Watch Us Rise(31)

A store clerk sees me and says, “Not finding what you’re looking for? We’ve got a bigger selection of plus size options online. Free return if it doesn’t fit.” She gives me a sympathetic smile and walks away.

Online? Why can’t I try on the clothes here in the store? Why are these two racks hidden in the way back of the store?

I read the ad again: Rubies and Jeans Plus: Because every girl deserves to look beautiful. I think about the word “deserves” and wonder what they mean by it. How about: I am beautiful. The way I am. For a moment—just a moment—I think about taking out my black Sharpie marker and rewriting the statement:

Because every girl is beautiful.

Because every body is beautiful.

And then I think about crossing out the word “beautiful,” because what does that even mean? This is a clothing store. It’s just clothes. Wouldn’t that be a good ad?

Rubies and Jeans: It’s just clothes. Come try something on.

I look back at the poster one more time before walking away. I study the girl’s body. She isn’t thin, but she is definitely not a big girl like me. I wonder why girls with bodies like mine can’t even model the clothes that are made for us. Most times when I see body types like mine on advertisements, they are on posters like the ones in the subway—big body, sad face. Sometimes they are the before picture in a weight-loss success story, but bodies like mine aren’t often seen with happy faces, stylish clothes. I put the sweater back on the rack. I don’t really need anything anyway. I always waste money when I’m shopping with Chelsea. While she’s trying and buying clothes, I usually stick to the accessories section looking for earrings, things to put in my hair, or cute wallets. That’s usually the option for a big girl in most stores. And I think maybe I buy something every time because I want to feel normal, don’t want Chelsea asking, “Why aren’t you getting something?” It’s been this way since the sixth grade. The first time we went shopping together, I remember trailing behind Chelsea, going rack to rack, Chelsea’s arms full of options, mine empty. Chelsea noticed I wasn’t picking out anything to try on and she said, “What’s the matter, not finding anything you like?” I knew in that moment that she didn’t even realize that I actually can’t get anything from the stores she shops at. She kept on asking me, “You’re not going to get anything?” And so at the counter when she was paying for her clothes, I picked up a pomegranate-mint lip gloss. I think I only used it once.

I walk over to the dressing room. Chelsea is still trying on clothes, and now Nadine is in the room next to her. I sit on a chair in the waiting area, scrolling through my phone, not really looking at anything important. When Chelsea and Nadine come out of the dressing rooms, they both have a handful of clothes in their arms. They stand in line, buy them, and we leave. On the way out of the store, Chelsea says, “I think this is my new favorite store.”





At home, it’s just Dad and me. Mom and Jason are at his karate practice. I start making dinner so when Mom gets home that’s one less thing she’ll have to do. Dad comes into the kitchen just as I am filling a pot with water.

“What are you making?” he asks.

“Spaghetti.”

He reaches up on the top shelf and takes down the glass jar that has dry noodles in it. The jar is half-empty, so I can hear the noodles shift and rub up against each other, sounding like the music shakers Mr. Morrison has in the prop box at school.

“Thank you,” I say. I could have got it down myself. Well, I would have had to use a stool, but I could have. Dad walks all over the kitchen gathering ingredients and setting out the dishes I will need. “You don’t have to help, Dad. Just sit here and keep me company.” The more he exerts energy, the more tired and miserable he’ll feel tonight.

“I’m okay, Jasmine. I’m having a good day today.” He chops garlic on the cutting board, then opens a can of fire-roasted tomatoes. None of us are the best cooks, but we can doctor anything up and make it taste good. We buy spaghetti sauce from the market and add our own stuff to it. Dad works on the sauce while I break the noodles in two so I can dump them in the boiling water. “You don’t have to be scared of me, Jasmine. I’m not going to break.”

“But you’re going to die.” I didn’t even mean to say that. It just came out as quick and easy as the tears streaming down my face. The steam from the hot water hits my face, and I don’t move. “Sorry—I—”

“Don’t apologize,” Dad says. “It’s true. Eventually, I’m going to die.” He sprinkles salt in the boiling pot of noodles, then stirs the simmering pan of sauce. “But not today. I am not going to die today. Today we are cooking together, and we’ll eat dinner. And I’ll probably eat too much but still want some ice cream, and your mom will fuss at me, but we’ll share a bowl anyway. And since it’s Friday, maybe we’ll watch a movie tonight, the four of us. Something Jason can handle, of course. That’s what’s happening tonight.”

I step back from the stove, trying so hard to hold in my sadness, but it spills out of me. Dad puts the spoon down, turns the burner all the way to simmer, and takes me in his arms. He lets me get it all out, and over and over he tells me, “It’ll happen. And there’s nothing we can do about it. But not tonight. Not tonight, sweetheart.”