The Weigh We Are

4 | Naomi | 65.5kg

"We missed you so much at Jon's party, Naomi!" Ava sits on my bed, a fierce red nail polish bottle in her shaking hand as she attempts to paint Emily's nails.

I sit at my once-white desk, which is absolutely covered in pencil markings and makeup stains, trying to paint my own nails a navy blue. The house is empty except for us, mum and dad working late; but our noise is enough to fill the entire house. I see Ava spill red nail polish on my grey sheets and stare her down, but I don't think she notices. My room is small, but it is mine, and I like it the way it is.

I hid the letter in my closet before the girls got here. I don't know why I feel so obligated to hide it from other people; I wouldn't care telling the girls what was going on, but what was there to say? I don't want them to think I'm not the person that they know. The letter found me, and me specifically, for a reason.

"Yeah, you really need to come to the next one." Emily chimes in, looking down at the nail polish that is stained around her fingertips. "You're awful at this by the way."

Ava scoffs, leaning so close to Emily's fingertips that her eyelashes could have touched her skin. "You'll live." There is a pause in her words; it seems as if she wants to say something, but doesn't know how. The air is empty. "Anyway Noms, there was something we wanted to talk to you about."

I look up, not knowing what they were talking about. "What's up?"

"Caspar was there the other night, and he was drunk. Not just normal drunk, he was completely and utterly out of control. He was mumbling and stumbling around everywhere, until he found us. He kept asking about you and where you were, and we covered for you. But afterwards, he said something that didn't make sense." Ava and Emily both look up at me, waiting for my response.

I can feel my heart pumping in my chest, trying to escape from beneath my skin. I can feel the butterflies in my stomach turn to stone. I can feel the fire in my cheeks spread to the tip of my tongue.

"What did he say?" I try to speak as confidently as I can, but I feel like a shadow caught in the sun.

"I know he was probably drunk jabbering, but he said that he broke up with you? He passed out before he could say what happened, but what's that all about?"

My mouth thinks before my brain does. "What an idiot. He was probably embarrassed that for once someone broke up with him, not the other way around. I'm surprised he didn't tell you that I begged for him to stay."

We all laugh together, filling the room with sweetness that doesn't belong there. There is a sick feeling in my stomach as my best friends believe my lie, but what else can I say? I can't bear to tell them the truth.

It is not long before they leave, leaving me to embrace the silence of the empty house. Did the believe him? I hope not. God, with all my heart I hope they believe me more. The room seems to get smaller and smaller as the seconds tick by; I want to call him, to talk. I force myself to control my hands that have his number tattooed into the nerves of each finger. There is nothing to say, I repeat to myself. There is nothing to say.

-----

"Did you honestly think the best place to meet up, to discuss weight issues, was a pizza place?"

David sits awkwardly in front of me, fiddling with his black jacket zipper as we wait for the drinks we ordered to come out. We sit at a small, wooden table in the corner of Woody's Pizzeria, the salt and pepper shakers next to us moulded into an electric and acoustic guitar. Above us are rows of neon signs that the owners must have spent years collecting, compiling the signs into a completely random pattern. The small milk bar is full, the sound of blenders creating all sorts of milkshakes merging with the music that changed every 30 seconds. The jukebox rested in the corner of the room, where kids couldn't decide on a song- in all the years that I have eaten here, I don't think I've ever listened to a full song. The small gaming section at the back brings screams of joy and frustration. Styled like an 80s arcade, 'Marie's Corner' never failed at attracting attention; 'Donkey Kong' was my favourite, but I am awful at it. Woody and his wife Marie, when I was younger, told me that they designed their restaurant the way they did because they never wanted to admit that they were growing old.