Chubby ✔️

Dinner Time

By dinner time, I was a nervous wreck. I couldn't help it. I just didn't know how my parents would react. They've never really been supportive. As bad as that sounds, the only support I've ever had from this house is from one person and that person is without a doubt, my older sister Natalie. She's always been there for me. And she's also the favorite one out of the two of us. She was the one who Mom proudly took to parties and dinners when we came in the first grade.

We live in a small town. And apparently word got around fast about how Willow Anderson was a chubby girl and also has a weird obsession with animals.

Mom and Dad figured if they took me to dinners, I would be the center of negative attention. And that would ruin their time.

So naturally, they decided to take the daughter who everyone thought was extremely beautiful and graceful in every way a first-grader could possibly be. The one who got good grades. The one who wasn't chubby and was actually very fit and slim.

So, at the age of 13, Natalie would dress up and go to dinners, while I stayed at home and microwaved left overs as I watched movies, read books or focused on my homework. I never really complained about having to stay at home because I actually enjoyed these activities. But you know, there comes a time when even an introvert wants to see what the outside world feels like.

I've always wondered what people meant when they call me "chubby."  Does it mean I'm chubby as in cute? Or does it mean I'm chubby as in I look like a chipmunk?

"Willow! Dinner's ready!" I heard Mom call out from downstairs and immediately ran to stand in front of the mirror. Trying my best to fix any imperfections with my outfit. I fixed my hair with another bobby pin. I had been looking up hairstyles that make fat faces look slimmer online and came across one that I could actually make. I had to have all the attention of Mom and Dad on what I'm about to ask them. Not on how much of a disappointment I am.

As I made my way downstairs, I could smell the aroma of Mom's favorite dish. Well, she's in a good mood...

As I sat in my chair, and began to eat I noticed Dad on his phone; tapping away and Mom reading her magazine. This may seem weird for a family dinner but this is how it goes.

I try to make conversation and they nod their heads mindlessly, pretending to listen even though I know they're not.
But pretending feels nice.

And as every night, today is no different, "so, how was your guys' day?"

"It was alright," mom mumbles as she turns the page of her magazine. I look at Dad and, whaddya know: he's still tapping away furiously on his phone.

"I. Um. Wanted to talk to you guys about something," I start off as I roll some spaghetti around my fork. "Spring Break is about to start." I pause and look at them, hoping they're listening. Only to be disappointed. I swallow my mouthful of spaghetti and take a deep breath, preparing to blurt it out already. "I'm going to try getting into The Modeling Academy."

At that, my parents freeze and look at me. I look at them. Waiting patiently for an answer. But with the looks on their faces, it's hard to tell what they're thinking about my confession.

A few minutes pass and then the two burst out into loud laughter.

I frown, confused. Is it something I said?

As they finish laughing, they look at me. Mom's eyes widen, "Oh. You're serious." I smile shyly and nod my head slowly.

Dad chuckles and looks at me, "Look, Willow. I think you shouldn't do this." I frown as he says this. "I mean, honey. You need looks to be a model."

I fall back in my chair and look at him with shock. My dad doesn't talk to me much. And I'm surprised that when he does, it's to crush my dreams.

Father of the year award goes to...

"Your father is right, Willow." My Mom says as she picks up a tone in her voice which one might use if talking to a stubborn child who is hell-bent on getting something humanely impossible. "You do realize that models these days are," her eyes run down my figure. "Thin. And slim. They have cheekbones and they actually enjoy fashion."

"You don't think I enjoy fashion?" I ask her quietly. Has she not been seeing the drawings of sketches of dresses in my room?

"No sweetie. I'm just saying that you're not.. -she pauses for a minute- pretty enough to be a model. You should maybe work on yourself a little before trying out." Wow. They're  being extremely careful of my feelings.

I put my poker face on. Surprisingly I've gotten pretty damn good at it. I envy crabs and turtles sometimes. They have shells that they can hide into when they feel offended or threatened.

"I will try out," I say with finality.

"Okay then," dad says as he picks up his phone again. "Don't come crying to us when you get rejected."

Mom nods her head, "Yeah. We won't lend you a shoulder to cry on when you go ahead and refuse our advice."

I push my chair back and march up the stairs to my room as I furiously wipe the tears off of my face.

I pick up my phone to give Natalie a call when I stop as my thumb hovers over the call button. I can't. I can't just expect her to drop her husband and child for me whenever I need her to solve my life. I need to let her live hers.

I shut my phone off and put it on my nightstand.

That night, I lay in bed. Thinking on whether my parents were right or not.
I sigh and get up to stand in front of the mirror.

I look at myself and sigh deeply.

I just want to be told, by someone. Anyone. That I am good enough.