"Dad, this is great," Jackson sputtered out through his mouthful of steak.
"Yeah. Is it a new recipe for the Mac and cheese? I really like it."
"Not a new recipe, an adaptation of the old one," Dad sat forward as he always did when he was interested in the conversation.
"You see," His voice dropped to a quiet innovative excitement.
"It's all in the sauce. Pasta is pasta, but the right mixture of cheeses creates a fondue-like topping that's just-"
"-Biwishus," Jackson chewed through his words. I reached for another serving of steak as I was about to drop it on my plate, my dad lightly touched my arm.
"Tay, dear, you've had a lot. Find a balance, remember?"
When I was younger, I was severely overweight. I went to a dietician who told me to 'find a balance'; a mix between what I want to eat and the serving that made most sense. Since I followed her plan, I'd fallen in love with yoga and had been strong and slender, even towards the underweight side of the weight spectrum. My dad's words hit me out of the blue.
Don't eat the rest. You don't need another serving. Do you want to be fat?
A voice appeared in my head. I'd never heard it before. It was a soft, luminous melody. I liked it. It was like a motivating dietician who was tailored to exactly what I needed to hear.
"You're right, dad. I'm full anyways."
He smiled.
