Letting Ana Go (7 page)

I told him yes.

Now I have no idea what to wear. Jill is in the shower and I’ve dumped both of our bags onto the big bed in our room and I’m trying to find the right top. Thank God Jill told me to bring a skirt. It’s a white mini that’s perfect for summer—not too short, but looks good with sandals. I got a new top that ties behind my neck. It’s the color of a tomato. Jill swears it makes my blue eyes pop. As soon as she gets out of the bathroom I’ll wash my hair and survey the sun damage. Hopefully my face isn’t too red. I don’t want to look like a lobster in this shirt.

I just realized I’m writing about what outfit I’m going to wear. I swear. One cute, sweet guy holds my hand and suddenly, I’m
that
girl. . . .

Whatever. I’m going to let myself be excited. Because I
am
.

I want to not worry about my parents’ love life. I want to have one of my own.

Weight:
126.5

I woke up s-t-a-r-v-i-n-g this morning. No one else was awake yet because we were all up so late last night. (More on that in a moment. But first . . .) I went into the kitchen to get a cup of yogurt. I tried to take small bites and deep breaths in between.

Jill swears that this helps her to eat more slowly. She calls
it being “mindful.” Apparently the theory is that the food is more satisfying if you are truly aware and conscious of what you’re eating instead of just scarfing it down. Which would seem like a good idea, and generally it is. I ate the yogurt slowly and “mindfully” and then drank a bottle of water very “mindfully” and had turned to put the bottle into the recycling bin when I saw the cabinet where Rob and Jack’s junk food is stashed. The door was open, and I saw a pack of those little powdered doughnut gems. These doughnuts are my breakfast food kryptonite. I am powerless against their pull. I tore open the cellophane almost before I knew what I was doing and popped one of the tiny powdery doughnuts into my mouth in one bite. I was biting into the second one when I sort of came to. I stood there, frozen, like I had come out of a doughnut gem blackout wondering how I’d gotten here. The doughnut suddenly swelled in my mouth and I saw there was powdered sugar down the front of my sleep shirt. I felt my heart racing as I turned the package over to read the calorie information: 240 calories per serving. Serving size: four doughnuts. That meant every doughnut was sixty calories. Sixty calories in a tiny doughnut I could eat in one bite! The powdered sugar had melted in my mouth and the thick sludge of sweet cake felt like it might choke me if I tried to swallow. I rushed over to the trash can to spit out the doughnut in my mouth. At least I could save an extra sixty calories.

I opened my mouth over the garbage and pushed the mushy clump of calories out with my tongue. I watched the glob tumble from my mouth into the trash bag, and at that exact moment, to my sheer and utter horror, I realized I was not alone. Slowly, I looked up and my eyes met Susan’s. I don’t know how long Jill’s mom had been standing at the counter, but judging from the look on her face, it had been long enough to see me cram a doughnut into my mouth, then check the label on the package and wheel around to spit it out.

There have been several embarrassing moments in my life, but none of them compares in even the smallest of ways with
this
moment. I am unsure how to even write how I felt except to say I wished a hole would open in the boat and I would be sucked to the bottom of the lake and drowned. I would rather have faced death than to have figured out what to say to Susan. Her eyes were sort of wide and I noticed that even this early on the fourth day of a vacation to the lake, her blond hair was thrown up in a twist that
looked
careless and jaunty but was actually planned and perfect. As her gaze drifted from the crumbs on my lips and the white powder dusting my T-shirt to the torn cellophane package in my hand, her perfectly lined lids slowly relaxed into a cool stare.

I straightened up, swiping at my mouth and shirt, trying to dust away the crumbs but only spreading the white
confectioner’s sugar in a small cloud. I tried to swallow but my mouth was a desert and the longer I stood there in silence the more panicked I became until finally, Susan said, “Well, good morning,” and stepped to the counter to make coffee.

I was seized by the urge to make an excuse, to try to find some way to explain why I was covered in sugar and spitting doughnuts into the trash. I felt a fear in the pit of my stomach that didn’t make sense. It wasn’t a fear that Jill would find out or that Jack would care. It was a fear that I’d disappointed Susan. I folded the cellophane over on the doughnuts and slipped them back into the junk food cabinet and closed the door, then turned to Susan, stammering like a fool.

