My Anorexic Heart

Chapter 9 - Double-Trouble

Her eyes fix on our interlocked fingers. Dad peers around as if he's walked into a museum of artifacts from him youth. He wears an old pair of khaki pants and a tropical button down with a pair of brown-leather dress shoes I haven't seen in years. 

"Um..." I say and don't know what to follow the space-filler with. Perhaps I should let go of Sebastian's hand or move so that he's not holding my waist, but I don't. 

"They've painted." Dad eyes the ceiling with interest, his hands cupped on his hips just under the slight protrusion of his belly. 

Mom's lips press into a thin line. The vein in her forehead swollen under her skin. She's about to open her mouth when... 

"Sebastian, dear," a short lady with a curly mound of perfectly placed gray hair steps in front of my parents as if they don't exist.

Mom's glare transforms to a look of shock directed at the stubby, aged woman.

"You look thinner." She reaches up over me as high as her arm will go and touches his cheek. Her tricep sways with the motion a few inches from my head. I feel my own flab clinging like goo to the back of my arms. 

Sebastian's grip tightens on my fingers, taking my attention from my body issues.

"Are you still growing?" the woman asks in an overly sweet voice. She reminds me of Umbridge but older, less round, and not covered in pink. 

"Probably not, Mrs. Finch."

She releases him and clutches her floral purse close to her heart. "My dear, it has been a long time. I was just asking your father about you the other day—"

"He told me he spoke with you," Sebastian says kindly but I sense a curtness behind his words. He doesn't like this woman and I wonder why--other than the obvious. 

"And did he mention the girls coming into town?" She punctuates her question with a manufactured smile. 

"Something about it."

She continues to smile, her eyes fixed adoringly up at Sebastian. I wonder if she notices I am here. I am still standing in front of Sebastian. We are still connected by his hands. Perhaps I've lost enough weight to be invisible--one could only hope.

"Stephanie arrives in the morning. Libby tomorrow evening. I was going to ask you dear," her eyes flint almost imperceptibly to his hand on my waist and then back to his face, "I'm no longer able to drive at night, and I know Libby is so wanting to catch up with you."

Sebastian's grip doesn't loosen. "I will call you for her flight information."

Mrs. Finch grasps his bicep with her gloved hand. "Such a fine boy. I do hope you two can make amends. It would be a shame to lose someone so close for a trifle."

"Trifles can be bigger in person," he says bluntly and closes the small space between us. "If you'll excuse me, I must find seats with my friends."

"Oh, yes, dear. Don't let me keep you from serving the Lord." She pats his cheek one last time. "Such a good boy. Come over on Tuesday after work. I'll make a spread of all your favorites."

"Looking forward to it," he says through a tight jaw and then guides us to the left to rejoin my parents. 

Mom glares at the back of Mrs. Finch's head as the squat woman disappears into the swelling crowd. 

"We should probably get inside," Sebastian says politely. 

Mom's gaze returns to him and then falls and rests on me. I stare back, not blinking until Sebastian moves me forward into the crowd. 

Sebastian escorts us into the sanctuary that looks more like an theater than a stained-glass, pew-lined assembly hall. There are two levels: the floor where the rows of chairs gently incline up to the back, and the balcony. The room seats fifteen-hundred. The stage up front is curtain-less except when the school puts on productions. Stage lights line the ceiling above the platform. Three film cameras are stationed around the room. The one on the far right of the stage is attached to a crane. Not much has changed since the last time we were here except that I was wearing a black cap and gown with a size two black dress underneath. 

As Sebastian guides us down the aisle to the front, my stomach muscles tighten as if they can put on the breaks of our descent to the stage. He directs us to four seats right in front with reserved signs taped to the green fabric.

I glare up at him. "These are reserved," I say in a clipped whisper. 

"Just go with it... please," he whispers back his breath cascading over my shoulder. He smells sweet, like syrup. 

"Are your parents going to be here?"

He transfers my left hand to his right hand so that we are standing side-by-side instead of one in front of the other. "Yes."

"Seats have new cushions too." I turn to see Dad bouncing up and down in his theater-style, fold-down chair.

Mom rolls her eyes and gracefully lowers herself into the seat beside me. She places her purse underneath but doesn't let go of her grip on her cream sweater. "Will we be meeting your parents, Sebastian?" 

"Probably not until after the service."

My mother pretends to be interested in re-folding her sweater in her lap. "I look forward to it."

Eek. I'm not sure, but I believe that was a threat.

Dad leans forward inspecting the underside of his seat as he bounces his backside. "Maker of these has to be pulling in a fortune. Supply and demand. Always works." He seems to be satisfied with his investigation and leans back in the chair, an arm on each rest.

"Harold? Molly? Is that you?"

My parents turn around. Behind them is an older couple I vaguely remember. The silver-haired woman used to teach the preschool class. I wave a polite recognition, let her go on about how I've grown and how skinny I am. She scolds Mom for not feeding me. Mom changes the subject to the woman's grandchildren and I take that as my chance to escape.

Sebastian and I sit. I angle my body toward his so as to look as if I am engaged in another conversation. In reality, I'm staring straight ahead at a large speaker box.

"Your parents went here?" Sebastian whispers curiously. "I don't remember seeing them."

"They stopped when I turned twelve. Long story," I say.

"But they kept sending you here for school."

I shrug. "Guilt can be more powerful than devotion."

"Not for long," he say as if he knows.

"Who's Libby?" I ask as the lights dim and the drums of the rock-style band thump. 

Sebastian grimaces as he stands. "It doesn't really matter anymore." 

I stand too. The crowd claps to the beat. I clasp my hands behind my back. "Then you won't mind telling me." I have no right to an answer, but a tinge of jealousy drops into my heart like acid in a bucket of rain water. 

Sebastian glances over at me, calculating. He stops clapping. Our eyes lock. In the dark I wonder if he's about to kiss me. My heart picks up the beat of the music. I can't tell if I want him to kiss me or if I'm terrified of him.

Slowly he leans over, his arm grazing mine sending electrical pulses to my belly. His lips pauses just beside my ear. My eyes close and he whispers, "She's my girlfriend."

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