Bon Bons to Yoga Pants

Chapter 26-Forget Pie

After Megan and I finished our healthy, preservative-free breakfast, I left the organic tiki hut restaurant puzzling over two things.

1. I'd just left a place of food without overstuffing myself. In fact, I didn't feel sick or bloated or hungry or unsatisfied or euphoric on a food high. I just felt . . . normal.

2. Megan had just introduced an entirely new concept into my life: eating healthy and exercising just because it was the right thing to do.

Say what?

Work out for motivation outside meeting Bradley? It didn't make a lot of sense at first. After dropping Megan off where she lived in a tiny little cottage next to a big house, I drove on autopilot, my mind whirring. Mom and Kenzie were at home, and although I loved them, I knew they'd pick up on my glum mood like mini satellites and start asking questions. The last thing I wanted to deal with was two weepy women and a fridge full of food that would surely beckon me, so I just kept driving.

Twenty minutes later, I found myself parked in front of the Rose Vine Cemetery. My heart pounded in my chest, making me feel sick. I hadn't been here in far too long.

Far too long.

The early morning grounds remained empty. My old tennis shoes left imprints on the patches of snow left behind from the last winter storm, flat, yellowed grass looked like someone had been laying on it for too long. It smelled like dirt and old snow.

Like Dad, his grave was nothing out of the ordinary. Mom had insisted on a picture of a wreath of flowers on his gravestone, even though we all knew he wouldn't have liked it. But I'd sided with Mom, and said that it was what he would have wanted. Even then, I was beginning to learn that dying was a business for the living, not the dead.

A few straggling vines and a discarded straw wrapper had become entangled near his name. I cleared the debris, tucking the straw wrapper into my pocket so it wouldn't litter this quiet little haven.

"Hey Dad," I said quietly, feeling ashamed. It had been a while since I'd come out to see him. Although he wasn't here, knowing that his body rested in this spot made him feel a bit closer. In that moment, I needed it. Dad had always been my best friend. The eater at my side. The one who understood my need for happiness through sugar.

"So . . . I've started to change my life a little. I mean . . . after you left it was pretty ugly. Mom and Kenzie cried for months and months. I ate all of our favorite foods all the time because . . . well, that's what we always did, I guess. I felt like I lost my best friend when you died and I didn't really know how to—"

The words wobbled in my throat. Like a flow of magma, tears rushed to the surface of my eyes, making them feel like hot, stinging sandpaper. My next whisper came out rushed and choked.

"Why did we do that? Why did we eat so much? Why did you let me eat a meal sized snack after school every day? Now I'm overweight and unhappy and you're dead. You didn't take care of your health, and now you're gone and Mom is lonely and depressed and McKenzie is getting married in five months and you're not here. You're not here!"

The vehemence of my own words caught me by surprise, so I sucked in a shaky breath to stop the intense feeling. I didn't like how betrayed I felt, or how wonderful it was to admit that even though he'd been my world, I was still angry that he hadn't taught me how to cope without sugar. It opened a dam that I hadn't even known existed deep inside my chest. The waters gushed out with every heavy thud of my heart.

"I guess . . . I guess I'm kind of mad at you. You didn't teach me to take care of myself. Mom always made me feel like looking beautiful was the most important part of being healthy. And now I'm finding people that say . . . that say I should eat healthy because it's the right thing to do. And you never taught me that. And now it's too late."

As final as the words felt when I said them, a flash of Megan's face in my eyes made it seem like I was wrong.

"Well . . . maybe my fate isn't sealed," I murmured, remembering how it felt to lose five pounds. I reached down, fingering the loose material around my legs. "Maybe now that I know more I can turn things around for me. I can be healthy. I can be happy, even. Maybe I'll even start liking carrot sticks."

A traitorous laugh, surprisingly bright and light in the sudden dark chasm that I'd found myself in, rippled through me. I reached out and traced his name with a finger and a deep longing in my heart.

"I guess I'm not really mad at you, Dad." Several tears slipped over my eyelid and slipped down my face. "I think I'm just sad. I'm so very sad for what both of us have missed out on so far."

______________

"You can open your eyes Lexie."

"I can't, Bitsy. Tell me what it says."

"You're the only person that is this dramatic about getting weighed, you know that?"

"I don't care. Tell me."

"What if I refuse?"

"Then you're a heartless taskmaster."

She sighed. I could picture her baby bangs dancing on top of her forehead. I had my eyes clenched shut, my hands fisted at my side, and was so nervous about what the scale would say that I had to pee—never mind that I'd insisted on tinkling before Bitsy weighed me.

"249. You lost three pounds."

My eyes flew open. "What?" I screeched. She smiled, though it didn't quite taking away the rampant fatigue in her eyes.

"Congratulations! You are officially out of the 250's and well on your way to a healthier life. Just look at your pants. They're going to fall off soon."

I blinked and looked to the confirmation on the front of the scale. 249. An exhale of relief escaped me. I didn't maintain, and I didn't gain, and I was out of the 250's to never return. I suppressed the urge to fist pump, and wondered if I should text Megan to tell her the good news.

"Whew."

Bitsy had already scribbled it on her clipboard. She stepped back and motioned for me to exit the bathroom with all the finesse of a drill instructor.

"You broke through it and have been successful. You did good, Lexie."

I smiled. "I know."

"Now the most important thing is keeping it up." Her eyes narrowed in a strict warning. "Don't fall off the bandwagon now by celebrating with pie or something like that."

To my surprise, not even the pie sounded good to me. I grabbed my Nalgene of fresh ice water off the bathroom counter with a wide grin.

"Forget pie. Let's talk about working out!"

While I'm loathe to say this, I disagree with Lexie. Let's not forget about pie. In fact, let's talk about your favorite pie. Because mine is obviously mixed berry. Cold, not hot. I feel like fruit shouldn't be warm.

Thanks again for being such awesome, loyal readers! This process would not be any fun without your comments and interaction. I have the coolest fans, seriously! Click that little star, tell me about your favorite pie, and I'll see you Monday!