Page 59 of When We Are Complete

Jake

I sit on the couch,my thumb hovering over Jenny’s contact on my phone. Besides fantasizing about what I’m going to do to Kelly tonight once I get her all alone, I’ve been thinking a lot about what she said at Adele’s party about her friend who had an eating disorder, and her worry about Adele.

I’m hesitating, and not because I’m worried about Jenny’s reaction. She’s never been the type to panic, and Adele’s well-being matters more than anything else to Jenny. She needs to know. It’s just that this is way out of my comfort zone, which is probably even more reason to speak to Jenny.

Mind made up, I hit call, and after a couple of rings, she picks up. “Hey.”

I can hear her boys shouting to one another in the background. “Sorry to interrupt. Look, I wanted to talk to you about something. It’s about Adele.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “What’s going on? Is she okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine,” I say quickly. “It’s just, Kelly noticed something at the party. Adele wasn’t really eating, and she hid her portion of cake in a napkin before throwing it out, and she kept adjusting herself in photos… you know, sucking in her stomach and all that.”

Jenny sighs softly. “Yeah, I’ve noticed her picking at her food lately, too, and being overly worried about how she looks. I figure it’s just a phase. I mean, she’s a teenager, she’s concerned about her appearance and fitting in. Add to that the hormones and whatever she’s been going through at school. But Kelly’s right, we should definitely keep an eye on her.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t want to freak her out by making a big deal of it, especially if it’s just a phase, but we’ve got to stay on top of it.”

“Right,” Jenny says. “Keep a close eye on things for now. These teenage years can be brutal, especially for girls. I’ll talk to her this weekend, too, and keep it low-key, you know, just a chat about how important it is to be healthy and strong instead of skinny.”

“Thanks,” I say, glad Jenny’s taking the lead on this. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem. I’ll see you later when I pick her up.” She pauses, then adds, “And Jake, don’t stress too much. Adele’s a good kid. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Yeah,” I reply. “See you later.”

I end the call, still mulling over the conversation as I head into the kitchen, glad that Jenny is such a loving and caring mom. She takes care of the more messy things, so I can focus on doing what I do best: making sure everything else is running smoothly. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t also play my part.

Adele comes downstairs a few minutes later, her phone glued to her hand, earbuds in. I watch her for a moment before pickingup a box of chocolates on the counter—a gift from my Mom at the party—a kind of test popping into my head.

“Hey, Adele,” I call, tossing one of the chocolates in her direction. She catches it mid-air.

“What’s this?” she asks, but she doesn’t open the wrapper.

“Just thought I’d share,” I say, leaning back against the counter, trying to sound nonchalant. “You always used to fight me for the peppermint creams. Look how generous your old dad is these days.”

“Thanks anyway,” she says, shrugging and tossing it back to me. “But I’m good.”

I study her for a second before blurting out, “You know you’re beautiful, right?”

She freezes mid-scroll and shoots me a look like I’ve grown two heads. “Uh… thanks, Dad? Where’s this coming from?”

I swallow, and I’m walking through quicksand. “I was just thinking, with all the social media stuff, you know, filters and airbrushing. It can mess with your head, make you think you’re supposed to look a certain way.”

Adele squints at me. “Oh my God, Dad. Stop being so weird.”

I want to push further, but she’s giving me that classic teen stare—the one that says drop it or I’m going back to my room. She’s been spending less time there lately, which is progress, so I decide to let it go.

“Alright, alright,” I say, hands up in surrender. “Just making sure you know you’re perfect the way you are.”

She rolls her eyes again but flashes me a smile before heading into the living room.

I follow her and find her sprawled on the couch, her phone balanced on her knee. She doesn’t look up as I sit down in the armchair across from her.

“Can we talk for a second?”

Her eyes flick toward me. “Is this about social media filters?”

“No. Something else.”

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