Me: I . . . I’m just . . . Wow. Those doughnuts are my Achilles’ heel.

Susan: Well, we all have our secrets.

Me: Jill has been working so hard, and I want to be a good friend to her. Apparently powdered doughnuts make me a raving lunatic.

Susan: Yes, she would be disappointed, but I won’t tell her. Besides. You don’t have to worry about being in shape for ballet.

Something about her smile when she said this was like a knife slicing through my chest. It wasn’t the extra sixty calories I’d just swallowed that made my stomach hurt, it was the crushing shame of having let Susan down. I was supposed to be a good
friend to Jill. I wanted to be pretty enough for Jack. Susan’s vision for her son’s girlfriend was certainly lean and graceful like her, not wolfing down doughnuts over the trash can. Is this the person I’ve become? Sneaking bites like my mom? News flash: not a good way to keep a guy interested. If it didn’t work for my dad it certainly won’t work for a guy as handsome as Jack.

I didn’t know what else to say to Susan so I slipped past her to go back to the room I share with Jill. As I did, she turned and stopped me with a hand on my arm.

Susan: You were so beautiful last night. Jack couldn’t take his eyes off you. I just wouldn’t want you to start forming bad habits that would get in the way of that.

My cheeks were burning, but I forced myself to meet her gaze. This was what tough love must feel like. Susan was telling me the
truth
. She was saying what I
needed
to hear instead of what I
wanted
to hear. Maybe if my mom had a friend like Susan she wouldn’t have wound up sobbing into my shoulder while clutching a pint of ice cream. Maybe someone telling her the truth would have kept her from losing my dad.

I nodded at Susan, who smiled at me, then pulled me toward her and kissed my forehead, then poured herself a cup of coffee and asked where my new polka-dot bikini top was hiding.

Susan: Jill couldn’t stop talking about what a knockout you
were when you tried it on in the store. I haven’t seen it yet!

I smiled and she winked at me as I slipped out of the kitchen and back into my room, where Jill was still asleep. Quietly, I pulled off my sugarcoated T-shirt and fished the polka-dot swimsuit and a little pair of cutoffs from my bag. I also grabbed this journal so I could write about what just happened. I’m sitting in the bathroom on the edge of the tub writing.

It made me feel so good when Jill’s mom said Jack couldn’t take his eyes off me last night—mainly because I’d felt that too, but I wasn’t sure if I was just dreaming. It’s nice to have confirmation of good things. Sometimes I get excited about things, and then instantly I feel silly and afraid. This voice in my head tells me that this just
can’t
be happening, and that I shouldn’t be excited about it because somehow that will jinx it.

Last night Jill and I were getting ready while Rob and Jack helped her dad dock the boat at the marina. When we felt the boat stop and heard the dull roar of the engine go quiet, Jill was changing outfits.

Again.

For the seventh time.

You wouldn’t think we’d have had that many outfit changes between us on a trip where we were limited to one bag each.
Let me assure you that this was not the case. We only had three skirts between us, not counting the white one I was wearing. Jill tried on almost every top with almost every skirt.

Me: He’s already completely smitten with you. I’m not sure why you’re in a panic about what you wear tonight.

Jill (wide-eyed pronouncement face): I am not reacting to panic. I am enacting perfection.

Me: We may miss the appetizers is all I’m saying.

Jill: You can’t rush perfection.

Me: No, but you can’t eat it either, and if I don’t have some food soon, I may lack the strength to actually carry myself down the gangplank under my own power.

At that moment, we heard Susan call for us down the hallway from the stairs that lead out onto the main deck, and Jill took one last look in the mirror before turning and leading the way out of our room, onto the deck, and down the walkway to the dock, where Jack, his parents, and Rob stood waiting. Walking down the ramp, I felt like I was heading to dinner on the dock via a fashion show runway, and as I walked next to Jill, I could sense Jack’s eyes on me immediately.

Naturally, Rob couldn’t contain himself and let out a low whistle as Jill stepped onto the dock and took his arm. She smiled, then informed him that she was not a baseball game to be whistled at and shot him a look that silenced his joke about
getting past third base before it had fully escaped his lips. In the awkward silence that followed, while James glared at Rob and Susan arched an eyebrow at Jill, I felt Jack’s hand take mine for the second time that day. He leaned close and whispered into my ear.

