I'm Glad My Mom Died(28)

“Sixty-one pounds,” the nurse says as she scribbles on her clipboard paper.

As I hear the words come out of her mouth, they feel morphed and warped. I am crushed. The scale at home said fifty-nine. I immediately try to read Mom’s expression. It’s even, which means disappointment. I am even more crushed. We are escorted to room 5, my lucky number not seeming so lucky in this moment. I step up the little stepping stool and sit on the teddy bear paper on the patients’ table. It’s rough and pokey. The assistant asks a few more questions, then closes the door behind her. I open my mouth to say something, but Mom speaks before I can.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

A few minutes pass, and Dr. Tran comes in. I’m disappointed it’s Dr. Tran instead of Dr. Pelman because Mom seems in a much better mood when it’s Dr. Pelman. (If it wasn’t against the gospel, I’d think Mom has a crush on him, but I know better because lust is a sin and Mom would never engage in a sin.) Dr. Tran keeps her eyes on her clipboard.

“Debbie, could I speak with you privately for a minute?”

Mom steps outside with Dr. Tran. The doors are thin enough and Mom talks loud enough that I can completely hear them.

“So… I wanted to speak with you about Jennette’s weight,” Dr. Tran starts. “It’s significantly lower than what’s normal for her age.”

“Huh,” Mom says, sounding a little anxious. “She’s eating normally. I haven’t noticed any changes.”

That’s not true. Mom has noticed the changes because she’s the one who wanted the changes in the first place.

“Well…” Dr. Tran takes a big breath in. “Sometimes when young girls have anorexia, they’re very secretive about their food habits.”

This is the first time I’ve heard the word “anorexia.” It sounds like a dinosaur. Dr. Tran continues on.

“I suggest you keep a close eye on Jennette’s eating behaviors.”

“Oh, I will, Dr. Tran. I certainly will,” Mom assures her.

I’m confused. Mom already keeps an eye on my eating behaviors. She’s as involved in them as I am, if not more so. Mom not only knows everything about how and what I eat, but she encourages and supports my habits. What’s going on? What does this even mean?

A few months later, I hear the word “anorexia” again in the parking lot of my dance studio after class. I’m on the bench out front, waiting for Mom to arrive while I learn some sides for an audition to play Val Kilmer’s daughter in an upcoming movie.

Mom’s always twenty to forty-five minutes late picking me up, which makes sense because she’s so busy with other things, like calling bill collectors to ask for holds and stopping by the Westminster Mall to pick up Hallmark thank-you cards for every casting director I’ve read for in the past six months. (“They might not remember your read, but they’ll remember a thank-you card with pretty cursive writing on the front!”)

I notice Anjelica Gutierrez’s mom has been loitering near her minivan, even though Anjelica’s last class was the same last class as mine and the Gutierrezes usually leave right on time. Then I see Mom’s copper Ford Windstar minivan make the left turn onto the street of the studio and pull into the parking lot. I grab my dance bag and start to head to the car, but Mrs. Gutierrez beats me to it. She approaches Mom’s passenger window and asks her to roll it down.

“Hi, Deb, I just wanted to talk to you real quick about Jennette. I notice she’s losing a lot of weight. It seems like she might have anorexia. I wanted to see if you’re working on getting her help. Another girl in class struggled with it, and her mom gave me the name of a specialist—”

“Let’s talk about this some other time,” Mom interrupts Mrs. Gutierrez in the way that tells me “some other time” is never going to come. I pull open the car door and jump in. And with that, we’re on our way home.

“Mom?” I ask once we’re stopped at a red light.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“What’s anorexia?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Angel. People are just being dramatic.” The light turns green. She steps on the gas.

“Did you learn your lines?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Great. You’ve got a good shot at this one, Net. I can feel it. Val’s blonde, you’re blonde, you’re a shoo-in.”

“Uh-huh.”

“An absolute shoo-in.”

I look out the window, then go back to learning my lines. I’m excited for the sugar-free Popsicle I’ll have when I get home.





26.


TODAY IS THE DAY I enter Beehives, the church’s program for girls twelve to thirteen years old. Upon entering the program, you’re assigned a “role” and the role I’ve just been assigned is assistant secretary—a position that doesn’t even exist.

“But Madison’s already secretary,” I tell Sister Smith, my teacher. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“Well, you can help her out.”

I look down at my fingernails to hide my disappointment. Makaylah Lindsey leans over to talk to me.

“The girls who get the good positions are the ones who are for sure always gonna be active.”