Fat Girls Return

39. Salt in the Air

Elle's P.O.V

"Stop squinting at me!" I snap, feeling awkward and, weirdly, a little creeped out.

I just told Liz and Rosie that I was thinking about getting a job for the summer so I could 'earn my keep.' Their idea of a response was Liz waving her hands about as if to shoo the notion away, saying that was unnecessary while Rosie simply made an expression that was somewhere between disgusted and offended.

Rosie's eyes narrow further before she finally sighs, sitting back in her seat at the island counter. I turn back to flipping the first round of chocolate chip pancakes on the griddle in front of me, grateful to be standing on the other side of the island while Rosie stares me down.

Though I pretend to ignore her, I feel heat rising in my cheeks under the weight of her gaze.

Finally, I whip my head up, wanting the tension to go away. "What, Rosie?" I sigh, trying to sound less confused and frustrated than I am. "Why does it matter to you whether or not I get a summer job?"

Rosie licks her lips, leaning forward to speak. "You wanting a job isn't what bothers me. What bothers me is that you think you need one to what? Pay for your rent here?" Rosie asks, making the very idea sound ridiculous.

I shrug, "Well, yeah."

Liz tsks softly in the background, apparently eavesdropping as she sips coffee, poring over news articles on her iPhone.

I glance her way, my eyebrows raising slightly before I meet Rosie's gaze again. I feel a little lost right now; I didn't expect either of them to react like this.

"Look," I say, spreading my hands out at my sides, "I didn't mean to offend you guys. I just thought four months of food, water, and energy being consumed by me adds up to a good sum of money and while I know no one expected me to pay it back, it would make me feel better to do something."

Rosie sighs, sitting back again as she decides to leave it alone. She still doesn't look pleased but she's starting to understand where I'm coming from.

I know she wishes I would be okay with asking for help – or in this case, accepting free room and board as a generous gift rather than something that has to be earned – but that doesn't come easy to me. She might not know some major details about my relationship with my father but she knows enough about my childhood trauma – has been there for enough of it – to know by now that I'm what some might call a toxic level of independent. I don't like owing anything to anyone, and I don't like feeling like a charity case.

My dad makes me feel weak enough as it is. I don't need to feel even more vulnerable by letting people in and worse, becoming a burden in their lives. Though I normally can't admit it to myself, I know that's the main reason I haven't told Rosie everything yet. Yes, I am scared of foster care, but I'm terrified of how Rosie – or anyone who finds out – might look at me if they knew. So I stay a secret victim and convince myself everything will be okay if I can just make it through high school.

Liz looks up at me sympathetically from her spot at the dining table before getting up to cross the room and wrap me in a hug.

"I get it, dear." She says softly, pulling away to smile in a way that makes her nose scrunch for a second, kind wrinkles lining the edges of her eyes. "You can get a job if you want," she starts, walking back to the table, "But any money you earn goes right back to you." She states firmly, pointing at me as she sits down.

"If you want to spend it on food for yourself, that's fine with me," she continues, shrugging, "but don't worry about any expenses, honey."

There's that motherly smile again.