Because you’re all I have left of family, and I feel like I’m losing you, too. You hiding me from Drew and Chris, it just reminded me that my sister is going places and I’m not. Every day I feel like I’m falling further and further behind in life and you don’t even care that you’re on a rocket ship and I’m being left in the dust.”

“I live in a city I don’t like, surrounded by people I don’t have anything in common with, in a home full of things I didn’t buy, with kids I didn’t have. What more do you want me to sacrifice for you?”

“You can’t put this all on me and the kids,” Cecily protested. “You moved here to save money for your movie, too.”

“I could have saved money other ways.” I could feel my temper rising, the years of resentment coming to a head. “I never would have chosen this life for myself. I came here to help you because you couldn’t raise your kids on your own, and now I feel trapped in a life you chose, bogged down by decisions you made, decisions society praised you for while ridiculing me for being a queer, independent, childless woman. So yes, I want to get the hell out of here as fast as I can, and I’m sorry if you feel left behind, but it’s not my fault you can’t keep up.” I sucked in air, lungs empty from my tirade.

Cecily didn’t look at me but stared at the almost-empty glass of wine in her hands. She then raised it to her lips, chugged the last of the liquid, and stormed inside.

Dammit! I grabbed my glass and the empty bottle of wine and followed after her, wishing I knew how to have a hard conversation with my sister without it ending in us attacking each other. Cecily was standing in front of the sink, loudly doing dishes. She turned, and for a split second I thought she was going to hit me, but she grabbed the wine glass out of my hand instead and thrust it into the soapy water, so forcefully it burst.

She cussed loudly as the sink started filling with blood. I quickly grabbed a dish towel and went to wrap it around her hand, but she shooed me away, taking a paper towel from the rack and pressing it against her skin. I ran to the hall closet and grabbed antiseptic cream and bandages, returning to find Cecily on the floor, crying while holding a now-red paper towel to her chest.

I sat down next to her, gently prying her hand out toward me. She hesitated at first, pulling her injury closer to her and snapping at me like a hurt dog, but eventually she let me inspect it. The cut was short but deep, and I removed a small shard of glass out of it with the first-aid-kit tweezers.

“I knew you were unhappy,” Cecily admitted as I applied antiseptic cream to her hand and wrapped it in a Star Wars bandage. “But I didn’t realize how much you hate it here. How much you hate your life with us.”

“I love you and the kids, really, I do,” I promised, giving back her hand. She examined my work and adjusted the bandage. Always the perfectionist. “I just don’t want this life for myself anymore.”

“I’m sorry I trapped you here.” She squeezed my hand with her unhurt one. “I’m trying to get stronger and more independent. I am doing better. You’ve helped me get better.”

“You’ve helped me, too.” I choked up. “And so have those kids of yours.”

“You’ve made all of our lives better, living here.” She leaned her head against mine.

“And my life has been made better living here.” I leaned back into her.

“So then why are we fighting right now?” Cecily asked.

“Because Mom and Dad taught us to handle our emotions by getting drunk and screaming at each other.”

Cecily laughed. “True.”

“We got here because I lied to you about Drew Williams,” I admitted.

“Did this all really start over a guy?” Cecily asked. “Am I really sitting here with a bleeding hand because we are fighting like schoolgirls over a boy?”

“We are not fighting over a boy,” I insisted. She raised an eyebrow at me. “Okay, fine, we’re fighting over a boy.”

“Do you love him?” she asked.

“What? No,” I sputtered. “That’s a stupid question.”

“So you love him, then,” she said, and this time it wasn’t a question.

“I can’t love him,” I responded.

“I didn’t ask if you could,” Cecily pointed out. “I asked if you did.”

“But I can’t,” I maintained.

“Why not?”

“Because fat girl,” I cried. “Because even if I was thin and pretty and felt worthy of a sexy superstar, I’m still gay, and I have no idea what to do with a man.”

“You’ve slept with trans men and even cis men before, back in the day,” Cecily pointed out. “Riding a dick is like riding a bike; it’ll come back to you real quick.”

“Yes, I know the logistics of sex.” I laughed as Cecily did a ridiculous imitation of a bike rider. “What I don’t know is how to date a man. The heterosexual mating ritual is so far from anything we queers do. Straight girls suddenly get so helpless that men have to open their doors. Men’s egos are so fragile they fall apart at the tiniest suggestion that their dicks aren’t the center of the world. Masculinity is so damn toxic. I worry that I hate men too much to date one.”

“God, you’re such a gay girl stereotype.” Cecily rolled her eyes.

“Except that whole ‘I’m in love with a dude’ thing.”

“Except that,” she agreed, smiling warmly at me. “If you’re going to fall for a guy, Drew Williams is a good one to choose. He’s famous, rich, hot as hell. What’s not to love?”

“The bashing I’ll get by the media,” I answered honestly.

