Free Memoirs Aren't Fairytales by Marni Mann

in fake smiles and spoke without a filter. And then there was Cole, who smiled like she just got her braces off and lied to make her parents and brother proud. I couldn't hide my appearance, but I could feed them with bullshit. It was time to put my Cole face on.
    “I'm just getting over the flu, and my stomach is still a little upset,” I said.
    Mom got up from the table and returned with a folder. “I've done some research,” she said, handing it to me. The folder was filled with papers, each highlighted and covered in her handwriting. “Those are all the schools in Boston that offer teaching degrees.”
    I set the folder on the table and placed my napkin on top of it.
    “We think it's time you go back to school,” Dad said.
    I stared at my empty plate. “I'm not ready yet.”
    “You're just going to give up?” Dad asked.
    “You worked so hard for those scholarships and your GPA,” Mom said.
    I had worked hard to maintain a three-five GPA so I could keep my scholarships, but that was before. They didn't understand. Classes, homework, and studying weren't for me anymore.
    “We want the best for you, and being a waitress isn't your best,” Mom said. “Honey, if it's about what happened, then let's talk about it.”
    I didn't want to talk about the rape, especially with them. What was there to discuss anyway? They couldn't change the past or make me forget.
    “Is that the reason you've lost so much weight?” Dad asked.
    “You haven't been this skinny since you were in sixth grade,” Mom said.
    I guess it wasn't bad they were blaming my weight loss on the rape. That was better than being targeted as a drug addict. And their reasoning made sense because I'd never had a problem with food before. If anything, my problem was eating too much. In my teenage years, I had a large chest and was always at least fifteen pounds overweight.
    My pinned eyes and heavy movements should have been a sure sign I was on a diet of heroin. But my parents wouldn't consider that. While lots of my high school friends had gotten busted with pot in their bedrooms and smoking weed in their cars during study hall, I'd never been caught. Cole had told her parents she was anti-drugs and gave them no reason to think otherwise. Even in college, they thought my partying only involved liquor.
    “I've been taking really good care of myself,” I said. “I watch what I eat and run a couple miles every day.”
    I explained how Renee ran track in high school and how she was teaching Eric and me about endurance and healthy eating. I used the running and sweating to justify my acne and the stomach flu for the last ten pounds I'd lost.
    “But the flu—”
    “Did Cole tell you about her promotion at work?” Michael asked, interrupting my mom.
    The talks I was having with Michael at night had paid off.
    I thanked him with a quick smile. I mean, my parents hadn't seen me in six months, and the rape and my weight were what they wanted to talk about?
    “She's doing really good,” Michael said. “Cole, tell them.”
    Mom propped an elbow on each side of her plate and leaned in to get closer to me. Dad reached his hand across the table and placed it over mine. They wanted to hear more. I told them I was working over sixty hours a week and how Mark was training me for management. That triggered a round of questions like how much was a manager's salary, was I getting overtime, and benefits?
    My cell phone rang. The caller ID showed it was Renee. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. This would be my excuse to leave.
    “Hi, Mark, what's going on,” I said into the phone while the three of them continued to eat, pretending not to listen.
    Renee laughed and even played along by deepening her voice. She asked how breakfast was going and I answered with an uh-huh. She said she and Eric had just gotten up and were about to celebrate their day off with a shot.
    “I understand. I'll be there soon,” I said and hung up.
    I told my parents the bar was