If It Makes You Happy Read online

  I wasn’t stupid. I saw it—the way she flipped the conversation, using Sam to manipulate me into doing what she wanted. She couldn’t order me into the wild blue jogging yonder. I just wouldn’t go. But she could guilt-trip me into it. Because that was what I did: put everyone else’s feelings before my own. And when I tried to put myself first? Everyone hated the way it looked. Everyone hated the way it sounded. Everyone seemed to hate me for it.

  Sam placed her hands in her lap. She kept her eyes on her plate, shoulders hunched, bottom lip sucked into her mouth to stop it from trembling.

  I sighed, resigned to rescuing Sam again. “What time?”

  “May I be excused?” Winston asked. “I’m done.”

  Fifteen

  SA(RU)M(ON)

  Sam: Meet me at Rogerson Pond in thirty minutes!

  Sam: Wake UPPPPPPPPPP and pay attention to meeeeeeeee

  Sam: It’s such a nice day!

  Sam: Come onnnnn

  Sam: [Attached voice note]

  Sam: WOMAN 20 mins and counting

  Sam: Don’t make me pull you out of bed. You won’t like it

  Winnie: CALM THE HELL DOWN OR I’M NOT DOING THIS

  Sam:… you don’t have to yell

  If my phone hadn’t been so expensive, I would’ve launched the thing out the window. Thinking about running made a headache appear right between my eyes. Or it could have been the screen from my phone turned up too high and burning holes in my still-sleeping retinas.

  Whatever.

  Sam had printed the outline for the plan, rudely taping it to our shared vanity mirror. I’d seen it after I had finished taking a bath, where I complained to Kara for a solid hour on the phone, until my cosmic-swirl bath-bombed water got cold.

  We’d be on flat land but with intervals. Even the word sounded painful, like it belonged to the family of stabbing motions—Lunge! Riposte! Interval! A deliberate reminder of the relentless pain I’d soon feel in my side.

  They were called running stitches for a reason.

  Reluctantly, I threw off my blankets and half rolled the few feet to the floor, because there was always time for dramatics even if no one watched me. Sitting in front of the dresser—I’d been given the bottom two drawers, while Sam had the top—I surveyed my lack of options.

  The only thing I owned that could be considered Workout Clothes™ was my high school PE uniform, which I’d already thrown away back at home. Bright yellow and in a size that fit by the grace of God and the skin on her teeth, every time my compulsive need for good grades forced me to wear it, I flashed back to the first day of school when some douche canoe had called me Big Bird. And then another person joined in. And then another. And another—until the name began to spread.

  But they messed up when they started calling Sam Elmo by association and because of her laugh.

  If we had to live on Sesame Street, so did everyone else.

  I bought a pair of striped pink leggings to wear under my shorts and refused to use anyone’s actual first name.

  Mikayla? Oh, no, she was Snuffleupagus because of her shaggy brown hair.

  Chris? Oh, you mean Grover because of his too-wide mouth.

  Jim and Aiden? Bert and Ernie.

  Turns out, it wasn’t as funny when the fat girl joined in or when their new nicknames began to stick. That particular group never messed with me, or Sam, again.

  The best I could do for the impending jog was an old T-shirt and a pair of leggings with holes in the knees. After changing, I pulled my braids back into a ponytail.

  Dallas liked them.

  The memory hit me like a hot flash. Him, inches from me, eyes downcast and soft, staring at my braids like he’d never seen something so great before. My cheeks and ears began to feel especially hot.

  I had liked being that close to him. Even if I was kind of mad at him now, it didn’t change that fact.

  “You ready?” Winston stood in the doorway in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.

  “For?”

  “This stupid run thing. Oh wait—jogging. Sorry.”

  “It’s supposed to be our thing,” I said, slide-dancing to him. “A Winnie and Sam Limited Edition Engagement.”

  “So? She comes to movie night. It’s your thing while I’m there.”

  “True.” I nudged him out the door. “Fair.”

