Page 72 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
Th
ere’s a short pause. “I feel like we’re talking about two different things.”
“I’m talking about when you said a man like him couldn’t fall in love with a girl like me.”
Her exhalation sounds disappointed. “Oh, honey, let’s not go over that again. It’s just reality. Everyone has to box in his own weight class, as your father would say. Birds of a feather and whatnot. What I’m talking about is when I called him a sex object. That was a little . . .” She laughs uncomfortably. “I can’t call myself a feminist if I’m guilty of the same thing men are always doing to women. Namely, objectifying them.”
I’m having a hard time following her logic because now I’m steaming mad. She’s sorry she called a man she’s never met a sex object, but she’s not sorry she made her daughter feel undeserving of a successful, attractive man’s love. Twice.
“Mom.”
“Yes, honey?”
“I know I’m not beautiful like you and Jacqueline, but sometimes you make me feel really shitty about it.”
She sounds surprised. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Is she being willfully ignorant? Years of pent-up frustration at being the ugly duckling in a family of swans starts to gather steam.
“I’m talking about boxing in my own weight class! I’m talking about how you like to make ‘jokes’ about me not being a size two like you guys! Calling me ‘plumpy’ isn’t an affectionate nickname, it’s a personal attack! And just because I’m not tall and willowy and blonde doesn’t mean I’ll never feel the touch of a man—”
“Joellen!”
“—or deserve to be loved—”
“Now wait just a minute!”
“—or get treated with respect by my family, the ones who I’m supposed to be able to trust and be myself with. I’ve had total strangers say nicer things to me than you do! Somebody told me the other day I have beautiful skin, and I almost fainted from shock!”
“Of course you have beautiful skin, sweetie! You get it from me!”
She’s defensive. And completely missing the point. I might as well explain my feelings to a brick wall, because I certainly won’t be getting any understanding from her.
Same old shit, different day. The emotion I’ve worked up fizzles out, and I’m left feeling nothing but drained. “Okay. Good talk, Mom. Later.”
I hang up the phone, drop my head onto my knees, and sigh. Mr. Bingley rubs his furry face against my leg. “You love me no matter how I look, don’t you, Mr. Bingley?”
His deep rumbling purr assures me that he does.
I pet the cat for a few minutes before girding my mental loins to go out and face Cam. I leave the closet and turn off the shower, then head into the living room with the cat trotting at my heels.
Sitting at the kitchen table in the middle of his meal, Cam takes one look at my face and sets his fork down. “What’s wrong?”
I take a seat across from him, trying not to feel rejected when Mr. Bingley jumps into Cam’s lap instead of mine. “Can I ask you a serious question?”
“Of course, lass. Ask me anything.”
“Is life easier, being beautiful?”
He stares at me in silence for so long I grow uncomfortable.
“Yes, fine, I’m admitting I think you’re beautiful.” I wave a hand at his body, a gesture of disgust. “You look like you were carved from a perfect piece of marble by a master sculptor. Happy?”
He’s so still it’s unnerving. Finally he says quietly, “Who were you talkin’ to on the phone?”
“My mother. Are you going to answer my question?”
A muscle in his jaw flexes. I sense he’s angry, but I don’t think it’s directed at me.