“I’ll hide all the newspapers from you, then,” Cecily promised.

“No one reads newspapers anymore. It’s all on the internet now.”

“Fine. I’ll hide the internet from you.”

I laughed. “Even if that were possible, I don’t even know if he likes me. I mean, I know he likes me, but does he like me , like me?”

“Oh my god, you’re being such a child right now.” Cecily huffed, standing up. “Seriously, Diana, you sound like Reggie.”

“I feel like a teenager with my moods all over the place!” I whined, getting up and following Cecily into the living room where we both plopped on the sofa. “I have no idea what to do with all of these emotions. Boys make me feel insane.”

“Love makes you feel that way,” Cecily rebutted. “You act this way every time you fall for someone, regardless of their gender. You go into this downward spiral of insecurity until you’ve convinced yourself there’s no way this person could like you. Or if they like you, then there has to be something wrong with them. Just stop it already.”

“Easy for you to say. Your brain doesn’t work like mine.”

“Oh really?” Cecily cocked her head at me. “Didn’t this whole fight we’re having start because you were afraid I couldn’t keep my cool around famous men? Aren’t you always telling me that I’m great until a man comes along? You can’t hate on me for my lack of boundaries around relationships and then act like it’s all so much harder for you.”

“It is so much harder for me!” I insisted. “Dating is so much harder when you’re queer and fat.”

“Sometimes I think you make it harder on yourself.”

“Says the straight, thin one.”

“Life’s hard for me, too, Diana.”

“Life’s hard for everyone, but some of us have it harder. You will never know what it’s like being a fat, queer woman. And neither will Drew.”

“So you’re just going to dismiss everyone with more privilege than you?”

“No, I’m just not going to have sex with you,” I said.

“That’s good, because I’m your sister,” Cecily mocked.

“You know what I mean.”

“What I do know is that I haven’t seen you light up like this over someone in a long time. Not since Sam.”

“And we both know how that turned out,” I said, rubbing my finger along the white scar on my wrist.

“You’ve come a long way since then.”

“Have I, really?” I asked. “Or have I just not had to put it to the test?”

“I like to think that you wouldn’t try that again, now that you have us.”

“I had you before, and that didn’t stop me,” I admitted.

“I need to believe that you won’t do that again, now that Henry is gone.” Cecily reached for my hand. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, too.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, either,” I cried, taking her offered hand. “I can’t promise that those thoughts won’t ever come back, because I know they will, but I can promise you that when depression hits, I will use all the tools I have to stay here, alive, with you.”

“Thank you.” Cecily squeezed my hand.

“I saw Sam yesterday,” I confessed.

“Where?” Cecily asked.

I told her the whole story, stopping at the fries with cheese delivery, not quite ready to tell her about last night with Drew.

“Sam was always nice on the surface, and in theory you looked great together, but those underlying insecurities were making you both unstable,” Cecily said. “I’m glad you got that closure.”

“Me, too,” I admitted, thinking about my night with Drew, the ultimate closure for getting over Sam.

“So, like what, you’ve got a crush on Drew Williams now?”

“Oh god, you’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?” I threw my hands in the air.

“Do you, like, want to put his poster on your wall?” she joked. “I could cut up some magazine pictures and tape them to your locker.”

“I hate you right now,” I moaned, a contradictory laugh leaving my lips.

“You should totally ask him to the Sadie Hawkins dance.” Cecily’s voice was pitched like a teenager. “Then, like, maybe you two could officially ‘go around.’ After school you could, like, walk to the corner store, and he could buy you a pop or something.”

“You’re enjoying yourself right now, aren’t you?”

“A little bit.” she chuckled. “But, seriously, if you like him, what’s holding you back? He’s Drew Williams, for fuck’s sake!”

“There is no way this doesn’t end up in me being screwed,” I said.

“I mean, isn’t getting screwed kind of the point?” Cecily nudged me with her elbow.

“You know what I mean.” I pushed her back playfully. “There’s no world where someone like me can date someone like him and not get the shit end of the stick. We’re just too different to make this work, so I might as well save myself the heartache.”

“This is going to sound cheesy, but celebrities are just like us,” Cecily said. “Maybe Drew Williams has been looking his whole life for someone as amazing as you. Maybe you need to stop coming up with all the reasons this won’t work, and finally allow love back into your heart.”

“You’re right, that does sound cheesy,” I replied.

“Good thing you love cheese.” Cecily smiled.

“Especially on fries,” I agreed.

“I know men can be assholes, especially famous ones, but he seemed cool. Down to earth. And totally into you. I saw the way he looked at you that night. Like he wanted to kiss you, hold you, and never let you go. I know it’s been a while since you’ve been attracted to a man, and that’s scary for reasons I won’t get as a straight woman, but if you’re going to start exploring men again, Drew Williams is a great choice. I bet he’d be great in bed too, actually caring about your pleasure unlike most of the men I’ve dated.”