  Granny stood in the kitchen wearing her signature plush red bathrobe and matching satin scarf. It made the tiny space come alive with reflective warmth in the morning sunlight. The apartment had amazing lighting. With two huge windows in the living room, a good-sized one in the kitchen, and a skylight in the hall, we almost never had to use the lamps in the house. Even the moon got in on that window action, making things bright enough to see in the dead of night.

  I hated how happy she looked.

  “I asked Aaron to cover for the opening in case we’re not back in time,” I said.

  “Oh, no. I’ll take care of it.”

  I almost protested, mouth and stance ready to argue her down. Granny despised being told what to do, even if it was doctor’s orders of “taking it easy” and “learning how to rest.” The irony wasn’t lost on me there.

  While I hadn’t exactly conspired to give Granny the boot out of the diner for the summer, on paper, in a court of law, that’s exactly what it looked like. Guilty as charged.

  I’d be gone an hour. At most.

  Not worth it.

  “I’ll have breakfast ready for you when you get back.” Granny wiped her hands on a towel and left the sink, shuffling to her room.

  “Guess that meant we’re supposed to eat afterward?” Winston asked.

  “I—I guess so?”

  “Alrighty then.”

  * * *

  I parked the car, said a silent prayer to baby Jesus, and marched, slightly annoyed by how good Sam looked. She sat cross-legged and grumpy, left foot kicking out in irritation while she waited. The Marshes’ family dog, a German shorthaired pointer named Mabel, spun in circles next to her while barking up a storm. They paid Sam to walk her every morning.

  Excess sweat always gave Sam a radiant, dewy glow. Meanwhile, I planned to duck and weave to avoid any and all mirrors until after I could hit a bathroom and get cleaned up. There’s this word I liked: bedraggled. That would be me after this jog.

  Bedraggled as all hell.

  “They’re here. I’ll call you later,” she said before hanging up.

  “Good God, do you have to look so sporty? Is that spandex?”

  “It’s Lululemon.”

  Mabel yipped and whined. Well-trained enough to not jump on people, but refusing to be denied, she could whine the most stringent dog-hater into submission for a quick rub behind the ears.

  “Good morning, Miss Mabel. Beautiful as ever, as expected.” I kneeled down, maneuvering away from the assault of dog breath and saliva trying to make contact with my face while I petted her. “Did you run here?”

  “Yeah. I wanted to get some miles in.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “Oh, stop. Here.” She passed us a reusable water bottle each. “I figured you two didn’t think to bring water.”

  I stood up, taking it. “Right you are.” Sam had written our names on the side in her perfect cursive that could have passed for straight-up calligraphy.

  “Nothing too extreme today, but I wanted you to start getting used to your heart and lungs working a bit harder. I picked this spot because it has random patches of incline.”

  “I’m going home,” I said, straight-faced, before walking away.

  “Why?”

  “You lied. You said flat land. I hear incline, which rhymes with bedtime, so GOOD NIGHT.”

  Sam grabbed the crook of my elbow, spinning me back around. “You would be up running around the diner anyway. Might as well do this.” She wrapped her arms around me from behind, forcing our legs to move at the same time, inching us forward. “I’m with you. You’ll be great!”

  “I’m not with m
e. That’s the most important part.” I hooked my hands on Sam’s forearms, hoping to find some comfort or strength in that brief touch.

  “Nah. That’s just what they want you to think.”

  “They?”

  “The government. Aliens. Cosmopolitan. Choose your poisonous mind-set.” She let go, replacing the back hug with a handhold. “We’ll go as slow as you need. Right, Winston?”

  He cocked a mighty eyebrow. “I like how you assumed I’ll be good at this. We come from the same gene pool. I’m as athletically challenged as she is. I’m probably going to die.”

  “My God, you two are dramatic. It’ll be fine.”

  Five. Two. Five.

  Walk. Jog. Walk.

  My hands shook thinking about it as Sam led us through basic stretches. I would either surprise myself or it would be the longest twelve minutes of my life if I couldn’t hack a two-minute jog.

  Hack. Cough up a lung. Suffer a thousand embarrassments.

  Sam started the timer and set our walking pace. Three steps in, I pegged it as being faster than a normal walk.

