Page 25 of A Bookish Story

I thought the doctor would disagree with my mother and tell her I was fine and still growing. But they put me on a diet. There’s nothing quite like having your caloric intake restricted to make you crave everything in sight. I ate even when I wasn’t hungry, which wasn’t often.

When she took me to a soap opera taping, I hung by the food table and grazed all afternoon when she wasn’t looking. Sandwiches with ham and cheese and mayo on crusty bread, cookies, cake, and soda. All food never allowed in Mami’s presence. Never allowed in her home.

I ate so much I wasn’t hungry that evening for my green salad.

“See? Your stomach is already shrinking!” Mami said.

No matter how she hurt me, I still loved her. For a young girl, that love became toxic when it was mixed with a heavy shot of contempt.

“You realize I’m doing this for your own good, don’t you?” Mami said, “You’ll thank me some day. Wait and see.”

Here’s the funny thing.

I’m still waiting to thank her for that. It’s not going to happen.

My life feels like fodder for a women’s fiction novel some days, but maybe that’s why I write romance to take me away from real life. Most people are familiar with the peculiar burdens of family, the way obligations pull and push until they break you in half. Family love and devotion can splinter and crack. Some say real love is unconditional, but that’s also why it hurts. Because love is not always healthy. Even when it should be.

It’s time I tell Mami the truth. I no longer need a wedding dress, or her help shopping.

I’d hoped planning the wedding would be a way we’d connect. We could repair our relationship. But she was often too busy to talk about invitations and favors. The dress, however, was of interest.

There’s still so much I want to say to her, but the timing has to be right. I thought the time would be on my wedding day when I’d be glowing and bathed with the happiness of marrying a man who loved and accepted me for who I am.

I have a speech, which I’ve written and revised about a dozen times over the last few months:

This is something I should have said long ago, but it took being a little bit older and wiser to find the right words. You are my mother and above anyone else, you should accept me as I am. Instead, you let a thirteen-year-old girl feel inferior because I didn’t match the version of me you had in your head. Guess what? There are many versions of me. I’ve been a size twelve and I’ve been a size six, but I’ve never changed the person I am inside. I still love books and reading and castles and unicorns. There is nothing wrong with my body, or anything that needs fixing. But for a while, you made me think there was. It took years to fix what you broke in one summer, but now I’m happy and whole. No thanks to you.

Oh, by the way, thank you for coming.

I planned to say this to her at my wedding, but I’m honestly not sure that speech will ever be given. I’m beginning to think the entire speech was just like everything else I write—fiction. My issue might not be my weight anymore, but I’m still falling second to others.

I need to let her know the wedding is off, but I don’t need to see her in person. A simple email will do. I’ve been putting it off because of the phone call it might provoke. She might think I need her comfort, or some little life lesson about love. I don’t want to hear any of it.

At one time, I needed her. Not anymore. I have Eddie, Abuelita, Sofia. My family.

Later that night, I compose an email to my mother:

Dear Mami,

I thought you should know there isn’t going to be a wedding. Chris and I broke up. You’re probably curious and want to know why. Maybe you won’t be surprised he found someone else. Yes, she’s thinner than me. Big deal. The point is, it’s over. Dress shopping is unnecessary. By the way, I wear a size eight in case you were wondering. A very small size eight.

Best regards,

Luci

In a way, what I’ll miss the most about the wedding is the fact that I won’t give her my little speech.

CHAPTER 10

Two days later, I haven’t heard from my mother and I consider this a good sign. She’s aware she won’t be able to consult my fashion choices and she’s moved on. Now, it’s time to tell my family that soon I’ll be broadcast on national television pretending to be someone else. I’m going to explain that I’ve written a book and used a pen name.

I don’t expect it to go over well.

Generally, my family isn’t cool about things they don’t understand and I could fill a book with all they don’t know about publishing. The first person I tell is Sofia. I have no time to build this up, to make it believable. She knows I’ve finished a novel and I’ve been shopping it. But that novel, which she’s read, is nothing like Ryan’s book. Add to that the guilt that pierces me at the lie I’ll be telling and this isn’t easy.

All at once, she learns my book is published and it’s going to be on the morning show. Fortunately, Sofia knows even less about publishing than I do. She thought the comedy show about a woman who dropped off her unsolicited manuscript at Simon & Schuster, wound up with a million-dollar deal and a fully funded book tour was something that could really happen until I set her straight.

Sofia gasps at my news. “Is this the one I read, the book about time travel?”