Don't Call Me Fat (COMPLETED)

Way to a Great Day

I felt like I had been reading about Rachel and Andrew Jackson for hours. I knew almost everything about them now. Honest, I think I do. 

They never had children, but adopted one of her nephews and named him Andrew Jackson Jr. They were illegally married until she realized that her divorce had never been finalized. The Hermitage was self-sustaining. I could give you names, dates, birthdays, and more. The information was all starting to blur together.

Staring at my computer screen, I took a sip of my lemon water. Gulping it down, I typed a couple sentences. Rachel and Andrew Jackson shared a love that people of their time couldn't comprehend. In a world where marriages were treated as business transactions, Andrew broke the husband mold, giving himself over to his wife without hesitation. Their love was one of deep devotion, and constant communication. Andrew was rumored to even carry a small portrait of Rachel in his breast pocket when traveling abroad, hoping to always remember her sweet face. Rachel was never considered a beauty by the current social standards. She was referred to by her peers, as a piously religious, country-like woman, who kept to herself. Rachel admitted in a letter once, that she did not enjoy parties and social functions, but would rather spend all her time either with her family or in the house of God.

Pausing, I looked through the book I had opened on my desk, skimming the page for the information I needed. Wouldn't it be wonderful to be loved so intimately? Andrew and Rachel were adorable. I had picked them because of this alone. 

Andrew had accomplished so much, and he accredited so much of it to her and how supportive she was of his endeavors. I had been to The Hermitage when I was little, and their story had come alive for me. I hadn't had a chance to ask Michael why he was so drawn to them. There was a lot to say about Jackson himself, being a President, and entrepreneur.

Scanning my notes, I noticed that most of the sentences I had strung together focused solely on their love relationship. This wasn't good. I needed to break it up, and add some political milestones into the mix.

*ping*

*ping*

Finally. I was expecting a text from Mags. This week our fundraisers at school had started, and we had been running like maniacs to get everything done. I had been placed in charge of the snack stand at the football games. We did our version of the snack stand/food truck when the weather turned. People were incredibly willing to spend money when there was cocoa and apple cider available in cool temperatures. 

It was always our biggest money maker, and it had become the biggest responsibility. I had to make sure the supply orders had come in correctly, using notes that we had left over from last year. And I had to make sure that the truck was ready to go. We still had to follow certain health codes to keep restaurant guidelines with the food truck, and had to have it inspected before our first use. I felt very adult setting up appointments.

Our council sponsor this year was our English Lit teacher, Mz McGregor, and boy she was something. She was one of the coolest adults I had ever met in my life. She was only 30, and hilarious on our level. Every assignment she gave was interesting, and every interaction I had with her made me feel special, like she truly saw me and believed in me. We had talked about writing a couple of times, and what our journals meant to us, and for real, she is just good people. So, her putting me in charge of this was a huge compliment, since she believed I could do it and succeed.

Mags had been put in charge of the Silent Auction to take place at our October Harvest Fest. We were supposed to be collaborating, which meant I was helping her get ideas of whom to ask for donations. Usually, it was a no-brainer. Local businesses always wanted to be involved for the free advertising they received in exchange at the event.

Our school had been throwing the biggest Harvest Fest for years, attracting people from miles around. Harvest Fest is comparable to any State Fair you have ever been to. We have a carnival, and games, and booths with crafts, and food trucks, and a Battle of the Bands' competition that offered $500 in studio time for local artists to make an EP. The Silent Auction generated about 30% of our revenue that went directly to the school fund that supported scholarships and extracurricular programs. Last year, that's how the computer lab was able to add 6 new touch screens that were super advanced, and a couple of smart boards for the teachers in the science department.

I was supposed to ask Dad about donating something rare from one of his many trips abroad. He had a way of collecting weird and special pieces from the different continents that he had visited. Last time he came from Asia, visiting Japan, he had returned with a traditional style Hakama that has since been framed and placed in his office. It hangs on the wall in his study between a suit of armor, and a skull that has been rumored to be THE SKULL that was used in Shakespeare's Hamlet, performed by the Royal Shakespeare Company. My Dad talks to it, calling it Yorick, just like Hamlet, when he has an issue. 

My Dad uses comedy to assuage his grief often. It's never boring when he's home.

Her text was pretty much along those lines. 

Mags: Have you asked your Dad about donating yet??

I sighed. No. He still wasn't home.

Me: No, he's supposed to be home later this week. Don't worry, if he isn't home, I'll have my mom put something in the auction.

Mags: OK, just don't forget! I need to know ASAP!!

