Free Big Girl Panties by Stephanie Evanovich

got home and made straight for the kitchen. She pulled out the candy, opened the food diary, and grabbed the pen.
    And then Holly saw all the other entries within the journal. All the healthy eating logged within the pages of her budding success story. She just couldn’t bring herself to write down what she was sure would be the beginning of her downfall. The pages began to blur. She slammed the journal closed and pushed herself away from the counter. Without even realizing, she began to pace back and forth in the kitchen.
    â€œYou’re just a stupid candy bar!” Holly yelled at the Milky Way.
    The Milky Way sat on the counter, in between the fruit bowl and the journal, an innocent candy bar representing caloric catastrophe. She could almost feel the bananas giving her the evil eye.
    â€œI just won’t write it down,” she rambled out loud. “I don’t have to write it down. I’m only doing all this to show up Logan in case he asks. And he’s never going to ask. And why do I have to do everything he says, anyway? I’m the one writing the checks.” Satisfied with her logic, she opened the Milky Way and took a big bite. And then another.
    The first two bites were everything she thought they would be. Chocolaty goodness and heavenly sweetness danced around her mouth. By the end of it, she was sick to her stomach. It was nearly choking her. All the joy of the first bites was gone, lost in the guilt of failure.
    She skipped dinner that night, an attempt to recoup the calories consumed in her fit of confectionery rage. She went to bed early, hungry and defeated. She tossed and turned. For hours, sleep refused to claim her. Logan’s words replayed like a broken record in her head. She knew what she had to do. Getting out of bed, she wearily padded downstairs and flipped the light on in the kitchen. Taking the pen, she opened the journal to the last entry. Pressing down so hard with the pen it nearly tore the paper, she wrote:
    MILKY WAY—FEELING?—INSANE.
    Holly dragged herself back upstairs. Once in her room, she sat on the bed and laid her head in her hands. It shouldn’t have to be this hard, she thought. A candy bar shouldn’t have the authority to ruin someone’s day. She was terrified this was going to end like it always did in the years of candy-bar consumption before it, with a mindless three-day feeding frenzy. She wished there was someone she could talk to. It was too late to call Tina, not that Holly really wanted to anyway. She didn’t even know how to put into words what her problem was, other than that a candy bar had her on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Tina would never understand what was going on in her head right now. No matter what stance Tina took, whether supportive or disappointed, Holly knew it would be the wrong one.
    It was time for her security blanket.
    It wasn’t really a blanket. It was Bruce’s favorite old green flannel shirt. She couldn’t wear it; she hadn’t been able to fit into any of Bruce’s shirts for years. But when all other coping mechanisms failed and all the food couldn’t fill the hole in her soul, Holly would pull it from the closet, fold it up, and lie with it under her cheek. When he first died, she slept with it, taking comfort in everything about it. It had well-worn softness and the scent of Bruce that remained secure within its fibers. It tricked her momentarily into thinking he was still there. She got up and went to his closet, where all his clothes still remained. She pulled it off the hanger and held it in her hands. And then, without knowing why, she stuck her arm in the shirt’s sleeve. Then she did the same with her other arm. With her thin cotton nightgown on underneath, the shirt accepted her intrusion. She pulled the front of it closed and, with excited shaking fingers, began to button it. And then she raced to the mirror.
    The shirt wasn’t loose on her by any