Jack: You look great.

Me: I clean up okay.

Jack: Trust me, “okay” isn’t the word I would use.

Me: And yet, I received no whistle.

Jack: Not my style.

Me: I like your style.

Jill had not been wrong about dinner: the restaurant was fantastic. The view across the lake was incredible. The sun set as the waiter offered us appetizers, and I caught myself having to ask Jack to repeat himself because I was trying to tally the rough number of calories contained in a small bowl of Southwest corn bisque as compared to the chopped salad. He asked me if I was nervous, and I smiled sheepishly and said maybe a little, even though I wasn’t nervous about him, I was nervous about keeping my calories at 1,700 for the day. It dawned on me that I wasn’t going to have very much fun if all I did was freak out about calories and lie about being nervous. I decided just to order what Jill was having and not worry about it. Luckily, the waiter went around the table starting with the ladies first in the order
we were seated: Susan, Jill, me. Jill ordered the chopped salad to start and something called sixteen-spiced chicken with the mango butter sauce on the side. I followed suit.

Jack and Rob both got the barbecue ribs and Jack insisted I eat one of his, which I did. It was delicious, and I wished I’d gotten that instead of the chicken, but I knew pork ribs are not on a 1,700-calorie diet, so I savored the bite I had and left a little more of the sides on my plate. I kept checking to see if Jill was actually eating. I don’t think she took more than a bite or two of her salad, and there was still so much chicken on her plate when the waiter came to offer dessert that her dad insisted he box it up so we could take it back to the boat.

Rob and James both ordered a Lake Powell Brownie Sundae, dripping in caramel and fudge, but Jack opted for the turtle cheesecake. Shockingly, Jill asked for a bite of her brother’s dessert and I took one too. I held the rich, creamy bite in my mouth, savoring the combination of the slightly tart cheesecake with the buttery caramel sauce and crunchy graham cracker crust. I didn’t realize I’d closed my eyes as I chewed until I opened them and saw Jack licking his fork with his eyebrow raised a little.

Jack: Good, huh?

Me: Transcendent.

Jack (offering another bite): Still hungry?

Me: No, thank you. Stuffed.

I wasn’t stuffed, but I felt comfortable again. As I watched Jack place the last mouthful of cheesecake between his perfect lips, I realized I wasn’t hungry for food. I was hungry for something else. I blushed when I had the thought, and glanced around quickly, as if I was afraid someone else at the table might’ve heard my thoughts or read my mind.

When we got back to the boat Jill’s dad pulled out of the marina and charted a course for farther out in the lake, where we found a place in a secluded cove to drop anchor and spend the night. Susan seemed especially vigilant about sleeping arrangements after Rob’s joke on the way to dinner, so she supervised the Saying of the Good Nights on the upper deck. While Jill made Rob work for a peck on the cheek, Jack smiled at me by the light of the almost-full moon and stuck out his hand toward me as if we were finishing a business meeting in a conference room. I laughed and took it, giving it my firmest pump up and down.

But he didn’t let go.

Instead he pulled me in and held our handshake tightly between us while he wrapped his other arm around me in a hug and said, “John Wesley Powell couldn’t do this either, poor bastard.”

Me: But he did have a wooden boat.

Jack: He had three, actually.

Me: You should stop hugging me now. Your mom is watching.

Jack: She’s watching Jill.

Me: She’s a wise woman.

Jack: Would you kiss me if she weren’t watching right now?

Me: On the first date?

Jack: Yeah.

Me: Not my style.

It took me a long time to fall asleep last night. First, I listened to Jill tell me all about how mortified she was that Rob made that joke, and how she’s just not certain if he’s mature enough for her. I kept drifting away from what she was saying and thinking about lying on the raft with Jack until finally she said:

Hello?

Me: Sorry. What?

Jill: Wow.

Me: What?

Jill: You’ve got it bad.

Me: What?

Jill: You’ve just said “what” three times in a row. You’ve responded thrice with the word “what.”

Me: I was just thinking. . . .

Jill: Yes, yes, about my brother, yes, I know. I am still somewhat dizzy from disbelief.