  Speed walking: the unholy offspring of languor and effort. Hands in position as if we were about to run, hips working overtime, knees pretty much straight, we circled a rarely used trail that surrounded a pond—stagnant, stank, and full of geese.

  No one went there, because the geese attacked anything that moved. Some geese waddled behind us and another gaggle drifted in the water. Watching. Plotting.

  “You okay?” Sam asked me.

  “Yep. We’re just walking. But are you sure this place is a good idea?”

  Sam nodded to Mabel, happily trotting along. “We come here all the time. I think the myth of her legend has spread amongst them. There’s an uneasy truce in these parts.” She laughed.

  A goose honked. Loudly.

  “Then why are they following us?” I asked.

  “Probably because you two are here. New humans, new rules.” Sam burst out laughing. “Don’t look so scared! If one gets too close, just punt it.”

  “I don’t want to punt a goose! Jesus Christ, Sam.”

  She kept laughing. “Then let Mabel handle it. She won’t let them get you.”

  Another jarring HONK echoed around us.

  Mabel barked and growled.

  A sinister beep sounded from Sam’s arm.

  One-minute warning.

  At this rate, from all of the adrenaline, sudden cardiac arrest was becoming a real possibility. If I were alone, I wouldn’t be this keyed up. I also wouldn’t have chosen this place. Pretty sure one of those murderous birds had flashed a shank at me.

  “I’m still fine, too,” Winston said. “Thanks for remembering me long enough to ask.”

  “Of course you are,” Sam said in an offhanded kind of way. “I’ll set the pace. I’m going to move a little bit faster because you’re both taller than me. It’ll look like I’m running, so don’t copy what my body is doing. Just keep up with my pace.”

  The second beep sounded, accompanied by upbeat music.

  Sam began to run.

  Mabel increased the speed of her trot.

  Winston stayed by my side.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Sam said with an air of authority. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

  “I’m doing that.” I wasn’t. Each new step increased my worry about wheezing and sounding like a dying walrus out loud. After every inhale, I held it for a beat, swallowing it down and exhaling through my nose as quietly as possible.

  I hadn’t exercised in, well, ever. Not on purpose anyway. Exercise had always seemed like a thing you’d meant to do. You had to make an active choice to get up and say, “AH, YES, I FEEL LIKE SWEATING AND GETTING MY HEART RATE UP TODAY.”

  But then there were those people who wore those step-counter things. They did their normal everyday stuff and got to say, “I walked ten thousand steps today! Woo-hoo!” That was exercise to them, so it must have counted, too. Right?

  It confused the hell out of me, to be honest.

  I’d never thought of myself as out of shape. These tiny hills were nothing to scoff at, but Christ Almighty, it took all of my willpower to not look at my chest in shock. I almost didn’t believe how hard a time I was having. The weather probably didn’t help. The remaining wafts of night air still felt too dry, and breathing it felt like someone rubbing sandpaper inside of my nasal cavity.

  “Howmuchlonger?” Winston asked, voice strained. His deep, deep frown and halting breaths through his mouth almost made me trip.

  Sam said, “Thirty seconds. Almost there!”

  “Do you need to stop?” I asked.

  Winston shook his head. “I—can—do—it.”

  Just as I was about to tell Sam to stop, she shouted, “And done! Walk it out!”

  Winston bent over immediately, hands on his knees, slightly wheezing. “I’m—definitely—out—of—shape.”

  I was a little light-headed, but my breathing had already begun to slow. I rubbed his back while Sam repeated, “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

  “I heard you—the first—seven times.” He looked at me. “My chest—hurts—a little.”

  “It’s better if we keep moving. Let’s walk, come on.”

  “Give him a minute,” I snapped.

  Sam took a step back, a wounded look on her face.

  First and foremost in life, I was a sister—Winston’s big sister. I lost all semblance of civility and loyalty at even the slightest hint of my brother in distress.

  He stood up straight, closing his eyes and placing a hand on his side. “Okay. I’m okay.” He draped an arm over my shoulder. “I’m okay,” he said. “At ease, Ranger.” And then he did something he almost never did—smiled, happy and brighter than the blazing summer sun getting ready to start the day.

