Because Fat Girl

Epilogue

Some girls spend their childhoods dreaming of their wedding day. I spent mine planning for the Oscars.

They called it Hollywood’s biggest night, but really, it’s a whole season, one full of screenings and junkets, interviews and appearances. It took months just to plan my outfit, mostly because no one would dress me. Turned out designers still hated fat people, even famous ones. Luckily, Christian Siriano loved working with women of all shapes, colors, and sizes, and he happily took on the group of us.

My dress was long and dark red, with rose-like petals of silk adorning the bodice and continuing down the skirt like they were falling in the breeze. I wore dark flats, because screw heels, and massive chandelier earrings. Janelle glowed in a bright orange pantsuit with a matching cape, and Cecily was stunning in a white gown with silver stars down the front. Together we’d be an elegant walking ad for Christian Siriano, which felt right, a diverse group of stars wearing a designer known for dressing diversity.

I’d always thought tonight would be the catalyst for change, that I’d step onto the red carpet and into my true self, a confident creator and artist who was proud of her work, her body, her life, herself. But when the Oscars finally arrived, I realized that change happened long before tonight.

It happened in my college classes and on dance floors in gay bars. It happened at protests and rallies for the rights of myself, my friends, and all LGBTQIA+ people.

It happened when Henry died and I moved in with Cecily, our whole worlds crumbling. It happened when we worked together to climb out of the ruins.

It happened with every awkward person I helped feel confident at Roussard’s, and every time I dressed myself, defiant of fashion’s boxy clothing and “flattering” looks meant to hide my fat body.

It happened when I showed up to that LACMA party like I belonged there. It happened when I refused to settle while making this movie. It happened on set as we all came together and poured in our hearts and souls.

I’d found my community, a group of people who loved and accepted me as I was. That was what I’d been searching for my whole life. That was making it.

Don’t get me wrong, I still wanted an Oscar, I’d always chase that little golden man and the prestige winning would give me in my career, but I didn’t need him as a shield anymore. I was surrounded by the protection of the people I loved.

People like the ones gathered around me tonight, who were all in a tizzy because the limo had arrived. Suddenly, everything felt real, and I jumped up and down shouting, “Aaaahhh,” getting all of my nervous jitters out while I could. When I was done, I picked up my purse and headed for the door.

“Wait!” Janelle grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the hotel suite’s full-length mirror.

“What?” I asked, worried I’d forgotten something important.

“We’re fine as hell,” she started, a huge smile on her face.

“And sexy as fuck,” I continued, my smile matching hers. I had forgotten something important, the most important thing of all.

“People are lucky to share space with us,” Janelle added, tears forming in her eyes.

“They should pay us to be in their presence.” I felt myself getting teary-eyed as well.

“Damn right,” Janelle finished as we pulled each other into a tight embrace.

“Damn right!” Cecily joined us.

“I friggin’ love y’all,” I said as we squeezed together for a group hug—done carefully so as to not mess up our hair or outfits—then headed out of the suite followed by an entourage of assistants.

Hotel security led us through the back halls to avoid paparazzi, and we met our chauffeur at the loading dock, which smelled like trash and urine. It wasn’t the most glamorous start to our evening, but it was a lot better than dealing with the hordes of people who waited outside the hotels on Oscar night, hoping to catch a glimpse of the celebrities attending. It still shocked me to know that now included me.

Limos weren’t in style anymore. These days people opted for Rolls-Royces or Escalades, depending on their image, but I’d always imagined arriving at the Oscars in a classic black limo with Cecily and Janelle by my side, so that’s what I ordered. Or I should say, that’s what Suzanne ordered, the new publicist I’d gotten through Drew.

Drew… The thought of him made my heart skip. He’d been nothing but professional publicly, respecting my wish to keep our relationship out of the press so it didn’t take away from the film. But privately, he’d been one of the most devoted lovers I’d ever had, making me fall for him again and again. It wasn’t all romance and roses; we’d had many heated conversations working through our differences—topics like queer identity, non-monogamy, childhood trauma, privilege, and birth control came up a lot—but there was something special and long-lasting between us that had me even more excited about tonight. Two years ago, sitting on Jaqueline’s back porch, I’d made a promise to Drew that if I won an Oscar for this movie, he could have me right there in front of everyone, and tonight I planned to make good on that promise, whether I won or not. Because my love for Drew wasn’t something I wanted or needed to hide anymore.

I was a fat, queer woman from a small farming town who overcame grief and crippling depression to make a movie full of queers, sex workers, and people of color with a mostly woman and non-binary crew. That movie had been nominated for multiple Academy Awards and made millions of dollars at the box office. More than any of that, it had changed lives for the better, making a massive positive impact in this world. If people wanted to talk shit about me dating Drew Williams, they could have at it. I’d already done what I came to Hollywood to do.

