Fat Girl

They're both resting upon the leather making up the couch, the mother and daughter, peacefully.

Glances are exchanged but no words are issued past the throat. Monica is trying to conjue something, any sort of string of syllables that could start a conversation, to murder the awkward tension. A movie is playing on the screen, scenes flashing before her eyes but she can't seem to absorb them, she can't seem to make sense of it all. Her mind is solely focused on the silence shrieking in her ears.

"So mom," she finally spits out, eyes coasting the the left.

Her mom meets her gaze, eyebrows raised in question. "Yeah?"

Then Monica remembers that she doesn't have anything to say. Nothing strikes her as important. No conversation can be made.

What does a daughter talk to her mother about? She doesn't really know.

Boys and television are always discussed with Hilary, where opinions actually matter.

Math and English are always brought forth to the teachers, where they actually know what they're doing.

What does she talk to her mother about?

"So what are we having for dinner tonight?"

It's something they share, as mother and daughter. When conversation appears empty, when no words seem to form, she always has that. She always has that one special thing that she has with no one else.

"The chicken's in the oven already and I'm making mashed potatoes. Alright?" Her mom smiles at her and it's endearing and generous and Monica's glad that she can talk to her.

Sometimes, she sort of likes being fat. Well, she doesn't really like it, but it's always something to fall back on with her mom. It's something they shared- being fat. It isn't the greatest, it isn't what she would've liked, but it's what they have.

If she wasn't fat, well, she's doesn't really know what they would talk about.