“That last part I can verify.” I blushed.

“What?!” Cecily said, scandalized. “When did you sleep with Drew Williams?!”

“Last night.” I blushed even deeper. “And again this morning.”

“Tell. Me. Everything!” Cecily accentuated every word. “Wait, no, hold up.”

She ran to the kitchen, made two cups of tea, then came back to the sofa, handing me one. “Okay, now we’re ready. Spill it.”

I laughed and told Cecily everything I’d held back all these months: the LACMA party, putt-putt, that night in the kitchen, kissing at Jaqueline’s, last night at his house, this morning, and all the worries and fears I’d had along the way. It felt great to sit together on the sofa and finally talk with her about this. I always felt stronger with my sister by my side.

“And now I don’t know what comes next,” I said.

“You work in Hollywood. You should know how this goes,” Cecily replied. “You fall in love with him, he falls in love with you, and you both live happily ever after.”

“You of all people should know that the fairy tale ends. Eventually, love dies, and your relationship rots.”

“Such a romantic.” Cecily rolled her eyes.

“Don’t get me wrong, I believe in love. I’m surrounded by love: you, the kids, Janelle. Amazing people who cherish and adore me, and I cherish and adore them.” I insisted. “But what is that saying we always heard growing up? Sin dinero, el amor sale por la ventana. Love can’t last without a practical foundation based in reality.”

“This coming from one of the most impractical people I’ve ever met.” Cecily smiled.

“Am not!” I protested.

“Am too!” Cecily stressed. “You’re always running around telling people to ‘bet on your dreams,’ refusing to believe that you can’t make it in Hollywood despite everyone else telling you otherwise. Who else do you know could walk into a party full of famous people and snag the fucking prince of the ball?”

“Lots of people,” I said.

“Name one.”

“You want a name?” I smiled. “Cinder-fuckin’-rella.”

“You quote rom-coms way too much to be so cynical about love,” Cecily said. “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit for how lovable you are.”

“Sure, I’m the lovable, fat sidekick,” I bemoaned.

“You’re more than that,” Cecily insisted. “If people can’t see your beauty, they don’t deserve you.”

“That’s just something thin girls say to make fat girls feel better.”

“Does it help?” Cecily asked.

“Nope,” I said.

“What would help?”

“Society changing to accept fat bodies as equal and seeing sexuality and gender as fluid,” I responded.

“I’ll work on that. Until then, how about some more tea?” Cecily got up from the sofa and walked toward the kitchen, not waiting for me to answer.

“I think we’re going to need something stronger,” I said, joining her.

“Whiskey?”

“Even stronger.” I opened the freezer and pulled out a bag of tater tots.

Cecily laughed. “Who needs a man when you’ve got fried potato products?”

“Amen!” I poured the tots out onto a cookie sheet. “Hey, I heard you tell the kids that you sold a new canvas today. Congrats.”

“Thanks.” Cecily smiled. “It was just a small one, really nothing.”

“Every sale is something,” I interjected. “You’re out here betting on your dreams, too, you know.”

“Thanks for that reminder,” Cecily said as she turned on the oven. “I love being an artist, I really do. I just wish it would pay better. I don’t know how I’m going to afford this place when you move out.”

“Maybe I’ll just get mega-rich and buy us all a giant house in Hollywood Hills, and we can ship the kids off to boarding school in Switzerland when they’re moody teenagers.”

“Can I go with them?” Cecily begged. “I’ve always wanted to see the Alps.”

“Sure. I’ll buy us a chateau, and we can visit anytime.”

“I like this plan.” Cecily nodded.

“Me, too,” I agreed, pouring some ketchup on a small plate.

“And where does Drew fit into this fantasy of yours?” Cecily asked when the tater tots were done.

“Oh, those feelings are just tucked away and ignored forever until I get over them easily and never feel heartbreak again.”

Cecily laughed. “That sounds about as realistic as us owning a chateau in the Swiss Alps.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted as Cecily placed the hot pan of tots between us. “This whole scenario with the movie is far beyond my wildest dreams. I feel like I should just be happy with what I’ve been given and not throw love into the mix.”

“That sounds so sad,” Cecily lamented, picking up a tater tot and blowing on it.

“I know I sound pathetic.”

“You sound like someone who was told her whole life that girls like her don’t get a happy ending,” Cecily corrected. “But isn’t that exactly what you’re trying to do with this movie, change the script?”

“God, I hate when you’re right.” I ignored the smug look on my sister’s face. “I don’t know how I’m going to do any of this. Make a movie. Date a guy. I’m alone in new territory without a map, and you know how horrible I am with directions.”

“I have no idea how you’re going to make it all work,” Cecily said, “but I do know one thing.”

“What?” I asked, picking up a tater tot.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” she reminded me, grabbing the tot out of my hand and popping it in her mouth.