“Ready?” Janelle asked as we approached the front of the line of cars.

“No,” I said, tears filling my eyes. “I’ve spent my whole life impatiently waiting for this moment to come, and now that it’s here, I want to stop time.”

“Do not start getting all mushy and make us cry!” Cecily insisted. “I refuse to have us photographed by thousands of cameras with red eyes and smeared mascara.”

I laughed as I patted my eyes dry using the handkerchief Jaqueline had embroidered for me, with red roses to match my outfit and my initials on the corner. Chaz, the one stylist we’d been able to fit in the car with us, gave me a look over, touched up my lipstick, and then spritzed me with some kind of freshener that smelled like the ocean.

“You’re ready,” Chaz declared.

Squeezing Janelle and Cecily’s hands one last time, I knocked to tell the driver it was time.

He opened the door, and the immediate barrage of lights and screaming was overpowering, a tidal wave of sensory overload. I had no idea how I was supposed to exit the limo gracefully when I could barely see or hear. I wanted to climb back into the depths of our car, let the others go first and pave the way, but Suzanne had given us strict instructions on the order we exited, insisting I be first.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Cecily said, easing my worries. One minute of posing for the cameras by myself, then Janelle would join me, followed by Cecily. I wouldn’t be alone for long. I could do this. I took the chauffeur’s hand and entered the fray.

The sound of it all was deafening. Smiling journalists and large television cameras lined the wide red carpet, with paparazzi behind them flashing away. Above it all, rows of bleachers held screaming fans, and I was shocked to hear my name on some of their lips. Before I could take any of it in, someone grabbed my hand. I glanced up to see Shamaya beaming next to me.

“I heard I was only a couple cars ahead of you, so I made them wait,” she said, posing for photos like she’d been born for this, which, I realized, she had. She squeezed my fingers reassuringly and added, “We’re in this together.”

“We’re in this together.” I squeezed back, smiling while I scanned the crowd. There was a group of obviously queer teenagers taking up a corner of the bleachers closest to the street, and I led our entourage over to them, taking selfies and signing autographs despite security’s insistence that we go back to the photo line.

This is why I made this movie , I thought as a genderqueer kid gushed about how much the film had meant to them. Remember this moment. This is why you’re here.

Our hearts swollen with pride, we made our way back to the main runway, ready to tackle the press. Shamaya and I took the interviews together, a well-rehearsed pair stepping up to cameras and microphones in an act we’d been doing for months on the road. Cecily and Janelle stood back, both preferring to stay out of the spotlight, and watched the rush of celebrities going past them.

“Diana, I see you’ve got your sister here with you tonight,” one reporter said, calling Cecily over. “What was it like, watching yourself portrayed on the screen?”

“As Diana always says, ‘surreal, but nice.’” Cecily smiled awkwardly into the camera.

The reporter turned to Janelle. “What would you tell young girls out there wanting to make it in film?”

“Be the kind of person who bids on your own dreams,” Janelle said. “Everyone thought Diana and I were being unreasonable and unrealistic in film school when we set out to make movies with a diverse cast and crew. Nobody believed it could work, but now we’re here, and we did that by sticking together. So bid on your own dreams and find yourself a crew to go all in with you.”

“Great advice from Janelle Zenon, who is nominated tonight for Best Cinematography,” the reporter said, turning back to the viewers at home as we were ushered away from her and into the theater.

“I have no idea how I’m going to do it, but I desperately need to pee,” I said, looking around for a restroom.

“You helped me with my wedding dress. I’ll help you with this.” Cecily pointed to a women sign in the corner.

It was quite a job, but working together to lift our layers, one at a time, Cecily and I were both able to relieve our bladders. Giggling, we made our way to the mirror to wash our hands and touch up our makeup, when I noticed a familiar older woman with white-blonde hair next to me at the sink.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. I just smiled and nodded when she said hello, drying her hands and walking out with the kind of grace that made her a star.

“OH MY GOD!” I shouted once she’d left. “That was Meryl Streep! I shared a bathroom with Meryl Streep! At the Oscars!”

I screamed. I couldn’t help it. I screamed and grabbed Cecily, and we jumped up and down, not caring if I was supposed to act composed and professional.

“I could die happy,” I said as I leaned against the bathroom wall.

“No more dying in this family,” Cecily insisted, handing me my lipstick out of her purse. Even at the Oscars, she was the mom, holding everyone’s stuff, keeping us in our place.

“I love you,” I said, staring at this amazing woman who did so much for so many. She smiled and handed me another Jaqueline-embroidered hankie from her purse to wipe my tears.

As we headed toward our seats, there was so much happening that it was hard to take it all in. Later I’d only remember it in bursts, walking down the aisle, people I admired shaking my hand, strangers congratulating me on my film and its nominations. It was all a blur until I caught the familiar faces of Chris and Jaqueline smiling at me from a row that was shockingly close to the stage.

