Page 13 of Living with Death

“How are you fine? You never go anywhere. It’s either here or that creepy old house.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I like that old house?”

She lifts her brow.

“What? Not everyone likes to go out and party, Sam. Some of us enjoy alone time.”

“Yeah, but every night? When’s the last time you had a man?”

“I don’t want a man.”

“You don’t want to have sex?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So, you do want to have sex?” She wiggles her brow.

I give her a pointed look that saysbutt out, but Sam doesn’t know how to do that. She leans against the other side of the shelf. We’re quiet for a moment, and then she says, “Do you think I’m fat?”

Oh Lord, she thinks my body image issue is why I don’t have sex. She doesn’t know me as well as she thinks. I’ve never told anyone about my mother and father.

“What?”

“Doyouthink I’m fat?”

“No. I think you look great.”

“Are you lying?”

“No.” Sam is confident and healthy. Beautiful on the outside and inside. The possible sex addiction is her only flaw. “Why do you think you’re fat?”

I bunch my brows together.

“Don’t give me that look. I see how you look at yourself, and you’re a fool. You’re beautiful, Mabel.”

“I’m beautiful? I have freckles. I wear glasses because I’m blind, and according to the internet and my mother, I’ve been overweight my whole life.”

“So?” she says.

“So?” I repeat. “So, I don’t think any of that is beautiful.”

“You look like Karen Gillan, but with glasses, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll never understand why you don’t see yourself as everyone else does.”

“No one sees themselves the way everyone else does.” I exhale. “But thank you. I appreciate your concern. And I’ll take everything you’ve said into consideration.”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

I walk down the aisle. “Don’t forget to sweep under the shelves.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she calls out.

*

I pedal down the road, the night surrounding me. The air is chilled, the wind wisping through the trees. I think about what Sam said, and I remember when I didn’t think badly of myself.

We are not born with ugly thoughts. We don’t first look in the mirror and think,I need to work on this, orthis could be better. Society does that. Magazines do that. Social media does that. Once it sinks into your skin, it’s hard to shake.

I turn into the store and hop off my bike. “Good evening,” Cook says from his rocking chair. He gives me a big smile.

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