My Angel

Part 1

Tonight's pork chops rest beautifully in their pan, juices still hissing and spitting against the hot metal. The carrots are jewel-bright, glistening with olive oil and herbs, and the mashed potatoes are perfect, soft clouds topped with rich, melted butter, wafts of steam rising from their surface.

I dig in eagerly. Even after moving out, I've never found any food that matches Ma's cooking, and it's almost worth the looks she's shooting me over the table as I reach for seconds.

"Don't you think that's a bit much?" she says, tapping her long fingers on the tabletop. "Your first helping wasn't exactly small."

My face heats up. I know I'm on the bigger side, but it hurts to hear her point it out. "Ma..."

Ma puts up her hands as if I'm attacking her. "I'm just saying! If you're not careful, you'll end up looking like your father's old pictures."

Dad's bald spot reddens, his bushy eyebrows creasing together as he stirs his miniscule portion of food. Dad is Ma's greatest success story. She loves to tell anyone who will listen about how heavy he was when she first met him at almost 500 lbs. But with hard work and determination (all on her part, of course), he gradually dwindled down to the gaunt man that sits between us at the dinner table.

I sigh and release the serving fork, pulling my jacket tighter to cover up the bulge that can't help but bloom over the top of my jeans.

As Ma stacks up the dishes and takes them back to the kitchen, Dad pats my hand. "Your mother doesn't mean anything by it," he says softly. "She just wants what's best."

I nod, my tummy still growling. I gulp down the rest of my iced tea, desperate to stop the endless rumbling.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

At home in my lonely apartment, I lay on the couch, feet curled up under me. I play with my stubby toes as I scroll through social media, desperate to get my mind off my growling stomach. But everywhere I look, I see only perfect meals, perfect bodies, perfect lives.

My belly lets out another rumble. How am I still so hungry after a full meal? Is Ma right? Am I doomed to end up like Dad? Always eating less than I craved, cursed with a body that seems determined to expand?

I shut off my phone, tossing it aside.

Thunder rumbles in the distance. My stomach rumbles with it, a tiny echo. Lightning flashes. A flash of gold flutters in the mirror. A faceless face watching me. But before I can look again, it's gone. Probably just a trick of the light, I tell myself.

I pull on my too-snug pjs and head to bed.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

I awake, or seem to, in an endless maze of tables, groaning with mountains of delicious food. Chicken roasted to a perfect crisp and smelling of garlic, buttery croissants dripping with cheese and homemade jam, fish and chips, golden brown and sizzling hot... The smell of it all overwhelms my senses like a syrupy cloud.

I back away, licking my watering lips, frightened of so much dangerously caloric food. But it calls to me, sings to me, and my soft belly rumbles in response.

Buttery light fills the room, reflecting off every crumb and speck of sauce. An angel descends on golden wings. Its skin shimmers and fractures like a prism of light, its form ever shifting as if seen from underwater. Its faceless face looks down on me, beaming with gentle warmth as its soft wings caress my flabby sides. "Fear not," it says with a voice like a crackling fireplace. "For I have made this bounty all for you."

I fold my arms over my middle, highly aware of my bulges and rolls. I tear my eyes away from the glorious feast and shake my head stubbornly. "I-it's too much," I stammer. "I can't eat all this."