The Fat Girl by Marilyn Sachs Page A

like me.”
    “That’s just it, Ellen. You don’t want to look like everybody else, do you?”
    She remained silent.
    “Look, Ellen, I’m telling you that you look great—better than all those silly little cows. You look like a goddess, like Mother Earth—you heard that woman in the store. You have to feel good about yourself “
    “But I don’t want to look like this,” she said.
    “I like the way you look,” I told her. “Doesn’t it matter to you what I think?”
    “Yes,” she said, turning her face up to me, her green eyes, under all the eye makeup, overflowing with adoration.
    “Fine, then,” I said, taking her hand. I wanted everybody to see us. I wanted everybody to know that she was my girl and that I was proud of her.
    Her hand felt damp with perspiration. Poor Ellen! All those years, how alone she must have felt! But now she had me to look after her.
    Somebody laughed. It came wafting back to us. Somebody who had passed was laughing at my Ellen. I could feel her fingers tightening inside my own. I cursed and turned my head. Who was it?
    “Never mind, Jeff,” Ellen said. “I don’t care anymore. As long as I have you, nothing else really matters.”
    I spent the afternoon with Ellen and didn’t get home until nearly six. It was very quiet in the house.
    “Mom . . . Wanda . . .” I called out.
    Nobody answered, but I heard a rustling sound in the living room. My mother was sitting on the couch, a newspaper spread out on her lap. She was turning the pages with one hand and holding a martini in the other. Usually by six o’clock my mother was busily springing around the kitchen preparing dinner. I couldn’t remember when I had ever seen her sitting down reading a newspaper and drinking a martini at six o’clock in the middle of the week.
    “Hi, Mom,” I said. “Sorry I’m late but I was busy with a friend.”
    “That’s fine, Jeff,” she said, smiling at me. “I didn’t know when you’d be home, so I just thought I’d relax until you came.” She continued turning the pages.
    “Anything interesting in the paper, Mom?”
    “Just the usual—rapes, murders, fires, child abuse, and taxes.” My mother sipped her drink and kept smiling at me.
    “Well . . .”
    “Are you hungry, Jeff?”
    “No, Mom, not terribly. I had some cookies over at Ellen’s house.”
    “Ellen?”
    “Oh, yeah, Mom, Ellen. She’s my new girlfriend. I thought I told you.”
    “No, Jeff, you didn’t.” My mother kept turning the pages without reading anything. “But that’s all right. You’re entitled to a little privacy, I guess.” My mother took another sip, but her hand trembled and some of the drink spilled onto her dress. She didn’t seem to notice because she kept smiling at me.
    “Are you all right, Mom?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”
    “What should be wrong?”
    “I don’t know.”
    My mother sipped her drink and turned another page. The house was very quiet.
    “Where’s Wanda?” I asked. “Isn’t she home yet?”
    “She’s home,” said my mother.
    “Is she taking a shower?”
    “I don’t know,” said my mother.
    “Maybe she and I can fix dinner tonight. You look bushed. You must have had a lousy day.”
    “I did,” said my mother. “But it’s not the first.”
    I stood up. “Just lie down and rest, Mom. Wanda and I will make dinner.”
    “She’s not here.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Wanda,” said my mother. “She’s not here.”
    “I thought you said she was home.”
    “I did,” said my mother, “but this isn’t her home anymore. Here! She left this.”
    My mother handed me a paper. It was a note from Wanda which said:
    Dear Mom,
    I’ve been trying to tell you for days but I just couldn’t. It’s easier to write. I’m going to live with Dad. I just took a small suitcase but I’ll come for the rest of my things over the weekend. It doesn’t have anything to do with the fight we had last night when you said I was a slob. I’ve been wanting to