Geeze, I know Mags is an overachiever, but come on now. Nagging is so beneath her. I place my phone on the desktop, moving to shift through my sticky notes to my paper outline.

*ping*

I swear, if that's her with another freaking reminder about the auction I'm going to ride my bike to her house and throttle her. Picking up my phone, the screen brightens. The preview lights up the text, and I feel my breath catch in my throat. 

It's from Michael.

Michael: Hey, what's up?

My pulse quickened. How do you sound cool?! I sat, frozen, contemplating what to say. I remembered that yoga breathing technique that Ava had showed me. Slinking to the floor, I sat cross-legged, thankful that I had opted for leggings as my choice of lounge wear this evening.

In the nose, out the mouth. I held the phone to my face, making sure his name was indeed on the screen, and I hadn't read it incorrectly. What was I saying? I knew it was him. Oh My GOSH I could not look dumb right now.

I typed my first reply in. 

Me: Just chilling in my room. How about you?

Oh no. No. That was so stupid. I deleted it out. OK. Focus.  

Me: Working on my project outline by beefing up my research notes! How's your evening?

Heck no! NERD ALERT! I backspaced until that shameful attempt disappeared.

Me: nm, you?

Perfect. Just the right amount of distraction, vagueness, and simplicity. He'll think I'm so normal.

*ping*

Michael: Working on our project. :) I was wondering if you were free tomorrow to go over some stuff.

Me: hold on let me check something.

Selecting the right date in my planner, I ran a finger down my column of To-Do's. I knew there was a ton of stuff on the schedule with the fundraisers, but if he had an opening between practices I needed to try to make it work for both of us. Crap. I did have the food delivery tomorrow. But it shouldn't keep me longer than 5 p.m.

Me: Could you do it around 530 or 6? Or do we need to do it directly after school?

I waited. Nothing. 15 minutes passed. Nothing.

Well... Do I double text him? Or do I wait? Goodness.

"Honey I'm hoooooooome!" My ears perked, and I sat up straight from my place on the floor. Was that my Dad? Home at last?? That was his voice over the intercom! No one else ever used it except for him. It was one of those house accessories that everyone thought they needed, but hardly anyone ever touched. It had to be him! He was home earlier than I thought!

I jumped up, running through my room. I swung the heavy wooden door open, and made my way towards the staircase. Listening intently, I can't hear if my Mom is there or not; it's too quiet down below. I walked past the first balcony to see if I could get a better view of the foyer. I can't see anything past the chandelier. I know that I can only see the chandelier from there, I've lived here my whole life, but I can't help the excitement bubbling out from within me. 

Quickening my pace, I pass the second balcony, still not able to see any movement down below. Since my room was on the back of the East wing of our home, I had the longest walk to the entrance from almost any other point in the house. I didn't mind it, unless there were times like these where it seemed the hallways would never end. The spiral of the wooden handrail coming into view, I made my way gingerly down the imperial staircase. I can't figure out why I can't see anything. There wasn't a soul at the foot of the steps.

I caught sight of the back of a maids uniform. The housekeepers were here today, preparing for my father's arrival. Mom was pretty lax with her own housework, so she hired a local service to come a three times a week to tidy. We weren't messy people, but honestly the house was too big for one person to clean.

I followed the uniform into the formal sitting room to my right, feeling the cold marble under my toes as I padded softly behind her. This person had brown hair with a slight gray streak running through it. It had to be Anna. She was the coolest chick out of the people that came to clean. I cleared my throat to let her know I was behind her. Ahem!

Anna whirled around to face me, a bewildered expression plastered on her face. The laugh lines around her mouth disappeared for a split-second, before she relaxed her demeanor and let her wrinkles lay into place. Anna had been a smoker for years, and her pucker rested just long enough for her to pretend to be mad. 

But, her faux anger only lasted a moment before she was wrapping me into a hug. "Girl, I didn't know who was behind me! You were using your sneaky feet apparently!" She leaned back, squeezing my arms while she looked at me. "I haven't seen you in about a month. Tell me how you are, friend! I heard your Daddy is comin' back to town!"

I sincerely have always loved the way that Anna has smelled. It was like menthol cigarettes, and peppermint candies with a touch of floral hand soap all muddled together. She's like the grandmother I've always wished to have, and I couldn't imagine anyone else doing the role justice like she did. The opportunity to meet my grandparents was never an option for me. They had all passed away before I was born, so she was the closest thing to a grandmother that I can imagine to having. She knew everything about me, even the weird stuff that I hadn't told Codie or Mags, which was odd since I got to spend so little time with her. My mother didn't necessarily disapprove of our relationship, she didn't encourage it either, but we have never let that stop us from bonding and loving each other until it's time for her to leave for the night. She didn't know about Michael yet, and I was dying to tell her, but first I needed to know about dad.

