I'm On Your Side

1 | The Universe Has, Once Again, Failed Me

I press my phone to my ear. "Hi, Mom."

"Hi, how are you?"

I look at the phone quizzically. Did a spirit possess my mom because she definitely doesn't talk like this. "I'm fine, Mom."

"Okay, well, how was the class?" my mom asks just as I step out of the building.

"Mom, I'm outside right now and I don't see you. Where are you?" I say, completely avoiding the question.

"Isha, I'm not picking you up. Your dad is," my mom replies.

"What? C'mon, Mom! I thought you were going to be picking me up," I whine. My relationship with my father has more of its downs than ups and most of it is my dad's fault (basically, I hate my dad).

"I was, but, then, your dad called and said he couldn't pick Aryan up, so I'm picking him up."

I wrinkle my eyebrows. "Then why is he picking me up?"

"Because," my mom sighs, "I'm closer to the YMCA and your dad is closer to where you are." Great, just great. The Universe decided I need to suffer more than just having Mason in my class. C'mon Universe! I think to myself, looking up at the sky. What else do you have to offer? Just give it to me all right now―I'm already vulnerable!

I stomp my feet. I probably look like a baby, but I don't care. "Okay, well, is he here already?"

"I don't know. Let me call―" I "accidentally" (no I didn't―it was intentional) hang up on my mom when I see the gray Acura car pull up. The doors unlock as I step up to the curb and climb into the passenger seat.

"Is that Isha?" my mom asks and I wrinkle my eyebrows. Mom? I follow the source of the sound to the car speakers and realize my mom's on the phone. How did she manage to call my dad that quick?

"Yeah," I grumble.

My mom's voice seems ready to pounce on me when she says, "Oh, well," but suddenly her voice softens. Like, the fuck? My mom never has these tone changes―something's definitely up. "Arjun, I was going to treat Isha out for ice cream after her class, but since you're picking her up, would you want to get ice cream for her?" My eyes widen because, let's be real, I frickin' love ice cream (or any junk food for that matter), but reality hits me when I realize that she's asking my dad and we all know what his response is.

"We need to cut down on sugars, Priya," he says, completely avoiding the question. There's a moment of silence on the other end.

"You're right, Arjun," my mom says and suddenly, I feel betrayed. I mean, a couple of minutes ago my mom was on board for getting ice cream, but as soon as my dad declined her offer, she immediately went on his side.

Damn, sexism is real. No wonder they say the man is the "boss" of the house.

"Okay, well. Isha, how was class?" my mom chirps, and I roll my eyes. Can't she just take the hint that I don't want to be bothered? I mean, she knows how much I like ice cream―or any junk food for that matter―and it's not like I eat ice cream every day (I wish I could). It's not gonna hurt if I have ice cream.

Why don't my parents understand that? Specifically, my dad.

Like, I know that I'm fat, but I'm working on trying to reduce my weight. The least he could do is be a nice dad and understand my situation. Is that too much to ask for?

Seriously. I'm asking.

Because before I thought it wasn't that much, but now I'm seriously doubting it―maybe it is too much to ask for. I think about Alia Bhatt and Sara Ali Khan, transforming from fat to skinny. How'd they do it? I mean if I got money by losing weight then I'd definitely take up on the opportunity, but so far my only "pros" of losing weight is that it'll be "appropriate" for me to wear clothes that expose my stomach and that my dad will stop finding ways to body shame me.

I don't think that'll happen though because my dad always finds a way to make me feel bad about myself.

Oh well.

I guess, dads will be dad, right? That makes me giggle a little which helps me ease the pain I'm experiencing by holding back my tears. Damn. I didn't think it would hurt that much. And it's not like I'm weak―I'm not, I'm just trying to be strong so that I can learn later on that things like these don't deserve my tears, but it's so fucking hard. I just wish I could have someone who could understand my pain. Maybe that's why mom sent me to this dumbass therapy group―to help me find someone who could understand my pain. Well, news flash, Mom: there is no one. Now if only I could say it to her face.

"Isha," my dad says and I look up suddenly, "did you hear what your mom said?"

"Uh, no. Sorry," I quickly say.

"Oh," I hear my mom from the phone say. Damn. She's still on thecall? I look at the car window. I thought we'd be home by now.

"Isha, ask her what she said," my dad grunts, and I feel like swearing all the curse words at him.

"No, it's okay. We can talk later," my mom says before hanging up. Thank you, Universe! Finally, you're on my side. And thank you, Mom, I guess. For hanging up.

Or maybe not.

I eye my dad, who looks like he's ready to go on a whole ass lecture about listening to my mom and sigh. Thank you, Universe, I think to myself, but this time I don't actually mean it.