Page 12 of Fireman Daddy's Impetuous Little

“The diet?” I asked.

“Yes! You remember, we talked at Thanksgiving about putting you on a diet so you could lose some of that baby fat you’re still carrying.”

My hackles rose at that. My mom liked to point out my “baby fat” or “baby rolls” or “chubba chubs”—whatever that meant—every. Single. Time. She called.

“I’m only asking because Easter is coming up and Aunt Mary wanted to bring some of her trifle to the meal—you know that horribly thick, sugary custard with the fruit and—”

“I know what a trifle is, Mom,” I snapped. “And you can tell Aunt Mary to bring whatever she wants to Easter diner because I’m not coming.”

“Why?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” I shouted. “Mom, if you really have to ask that, then this phone call is a waste of time.”

“But dear, I—”

“I’ll tell you anyway,” I said. “What’s wrong is that for my entire life you’ve made me feel like I’m worth less than other people because of my weight. Well, guess what, Mom? I like my weight. I like the way I look. No, I love it. I love who I am and if you love who I am, you will keep your comments to yourself. Otherwise, you can consider this conversation the last one we’ll ever have.”

I hung up the phone without waiting for a response and headed out of the shop. On the way out, I waved goodbye to Derek, and he called after me, “Thank you for coming in tonight!”

I headed to my car and was about to open the door when I heard, “Princess? May I talk to you, please?”

I turned around and saw Jonah standing a few feet away, a plaintive look on his face.

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