  When we returned to the diner, Aaron stood behind the front counter. He lived in the kitchen and only voluntarily came to the front for emergencies.

  “Hey, how was it?” I asked.

  “Your grandmother has commandeered my kitchen.” He stared at Mabel, who wagged her tail, pleased by even the grouchiest of attention because it was such a dog thing to do.

  “What kind of evil person hates dogs?” Sam whispered as he walked away.

  “He doesn’t hate them. He just doesn’t want them in the diner if they’re not service animals,” Winston said.

  Granny popped her head out the window. “Oh!” Moments later, she appeared with a plate on each arm. Granny could cook almost as well as Aaron, but this? The smallest and most cheese-less of spinach omelets and microscopic bowls of fruit, as if she counted out exactly how many pieces were inside.

  “Oh, good, I’m starving,” Sam said. “I was hoping for pancakes, but this works, too.”

  Granny’s eyes darted to me before she smiled at Sam. “Next time. I’ll come up with something.”

  Well. Guess that meant I was supposed to be on a diet. I was too tired to get mad. No, that’s not true. I was mad, but too worn out and weary to show it—my legs felt a bit too jellylike to hold up my steel spine anyway.

  “I’m more tired than hungry,” I lied. “I’m gonna head up.”

  “You need to eat,” Sam said, popping a strawberry into her mouth. “That’s not optional.”

  “I never said it was and I will.”

  Someone shoving a plate of food in front of me didn’t make me obligated to eat it. Yes, yes, I knew I shouldn’t waste food. My parents had laid that guilt trip on nice and thick, and I probably had some kind of deep-seated complex because of it. But what if I didn’t want to eat that? Shouldn’t that matter, too?

  I didn’t look at food as fuel or some sinful indulgence. I wouldn’t have liked eating a dry can of tuna. I wouldn’t have liked eating chocolate cake every single day. When you’re fat, everyone always has something to say about what you should and shouldn’t be eating. Helpful things like, “Maybe you should get a salad,” and, “You’re gluten intolerant? You
must eat really healthy now, huh? You’re going to lose so much weight!” They put food in categories for you, like good and bad, healthy and junk.

  It was simply food to me, and I had worked hard to see it that way.

  Balance mattered. Enjoyment mattered. But most important, choice mattered. And I didn’t want anyone choosing what went inside of my body except for me.

  “I’ll eat after I take a shower. I feel gross and sweaty.”

  “Me too,” Winston said. “I’m just going to get some juice and lie down. My back is starting to hurt.” He looked at me. “Before you say anything, I’m fine. I just need a nap. I woke up too early.”

  Upstairs, I changed my mind and decided to take a bath. Sure, a meadow-scented bath bomb, rose bubbles, and candles seemed indulgent at six thirty a.m. on a weekday, but who was gonna stop me?

  I twirled my ponytail into a massive bun, undressed, and took my sweet delightful time sinking into the giant tub in Granny’s bathroom until the water reached my neck. Last year Granny had fallen and broken her hip. My parents and my uncle had her bathroom renovated to make the tub wider, with a door and handles for accessibility.

  The water covered my mouth, stopping just under my nose. Somehow, I avoided snorting water when I breathed in the smell of fake grass and roses while blowing raspberries with my lips. Then I lifted one leg into the air, flexing my foot and wiggling my bright-peach-colored painted toes.

  I wasn’t sure why I loved myself as much as I did. Never really questioned it.

  Of course, my self-confidence could be a flighty bee whenever it felt like it. I had good days where I could twirl around the diner singing to customers in my pretty uniform. I had bad days where I hated shopping in stores for clothes because I always ended up crying in the dressing room. Days when I felt like too much, too wide, and too loud. Moments when I second-guessed whether or not I was allowed to wear a crop top or if my skirt was too short.

  But I loved myself. I knew and felt it deep in my bones. Even on downswing days when living and being happy in my skin felt impossible, I knew I could rely on my true self to come back around to save that struggling version of me.