Page 12 of The Summer I Destroyed You

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It’s one of those cold summer mornings we get sometimes. Beneath my bare feet, the floor is icy. I pull on a sweatshirt and go downstairs to find Snowflake outside, whining, with her face pressed to the door. My mother’s already up, already irritated. “Let her in,” she says.

When I open the door, she bounds inside, rushing frantically from me to her bowl and back to me. “Okay, okay,” I soothe, running my hand through her fur, which is colder than usual. “How long did you leave her out there?” I demand.

“Not long enough,” my mother replies. “She’s getting up too early and it’s your fault. You need to stop feeding her before nine.”

I ignore this, crossing the kitchen to fill Snowflake’s bowl. She eats as if she’s ravenous, sending food flying in her haste. I don’t know much about animals, but I wonder if this is normal. Was Snowflake always a messy eater, or has the experience of hunger made her frantic? If it’s the latter, I know the feeling.

My mother watches from the corner of her eye as I make coffee. She watches as I go to the refrigerator for cream and reach for a banana.

“That’s pure sugar, you know,” she says with a small, smug smile as I start to unpeel it. “You’ll be big as a house by the time you leave if you keep that up.”

“Thanks for the expert nutritional advice, Mom,” I reply, rolling my eyes, but inside, that age-old anxiety begins to spin. She’s fucking insane, and I know this, yet some childish part of me actually worries, as if she might still know something I don’t. And if I don’t get out of this house right the fuck now, I’m going to be back where I started. I’m going to be binge eating just to silence her voice in my head.

I slam the coffee and the banana in defiance and go online. There’s a tiny yoga studio on Main Street with semi-private classes, which means extra attention from the instructor—something I definitely don’t want—but at least I won’t run into anyone I knew in school.

I make it just in time for the eight AM class. The cute blonde instructor smiles at me from the front of the room, but I don’t trust people who smile at strangers so I merely nod and set up my mat at the very back.

“I’m Chloe,” she says. “Why don’t you move your mat up here? No one comes at this time of day.”

I’d ignore her, but then there’d be this weird tension for the next hour.

“What are you hoping to get out of this class?” she asks as I move forward.

“Just a good workout,” I retort. “None of that finding-my-inner-child stuff.”

She laughs. “I guess that means no releasing chakras either then?”

I offer her a reluctant smile. “No. I hate that crap. I’m only here to stay thin. And to keep from killing my mom.”

“Fair enough,” she replies, standing. “Let’s keep Mom alive another day. Get your ass off that mat and get to work.”

She leads me through a soul-crushing cycle of downward dogs and warrior poses and not nearly as many easy stretches as my studio in NYC.

My arms are shaking during the downward dog at the end. “Oh my god,” I groan. “I’m dying.”

“I can talk about chakras,” she offers.

I laugh as I roll up my mat. “I’m not that tired.”

“Come back the next time you’re feeling homicidal.”

I give her an unwilling smile, “In that case, I’ll be back in an hour.”

* * *

When I return to the house, Snowflake greets me at the door. It’s strange, having anyone—animal or human—excited to see me when I walk in. I wrap my arms around her briefly before I walk to the back to let her out.

“My God,” my mother says, looking at my crop top, “I hope you aren’t dressing like that for work. It’s so unprofessional.”

Jesus. I love getting second-guessed by a woman who has never held a job.

My eyes roll. “Of course not. I went to yoga.”

“You can’t out-exercise a bad diet.”

“Exercise is good for a lot of things other than weight,” I reply. “And how would you know whether or not it’s enough? I’ve never seen you exercise once.”

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