Paint Me Beautiful

sweetie.” Mom drops the lard filled lump in front of me with a smile.
    I stare at the biscuit and my mind starts throwing numbers at me.
    Large biscuit: 300 calories easy.
    Two tablespoons of butter: 200 calories.
    A dollop of jam: 50 calories.
    Case in point: Mom's biscuit is a no go, fasting or no.
    I pick at the food and spread crumbs around my plate, so that it looks like I've taken a bite. Under the table, Emmett's foot jostles slightly and bumps mine, snapping my head up to look at him. He's still staring at my sister, but as I wait in tense anticipation, he slides the toe of his shoe along the bare skin of my arch. I shiver again, but not from cold. I'm finding it hard to be cold with Emmett Sinclair around.
    “ I can't believe how small the world is,” I hear Marlena say and try to snap myself out of the trance I'm falling into. I look over at her and see that she's smiling her fakest smile at me, the one she usually reserves for clients. “I end up calling my sister's boyfriend for an interview. Must be fate.”
    “ Must be,” Emmett says.
    “ I don't believe in fate,” I blurt and then, “And he isn't my boyfriend.” Emmett reaches up to touch his hair and then pauses as if he's just realized he isn't wearing a hat. He puts his hand on his cheek and lets it slide down, dropping it into his lap.
    “ To be fair,” he begins. “We've only had one date.”
    “ Still,” Marlena says, flashing her white teeth at me. “That's a pretty big coincidence.” I stare at her and say nothing. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was baiting me. Sometimes, sisters can forget that they're twenty-six years old; sibling rivalry has no expiration date.
    “ When's your second?” my mom jokes as my father finally makes his way over to the table and sits down with a sigh. I watch as she sits a honey glazed ham down not five inches in front of my plate. One hundred and seventy calories per slice, ninety-nine of them from fat. I've looked up a lot of food online lately and memorized the numbers. They're sort of useless to me during my fast, but I keep them in the back of my mind for later.
    “ Well,” Emmett begins and I realize he's operating under the idea that I got a call back. I interrupt him before he can say anything else.
    “ Saturday,” I say suddenly, and he smiles nice and bright. His foot caresses mine oh so gently. “We're going paddle boating at the lake.”
    “ Oh, sounds like fun!” my mom says while my dad eyes Emmett with narrowed eyes. Luckily, he's soon distracted by a bowl of mashed potatoes. I don't even let my brain calculate nutrition info on those. My mom make hers with copious amounts of butter, milk and bacon grease. Disgusting. When she sets down a bowl of salad, I snatch it up and dish myself a large portion, trying my best to cover the surface area of my plate. If Mrs. Simone sees any space, she'll try to lump something onto it. Her next additions to the table are marshmallow covered sweet potatoes, gravy, and a tray of biscuits.
    “ God, Mom, it isn't Thanksgiving,” I say, but she ignores me. Everybody does. Except for Emmett Sinclair.
    “ I'm honored, truly,” he says as he fills his plate with the worst offenders on the table in such massive portions that I'm afraid for him. It's like watching a heart attack in progress. I look away and sneak my water bottle under the table. I nestle it between my thighs and try not to shiver at the icy moisture that's condensed on the sides. Once I've got the top unscrewed, I start the very long and laborious process of stuffing lettuce leaves and slices of tomato inside. It doesn't make for the most pleasant dinner in the world, but I feel proud of myself for persevering, for proving that I can do this, no matter what. “Food goes straight to the heart,” he says which makes my mom smile. I know he's speaking metaphorically, but the amount of fat and cholesterol there makes that a pretty scary statement. I tell myself I don't care and attempt to break off a piece of biscuit to shove inside my water bottle. When I look up, Emmett is staring at me. He's still smiling, but he doesn't look that happy about what he's just seen.
    I flush three shades of red and glance away.
    The rest of the dinner passes by without incidence.
    When it's time for him to leave, my mother drags my father into the kitchen to help with dishes and Marlena mysteriously disappears up the stairs. I end up having to show Emmett out which makes for a very