The Weight I Kept, The Family I Lost Chapter 01

The Weight I Kept, The Family I Lost Chapter 01

I’ve always had a small appetite.

If I eat more than seven ounces of food, I get nauseous and start throwing up.

That’s why I’m forty-four pounds lighter than my younger sister, six years my junior.

Every time I watch her eat—really eat, huge bites of meat and carbs and everything—I feel a secret thrill.

I look at my thin wrists, the bones pressing through my skin, my ribs standing out like a ladder.

I’m proud of that.

Sometimes Mom cries and asks why I’ve turned out this way.

Seeing her worry about me makes me feel satisfied.

Dad runs around booking specialist appointments until his hair turns gray from exhaustion.

That makes me happy too.

Dr. Levine asked me once if something deep down was holding me back.

I shook my head and said I’d been doted on and spoiled my whole life. How could I possibly have any emotional baggage?

Until Mom completely broke down in the exam room and dropped to her knees in front of me.

“Please. Forgive us. Stop doing this to yourself.”

***

Dr. Levine froze for a second, then hurried to help my mom up.

But Mom stayed on her knees, refusing to rise.

Her forehead pressed against the cold tile, and her voice shook so hard she could barely speak.

“Clara, Mommy was wrong.”

“Please stop hurting yourself like this. Please.”

I looked at the red mark on her forehead and felt a sudden urge to laugh.

“Mom, what are you talking about?”

“I’ve always had a small appetite. What does that have to do with you guys?”

Dad stood to the side, his face white as chalk.

He’d aged so much over the years.

Only in his early fifties, but his temples had gone completely gray.

For me, he’d made specialist appointments at three in the morning. He’d gone to church and prayed until his knees went numb.

Every relative said they were the most loving parents in the world.

I said the same thing.

Whenever a doctor asked about my home life, I answered very seriously.

“It’s great. My parents love me the most. My little sister is jealous of me.”

But when Mom heard that, she cried even harder.

She sobbed like she couldn’t breathe, both hands pressed to her face.

Dr. Levine’s hand, holding a tissue, stopped in midair.

“You just said your little sister is jealous of you?”

I nodded.

“Yeah. She’s always had a big appetite. She loves food.”

“Me? I get full after a few bites.”

“Mom and Dad fuss over me constantly. Of course she’s jealous.”

Mom suddenly looked up, her lips trembling.

“No… that’s not…”

I smiled.

“What is it, then?”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

I kept going.

“I know Mom and Dad spoil me, and that might make Sophie feel left out.”

“But I can’t help it.”

I lowered my head, pretending to feel guilty.

But I couldn’t stop the smile from creeping across my face.

The exam room went dead quiet. After a long moment, Dad finally spoke, his voice rough and broken.

“We’ll do anything if it means you get better.”

I looked down at my wrist.

Bone against skin. My fingers wrapped all the way around with room to spare.

I actually like it that way.

Small. Delicate. Fragile. It makes people worry.

A strange, almost eerie warmth settled over me, and without meaning to, I found myself thinking about when I was a kid.

Whenever Sophie cried, the whole family said the same things.

“She’s just little.”

“She doesn’t understand.”

“If she wants it, give it to her.”

Back then, I wanted someone to comfort me like that too.

But Mom said, “You’re the older sister.”

Dad said, “You’re older. Act like it.”

Now, no one says that anymore.

Dr. Levine asked, “So when did you start restricting your food?”

I shook my head.

“I didn’t. It’s just how I am. Too much food makes me sick.”

Mom whispered, “No. You weren’t like this before.”

She braced herself against the wall and slowly sank into a crouch, trembling.

Dr. Levine stared at her and asked, word by word, “What did you do the first time she made herself throw up?”

Dad opened his mouth.

But Mom blurted out, “Sophie had gone missing that day, and all she kept saying was that she was hungry…”