“There she is, the belle of the ball.” Chris drew me into a hug.

“If I’m Belle, would that make you Beast?” I asked, smirking.

“I believe Drew has claimed that role.” Jaqueline nodded at her son, who was walking toward us.

“Happy Oscars.” Drew kissed everyone on the cheek, lingering a bit longer against my face to whisper, “God, you look amazing,” in my ear, which sent shivers down my whole body. I almost grabbed and kissed him right then and there, but Chaz would kill me if I ruined my lipstick this early in the night.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked as we took our seats, the show about to begin.

“Just watch and play along,” Drew said.

“And smile,” Chris reminded me, showing a perfect row of newly whitened teeth. “No matter what happens, smile.”

And then we were live, streamed to millions of homes around the world, homes like mine where I’d watched the Academy Awards every year, dreaming of the day I was there. I watched, smiled, and laughed along through opening numbers that poked fun at actors in attendance and introduced the stars that night—including me!

I sighed in disappointment when Emmy lost the Best Costumes category but screamed wildly when Janelle won for Best Cinematography.

“This is for all the little Black girls out there, trying to find their light,” she said, keeping it short and simple, but still making the whole audience tear up.

We cried even more at the In Memoriam section of the evening, honoring all those lost over the past year, hating seeing Kali’s face in the mix. Chris had picked out her photo, one taken that night we had our picnic under the stars, and she smiled down at all of us from the screen. She’d fended off cancer just long enough to finish the score for our movie, which was nominated for Best Original Song tonight—Chris and Drew singing a heartfelt version of it live in her stead. Her funeral had been a celebration of life, making me both grateful I’d gotten to know her before she was gone and devastated I didn’t have more time with my new friend.

Everyone was bawling in her memory, and I wanted to pull our whole crying group into a big hug, but the show had to go on. Soon it was time for Best Screenplay, and I smiled and waved as Daniel Kaluuya said my name. The camera pointed at me, and I tried to remind myself that no matter what happened next, tonight I was already a winner.

“And the Oscar goes to,” Daniel said, lifting the flap and pulling out an envelope.

“Diana Smith for Home Bound !” he revealed, and I froze, my whole body in shock.

“Diana, go!” Chris shouted at me from down the row of chairs, and Cecily helped push me on stage as I shook with nervous excitement. Dazed, I made my way to the podium, taking the little golden statue and staring at it a long time before Daniel poked me in the side, reminding me we were live.

“Oh, yes, my speech!” I remembered, making the audience laugh.

I had written something, of course, a short but thoughtful piece thanking everyone who had made this possible, but once I was up there, I decided to just go with what my heart wanted to say.

“When I was a little girl, a stranger asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I told him I wanted to make movies,” I started, my voice growing stronger with each word. “The old man laughed, patted my stomach, and told me I’d have to lose about twenty pounds to make that dream come true. I was twelve, and he was the first of many who said this moment would always be impossible for me to reach, whether because of my weight, my gender, or my sexuality. I’m much larger than I was then, both in size and stature, and it was only by embracing my grandeur that I was able to make it here to this stage.

“This Oscar is mine, yes, but it also belongs to every fat girl out there. It belongs to all the queers, the kids of color, the ones struggling with their mental health, the outcasts, and the misfits. To anyone who has ever been told you were too much, I beg you to stand tall in your greatness. I beg you to expand and grow. I beg you to never shrink away.”

The crowd stood and cheered as I followed Daniel Kaluuya and a model a tenth of my size off the stage. They led me to a staging area where I posed for photos, tears still running down my face. When we were done, Chaz was brought around to retouch my makeup while an assistant held me in place, waiting for a commercial break to let me go to my seat. While I stood backstage, they announced Best Supporting Actor and sadly Drew lost. He looked happy for Ncuti Gatwa when the cameras panned to him, but I knew he had really wanted to win.

As soon as the assistant gave the go-ahead, I ran back to my seat, where everyone was waiting with excitement to congratulate me. I grabbed Cecily and hugged her first, tears ruining the makeup I’d just had retouched. We passed my new little man around between us, and Emmy came over to congratulate me with a large smile on her face, the happiest I’d seen her since Kali passed. The assistants hushed us, prepping to go back on air, and I sat down in my seat between Cecily and Drew.

“You won an Oscar!” he said, grabbing my hand and squeezing it.

“I won an Oscar!” I screamed, getting shushing noises from the cameraman next to me. “I’m sorry you didn’t win,” I whispered to him.

“It’s not over yet.” He smiled.

