I let her keep holding me in place, and my voice came out almost a whisper. “I could have done something.”
“You couldn’t.”
“I should have tried harder to find her.”
“You tried. I know you did. I know you still try.” She swiped at her face, pushing tears away. “It’s not your fault. I should have told you all this a long time ago, but I’m telling you now.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and ran my free hand through my hair. “I do still try to find her, to save her.”
“Maybe she doesn’t need saving.” Mom looked at her lap, then at our joined hands. “My responsible boy. Always taking care of things. Don’t let it eat you up until there’s nothing left. They make us talk about shit in here, so I don’t have a choice, but maybe you should talk to someone out there.” She squeezed my hand again and stood, eyeing the clock and knowing the time for visits was short. “I grabbed this for you. They had some lying around.” She thrust a flier with AL-ANON printed across the top. “It’s like AA, but for kids and families and stuff.” She glanced away, uncertain or maybe embarrassed at handing it to me. “I don’t know. Maybe it would help. I think you’ve got a lot in your head.”
I tucked it in my pocket. “I’ll check it out, Mom.” I stood to leave, giving her a hug.
Her grip was weaker, and she kissed my cheek. “And bring that girl to visit again. I liked her.”
* * *
AS I WALKED to the car, I chewed on what she’d said and opened the thread to Libby.
Wes: Mom is in rehab. She’s actually doing okay with it.
Wes: You don’t have to respond. You’re an adult and you have your own life, and I know you don’t need me and Mom, but no matter what, I’m here. I’ll always be here, and I guess I just needed to say that.
In all the times I’d sent messages, it had always been about finding her, taking care of her, and trying to get her to come home or to accept money. I’d never said anything that plain. In my personal life, I’d looked for distraction after distraction to take away the guilt, but I’d never even considered forgiving myself. If someone told me that by the end of the day, Mom could be pushing me to get professional help, I would have thought they were high. I remembered how Britta’s hand had felt in mine at the hospital, the way she’d known when to show me she was there.
Wes: I miss you every day, Lib. I know you had to leave to take care of yourself, and I know you don’t want to come back, but if you’ll ever let me come to you, or know you, it would mean the world to me. There will never be a time I’m not there for you when you need me.
Bouncing dots I hadn’t expected to see popped up.
Libby: We’re okay. I’ve been in California since November.
We? I leaned against my car, my eyes wetter than I wanted, a whoosh of breath leaving me. A minute later, she sent a photo, a selfie, the ocean in the background and wind blowing her hair around her face. She was smiling and squinting into the sun, and she was holding a baby.
Libby: I’ve been busy. You have a niece. Hazel is eight months old.
I stared at the photo in disbelief, emotions I couldn’t even name flooding my system. Libby was a mom. Had she been alone? Did she have support? I stilled my fingers, knowing me going into protective mode always scared her away. I zoomed in on the photo of the baby’s tiny face. Her eyes looked like mine, like Mom’s. A few texts and a photo wasn’t much, but it seemed like everything in that moment. Those same feelings I’d had with Britta, of things fitting into place, returned to me.
Libby: I’m not ready to come back to Chicago or see Mom, but I want you to meet her soon.
Libby: Let me do it my way, though, okay? I do better when I can control things.
Wes: She’s beautiful, and I can’t wait to see you both. Whenever you’re ready, just say the word and I’ll be on a plane. I won’t push—I promise, but if you need help, you’ll ask, right?
She didn’t respond, so I let that question hang and added, I love you, Lib.
Libby: I’ll talk to you soon. I love you, too.
Standing in the parking lot, holding my phone like it was a piece of fragile crystal, there was only one person I wanted next to me. Britta had held me so tightly at the hospital when she knew I needed it. I needed her.
The phone buzzed in my hand, a preview of a message from Cord scrolling over the top of Libby’s photo.
Cord: You should see this.
I clicked on the link to a social media page, Britta’s Best Life profile. Her profile photo made my chest feel buoyant. She was smiling, her hair resting on her shoulders and her soft brown eyes open wide as she made a funny face. She’d added a long post the night before, and I clicked to expand it. I read each word, feeling like she was saying it into my ear. I wiped the back of my hand across my face and stared at my phone.
Cord: Meet me at the bar?
Wes: Yes.
I needed a plan.
59
BESTLIFEMAGAZINE
LIKED BY ETHELGIRLZ AND 962K OTHERS
Hi, everyone. It’s Britta, and there are a few things I felt I needed to say.
Some of you suspect I had ulterior motives, or believe I was trying to trick you. I wasn’t, but I am sorry that I misled you. I started this journey for my job. I didn’t really care about getting active, being fit, or anything else. It was a job. Sure, I wanted to look and feel good naked, but along the way, I stopped worrying about that and started caring about being strong. I uncovered new goals and I fell in love . . . with myself. Body FTW started out to review two apps, but it’s been about the journey and the stumbles, mine and fellow Best Life staffer Claire’s. I stumbled big. I lied, I had an unprofessional relationship with my coach, I lost the chance to keep writing for Best Life, I disappointed my readers, and I hurt someone I really cared about. In all of that, I learned four key things:
All those years I didn’t move forward? The only thing standing in my way was me. Once I took a chance on myself, there was nothing stopping me. Looking back, there were things I didn’t do, didn’t wear, didn’t try, and it wasn’t my body holding me back, it was my fear.
My biceps are amazing. I always knew they were there, but now I can’t stop flexing them, and they might be my favorite parts of my body. Sorry, boobs. You’re bigger, but these, these I worked for. I wanted to look good naked, but now I feel good naked . . . and it has nothing to do with a guy and everything to do with me and my sexy flexed biceps. Side note: I look great naked, and it turns out I actually always did!
I’m still fat and still happy with me. For a lot of years, I believed it was wrong to be happy with this body. I settled for so much less than I deserved. No more, though. I love this body, and I won’t ever be with anyone who doesn’t love it as well.
I learned those three things because someone believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. Someone who pushed me to go one more mile, who picked me up off the floor, and who didn’t let me get away with doubting myself or how strong I was. That person was my coach. I’m sorry I lied—I regret it more than you can know—but I’m not sorry I found him. Without him, I wouldn’t have discovered how strong I am, how much I love my biceps, and what kind of relationship I deserve. That leads me to #4.
I can do it. I will show up for the 10K, lace my shoes, stretch, and I will run that race. It’s no longer part of my job, and I don’t have my running partner anymore, but I worked for the opportunity to cross the finish line. When I do, it will be for me—not my coach, not my job, not the sponsors. But it will be for you, too—those of you who are reading this and think you can’t do it. Whatever your 10K is, I’ll cross the finish line knowing you can, too.
So, wish me luck, or better yet, wish me strength.
#TeamBritta #sorrynotsorry #curvygirlrunning
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