Misadventures of a Curvy Girl (Misadventures #18)(54)

“But,” I say, “it’s one thing to say it about yourself, you know, to use it as a hashtag and make it your choice. But other people don’t use it like that.”

“Aha,” Mackenna says triumphantly and stabs a finger up into the air. “I knew it was about that article!”

I flush.

“Let me guess… You read the comments?”

“Yes,” I mumble. “I know. It was stupid to.”

She gives me a rueful kind of smile. “It’s okay to forget to expect the worst sometimes.”

I let out a long breath, staring past her and out the window. “I felt so idiotic after I did. Because I’ve spent this year trying to be someone more like you. Confident and happy in my body, like all the body-positive people I see online. And I thought I’d done it! I thought I was over ever feeling bad about my body again—but all it took was one freaking picture.”

“And a hell of a comments section,” Mackenna adds.

Sigh. “And that.”

“Look, princess, body positivity doesn’t mean you flip a switch and walk around feeling great for the rest of your life. It’s not even really about feelings at all. Body positivity is about what you do. It’s about daring to live your life as you are—not fifty pounds from now, not six dress sizes from now. And there are going to be days when every bad feeling comes back for you again. When you feel all the messy, hopeless things you thought you were past feeling. Those are the days you do it anyway.”

“Do what?” I ask, my voice bleak. “What is there to do?”

Mackenna practically erupts. “Everything! There is everything to do! You post pictures of yourself, or you dress the way you want, or you push back against a flight attendant who’s treating you like trash. You unapologetically pursue your photography career, and you date the people you love, even if other people don’t like it. Not because it makes you feel good but because it helps change the world. Do you see? Even just living your life is a radical act. That is body positivity. That is what matters, not an emotion that can change at the drop of a hat.”

I understand what she’s saying, although I don’t know if I like it. It feels hard. It feels unfair.

It feels unfair because it is unfair, I remind myself. It shouldn’t be this way.

It should change.

Maybe I can be someone who changes it. Who fights against the unfair parts, because what’s the other option? To live like I did before? To be and die alone?

I press my fingertips against my eyelids, careful not to mess up my makeup but also wanting to keep the tears inside. “But what about Caleb and Ben? Those trolls and my ex were coming after the tavern online, and I couldn’t—” I break off, really about to cry now. “I couldn’t bear the thought of Caleb and Ben paying any price to love me.”

“And?” Mackenna says.

She says it so matter-of-factly, as if there’s definitely something else I need to say, that I don’t even question it.

I answer her, as surprised by the words as she isn’t. “And what if this was the first time they noticed I was fat? What if they hadn’t really noticed before, but then after they learned how everyone else sees me, they would realize they didn’t really love me after all?”

And then I clap a hand over my mouth. Where the hell did that fear come from?

Mackenna nods as if she were expecting this. “Well, you’re a dumbass if you think they hadn’t already memorized your body from head to toe long before this article. They know what your body looks like, Ireland, and they worship it. I promise. Also, look at me!” She gestures to herself. “Do you think I would have dated them—lived with them—for years if they were capable of that kind of behavior?”

Her eyebrows are arched in challenge, her mouth pursed in a knowing smirk. She looks like the kind of woman who wouldn’t stand for any hint of dickish behavior.

“No, I guess you wouldn’t have,” I say. A new thought occurs to me. A new fear. “Do—do they only date girls like us? Like a fetish or something?”

The thought makes me deeply unhappy. What if all the wonderful, sexy, ecstatic moments we shared were because they had an unhealthy fascination with my body—not because we were simply Ireland and Caleb and Ben?

“Okay, A of all, I don’t like the way you said the word fetish,” Mackenna responds, doing this thing where she aims her pointer and middle fingers at me and waggles them. “It’s very kink-shamey, in general, and I don’t stand for that. B of all, I don’t understand this need to pathologize people who find fat folks attractive. You wouldn’t be asking me if they only dated brunettes or Catholics, so why do we have to label normal desire as something twisted just because that desire isn’t for a thin body? And C of all, no.” She drops her fingers. “They don’t only date girls like us. I went to college with them, and I can tell you they’ve dated all kinds of girls—even dated a boy once.”

I let out a long breath.

“D of all,” she says, “I feel like you’re asking all the wrong questions.”

I’m chewing over all the things she’s said to me, so it’s in an absentminded voice that I ask, “What are the right questions, then?”

“Will your boss give you the afternoon off, and how fast can you get back to Holm?”