"I know! I've missed you so much. Have you seen my dad, actually? I thought I heard him talking over the intercom, but I haven't seen any signs of him down here." Anna moved a vase to dust beneath it before answering. "I'm pretty sure I saw him slip towards his study. Your Momma had a tray in her hands following him. I'd look there first." She smiled warmly as I leaned down to peck her cheek. "Thanks, Anna! I'll be back in a minute!"

Anna was right. My dad and mom were in his study, wrapped in a steamy embrace. I about threw up watching them. I knocked on the open door, more a warning for them versus an invitation for me. They drew back slowly, my dad's hands on my mothers waist. "Yes?" He answered. "Dad! You're home early!" I ran on my tiptoes to him, excited for a hug of my own, except you know, less creepy. Realization at who had interrupted them dawned in his eyes, and for the first time in a month, he got to look at me. Once I got to him, he squeezed me tight, and I was choking him with ferocity from my arms thrown around his neck. "There's my girl," he managed to squeak out. Satisfied, I dropped my arms and took a step back, "We have so much to tell you."

*************

I filled Dad in on everything over dinner. We all did, taking turns to word vomit all our news while we had the chance at the table. Overwhelmed as per usual, he took a sip of scotch that Mom had poured him, letting it settle before addressing us. "Well, you ladies never disappoint me. I don't think I've been half as busy as you three, especially you, Ope." He laid his hand over mine, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. That wasn't a good sign. Every time he looked like this there was a mental storm brewing.

He turned to Mom and Ava, keeping his hand on mine. "Did you all decide it was time for Ope? To start this sordid business? Losing weight? Really, Angela?" I drew back, shocked by his words. By the look on my mother's face, so was she. He never used her given name. He almost always called her "babe." Dad wasn't normally given over to anger build up, so I wasn't so sure why this was affecting him the way that it was. I thought he would be as proud of me as the rest of the world was.

Drawing a long breath, he withdrew his hand from the top of mine, dropping his head into both of his hands, his fingers massaging circles into his temples. "Opie, why don't you join me in my study? I think we need to chat." And with that, his chair inched back and he was gone.

Solemnly looking between Mom and Ava, I followed suit and made my way to his study. Ava wouldn't even make eye contact with me as I brushed past them from the dining room into the hall. Pushing the door open, I stepped inside my dad's study for the second time that day. Funny how earlier walking through these doors had been fun, but now I felt like I was at the principal's office for committing a vile act.

I sat in one of the leather wing back chairs that were placed in front of his rather large desk. My father was notoriously messy. They say it's the true sign of a genius, and truly it might be. There were stacks upon stacks of paper everywhere you looked. Clearing my throat, I waited for him to turn and acknowledge me. He was standing behind his desk, his back to me, looking through the floor to ceiling windows that faced the back of the property. He had his pipe in his hand, a true signal of trouble. The smell of tobacco wasn't very strong, but it was definitely present.

Circling to face me, he placed his hand to brace himself against the hard leather of his desk chair. This chair was mammoth, black, and had bronze rivets that studded the enormous shape perfectly. He looked like one of the portraits hanging on the wall in here, imperious and in control, whether he felt it or not. Inhaling a long breath on his pipe, he took the time to really examine me. His eyes were trying to c***k my code. Was I really invested in trying to lose weight? Was it Mom and Ava's idea and I was coerced into participating?

I took advantage of the silence, "Dad, you don't need to be mad at Mom. This was completely my idea. I'm the one who took the initiative, I'm the one who asked for help. I'm the one who has stuck with it, and I'm really proud of what I've accomplished so far. I'm down almost 20 pounds." I leaned back into the chair, waiting for him to respond.

He took another moment to consider before opening his mouth. "Opie, I'm not sure why you feel the need to lose weight. I thought you were happy as you were. I'm concerned that this process will take an unhealthy toll on you. I don't want you to get your hopes up prematurely. Does that make sense?" I stared at him, dumbfounded. What did he mean 'get my hopes up'? "Dad, do you not think that I can do this?" I asked with a bite in my voice that I hadn't expected, a raw emotional reaction creeping up to ruin the high I've been on for weeks now. Why couldn't my dad believe in me like everyone else? Is that what this was? "It's not at all that I don't THINK you can do it. I know you can do whatever you want to. What scares me is that at the end of this, the result is that you're going to be disappointed. I don't want you to get hurt."

