Free The Fat Girl by Marilyn Sachs Page A

like it with Dad?” I asked her. “They live in such a tiny house and the place is a mess.”
    “Well, maybe I can help. I’ve learned a lot from Mom, even though she never lets me do anything important. I’m a good cook, and I can help Linda with the housework. Dad says the boys can move in together for a while and I can have Sean’s room. Dad’s going to fix up the back of the basement and put in another room and a bathroom. So maybe after a year or so, I can take that . . .” She went chirping on and on.
    It was funny how upset I was. I hated the thought of Wanda moving out—not only for Mom, but for me too. Wanda belonged to me. She was my drippy kid sister who took at least two showers a day, clogged up the drain with her hair, and whined all the time. But she was part of my territory. I didn’t want her to move out. I didn’t want to lose something else that belonged to me.
    “Listen, Wanda,” I tried again. “Maybe we can work out some kind of compromise. Maybe I can try to spend more time at home with Mom. How about you spending every other weekend with Dad?”
    Wanda shook her head.
    “Okay, how about every weekend? I’ll spend more time at home with Mom. I’ll try to run a little more interference for you.”
    Wanda kept on shaking her head.
    “Wanda, I really don’t want you to go. You’re my sister, and . . . I’ll miss you. You’re a pest, but I don’t want you to go.”
    I tried laughing when I said it and she stopped shaking her head.
    “Jeff,” she said finally, “I can’t stay. I’ll miss you too. I guess I wasn’t thinking that you won’t be there either. I guess I forgot about you. But you’ll be going away soon, and I’d have to stay home alone with her. I can’t do it. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
    Now she was crying and I began crying too. We sat there in the car, looking out at the ducks in Stow Lake, and we cried together.
    But the only thing we agreed on was that she wouldn’t say anything more about moving out until after Christmas. That she wouldn’t spoil the holidays for Mom.
    I stayed home that Saturday. Usually I’m either working at the hardware store or out with my friends. My mother does her heavy cleaning on Saturdays, and all I’m ever supposed to do is keep my room neat. Whenever my mother gets angry at me, she says that I don’t help around the house. But actually she never really lets me do very much. That day I tried.
    “What can I do to help, Mom?” She was washing down the fixtures in the kitchen.
    “Just keep out of my way, Jeff.”
    “Do you want me to vacuum, Mom?”
    “No,” she said. “You always miss all the corners when you vacuum.”
    “I’ll be careful, Mom.”
    “Well, okay,” she said doubtfully.
    Later she ran the vacuum over all the areas I had done earlier.
    I offered to help her shop. She declined. “What’s the matter, Jeff? How come you’re not out with your friends?”
    “I thought I’d hang around the house and help you, Mom. You’re always saying I don’t do enough. So I thought I’d grant you your wish.”
    She smiled at me. She was in a good mood that day. “You must be feeling guilty or something.”
    “Uh uh, Mom, my conscience is clear.”
    “Money?”
    “Nope.”
    “Well—that’s all right then. You did your duty. Dismissed!”
    “Actually, Mom, I’m free until tonight. Norma and I are going to a movie. What are you doing tonight?”
    My mother cocked her head to one side and inspected me. “So that’s it—you want the car? Well, you usually can count on it for Saturday night. You know that. I’ll be home with Wanda, unless she’s going to a friend’s. You can have the car, Jeff.”
    I wanted to ask her why she was always home Saturday nights. Why she never went out with friends. Both of my grandparents were dead, but my Aunt Lisa, Mom’s younger sister, and her husband lived over in Kensington. The trouble was that she and Mom weren’t talking to each other this year. Some years they