Next up was Best Supporting Actress, and we all applauded and screamed when Miel won. Her acceptance speech was a manifesto of sex workers’ rights, and I cried again, thinking about how much I needed speeches like ours as a kid watching the Oscars every year, how much I still needed them as an adult. When she started praising the relationship I had with Cecily and the way our crew made her feel like she had a family again after hers disowned her for being gay, I completely lost it, resigning myself to being that girl the internet made into emotional memes.

I thought the shock would subside each time we won, but it just amplified as Home Bound raked in the awards, including Marie for Best Actress and Kali for Best Original Song, which Jaqueline accepted in her honor. It hadn’t been lost on me, my team, or the press that I was passed over for best director, even though my movie had more nominations in other categories than any other film. The Academy rarely acknowledged women directors as equal to men. Hollywood had made progress in my lifetime, but it still had a long way to go.

The disappointment in not having my name read for Best Director was abated a bit, though, when Chris won Best Actor and said, “None of this would be possible without a feisty little coffee girl named Diana Smith.”

Then, in what felt like an eternity and a millisecond all at once, it was time for Best Picture. Everyone in our group linked hands, from Chris down to Miel, who reached back for Emmy’s hand, which was clasped together with Jaqueline’s. Mindy Kaling was announcing the nominees, and seeing her up on stage, I remembered the LACMA party at Chris’s house, Janelle and I watching her walk by with our mouths agape. It seemed like a whole lifetime ago that we were all strangers, this mismatched group of misfits I now considered family.

“And the Oscar goes to…” Mindy said, opening the envelope and smiling, “Chris Stanson, Shamaya Kapoor, Drew Williams, and Diana Smith for Home Bound !”

I crumpled to the floor, bawling. That was it, then. I’d done it. I’d made an Academy Award–winning film. All the sacrifices, all the energy, all the classes and books on craft, all the years of waiting and working on my script and waiting some more. It all finally paid off.

I thought of Henry, how much I wished he could be there with Cecily and me, how much I owed the drive in my life to the loss of his. And I swore I felt him squeeze my shoulder, right there at the base of my neck, the way he used to do when he’d hug me. I swore I heard him whisper in my ear how proud he was of us.

Cecily was standing above me, yelling at me to get off the floor, but someone else reached down to help me up, large, strong hands that were gently lifting me off the ground. I turned to see Drew with tears in his eyes and the largest smile I’d ever seen on his face. Without hesitation, I jumped up into his arms and kissed him. It was a long, deep, full-mouth kiss, the kind that left nothing open for interpretation. I heard the audience’s applause grow louder as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his embrace. I didn’t care who was watching, and I didn’t care if my lipstick was smeared all over his face. All I cared about was showing Drew how much I loved him, how much I appreciated all he’d done to help get me here to this moment.

“Get it together, you two. You’re on national television,” Chris hissed, walking past us and up the stage.

Drew stepped away from me, laughing as the people around us hooted. I blushed as I took Drew’s hand in my right and Shamaya’s hand in my left, and together we walked up to accept our award. The Best Picture Oscar technically went to only the producers, but we’d decided long ago that this was a group effort and, if we won, we all deserved to be up there together, so the whole cast and crew came with us.

For so long, I’d focused on getting onto this stage that I hadn’t put much thought into what would happen after I got there. Chris and Shamaya would give the acceptance speeches for all of us, we’d arranged that much, and then we’d pose for photos and go to parties where we’d be congratulated by everyone, the belles of the ball as Chris had said. I’d critique outfits with Shamaya, dance wildly with Cecily, and watch Janelle try to become best friends with Lena Waithe. I’d probably sneak away with Drew to make out like teenagers at prom, and I would definitely make him help me find Meryl Streep and convince her to have tea with me.

At some point we’d go home, and I’d hug Reggie and Ellis, letting them play with my Oscar whenever they wanted because, really, if you thought about it, it was just a golden doll and they deserved to hold it as much as I did. I’d officially move into Drew’s house–I spent most nights there anyways–but I’d make sure to go back to Arcadia for pancakes and painting as often as I could.

I’d befriend all the famous queers, now that I was one of them, and I would kiss Drew whenever I wanted, knowing my sexuality was mine alone to define. As soon as this was over, I would crawl into his arms and not leave for days, Serena making us breakfast in bed. I would let him take us all on a vacation to Italy—Cecily, the kids, and Jaqueline, too—like he’d been saying he wanted to for over a year now. We would eat so many gluten-free carbs and I would never again care who saw us together.

I would celebrate every little second of this with everyone I loved, with Cecily and the kids, Drew, Jaqueline, Janelle, Shamaya, Chris—everyone who helped make this all possible. I would party and dance and relish every single moment of this dream coming true.

And then, when I felt well-rested and full of love, I’d do it all again. I’d make another movie. I’d tell another story. Because my happy ending didn’t come when I got a man, little golden one or tall human one. My happy ending came every time I had the guts to stand up and declare that my story was worth telling.

The love doesn’t end here…