I heard him, but my mind hadn't listened to the last sentence. How did he know what I was going to feel? How was this fair to me? Why was he even this concerned if he wasn't even home 80% of the time? It would be a lie to say that I wasn't pissed, because I was. I felt so undercut.

I let my eyes roam the room, carefully weighing my next words. All the portraits of Hamilton's before us, staring down from their high places on the wall. The books with boundless amounts of information and records of progress...ha. Let's not use the word "progress" in this room. 

Before I had enough time to process, Dad started, "By the way, I have a trip planned for us coming up in a couple of weeks." Curious, I let him continue, "It's in Alabama. We'll be gone for about four days. You can be my caddie girl." I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. 

This was his answer to me changing my routine. Doing something so within the walls of ordinary, that I could scream. We've been doing trips like this forever. I was like the son that my father never had. Ava got to be a girl, and I was the one following in Dad's footsteps. Had I minded before? I don't know. No? It was our special one-on-one time. He took me on almost all of his golf trips, using excuses with my mom like, "She'll learn the art of war. It'll help her in the future." Or, "Ophelia is my girl, this is our thing, don't try to ruin it." 

I think he had had to revert to that line of reasoning when my mom had tried to insist that I stay home for a cotillion about a year ago, but Dad wouldn't have it. He was prepping me for his business. He was letting me into his world. And, truthfully, I had one heck of a golf swing.

Usually, this kind of trip is something that I'd look forward to, but seriously? I couldn't help but wonder if this trip was a whim based off of dinner conversation, or if it truly had been in the works for a while. I'll probably never know, but I had a feeling.

The timing was awful, since this was the busiest time of the year for me, with about a million things going on... and Michael was my partner and assignments were coming up... but, the Hamilton in me put my chin up. Nothing was ever going to change. "Yeah, Dad, sounds awesome."

***********************

School is hard, but it's always ten times worse when you're distracted. It feels like the hands on the clock are stuck, and you're in a time vortex that has no end. At least, that's how I see it. The first four periods of the day were crawling at snail pace. The only thing that had been good about any of my classes was that I got to see the back of Michael's head in two of those classes. 

I had kept my eyes averted when he walked in, since I was a little uncertain after him not replying last night. Reason would say that he was busy, but the devil on my shoulder was telling me that he was annoyed that I was his partner. I know, it's ridiculous. But between my dad and everything else, I feel like my world is just wobbly right now, and nothing really makes sense. So when the bell finally rang, and it was time for lunch break, I seriously about broke into the Hallelujah Chorus.

I hurried to my locker to grab my tote. I had forgotten to grab it so I could go directly to lunch after class. Slamming the door back into place, I whipped around, and into the very solid chest of Michael Morgan. I took a step back, letting my hand cover my mouth, as a little gasp escaped.

Michael laughed. "I feel like I'm always scaring you. You jump out of your skin every time I'm even close!  It's hilarious." He rubbed his chest where my head had smacked him. "Anyways, I was coming over here to apologize for not texting you back last night. I got caught up with my dad coming home and totally forgot what we were planning."

I visibly melted with relief when he said that. All of that stress had released. He wasn't annoyed. Just happy to see his dad like I was.

I was beaming at him, "Oh, It's no problem. I think my dad must've gotten home around the same time as yours. I had completely forgotten to check my phone after that." 

Lies. I had checked my phone like three more times that night to make sure I hadn't missed anything from him. He bought my lie, however. "Shew, I'm glad. I didn't want you to be upset with me." He ran his hand through his hair, smoothing his long locks back behind his ear. Had I heard him correctly? He didn't want ME to be mad at HIM? What universe was this?

"No, not mad at all. I guess we do need to come up with a plan, though. After five still works for me today." I was internally exploding with happiness. I hoped to god that he was still available today.

He smiled down at me. "Yeah, that'd be perfect. Are you going to be here at five...?" Had I mentioned the truck to him? I couldn't remember.

"Yup, I've got to check in the supply order for the game this weekend. The food trucks are my territory this season." 

"Right on. Well, I have practice tonight, but I could pick you up at 5, and then drop you back at your house when I have to leave. Would that work?" He was biting his lip. How freaking adorable. I'm pretty sure I'd move Heaven and Earth to make anything work for this guy.

"Sure." My heart leaped inside my chest.  

"Great, I'll pick you up where, the outside of the field beside the ball entrance? Cool?" He was walking backwards towards the lunch room. I followed his cues to walk that way too, feeling lighter than air.

"Cool." I responded. This was shaping up to be a great day.