Chapter 4

“Guys in the neighborhood sit on their porches waiting to see you come out to shovel shit.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

They walked, hand-in-hand, in silence for a few minutes absorbing the holiday atmosphere – and the abundance of male attention.

“Let’s go home,” Cynthia suddenly said.

Katie stopped in front of a trendy teen girl’s clothing store. “Why?”

“Everyone is just looking at you,” Cynthia answered. “I know you’re trying to cheer me up, but this isn’t doing it.” Then she added, morosely, “No one likes a fat chick.”

“If you don’t stop saying that, I’m going to leave you.”

“No you won’t,” Cynthia stated simply.

Katie clenched her fists. “Well, I’ll be really angry.”

Cynthia just gazed down the mall at nothing in particular.

“Come on,” Katie said, grabbing Cynthia’s hand again. “You’ll see.”

“What, now? You want to show me how many more guys don’t like fat chicks?”

“You’re not fat. You’re curvy. You’re pleasantly plump.”

“You can call it whatever you want, but guys aren’t into fatties.”

In barely a whisper, Katie pointed out some women walking past them. “See? Bigger than you. Bigger than you. Bigger. Bigger. Bigger.” Katie stopped, still holding Cynthia’s hand tightly. “You’re not fat.”

“Okay.” Cynthia gestured towards a woman looking in the window of a coat outlet. “She’s beautiful.” Then nodded to a woman striding past. “Beautiful.” And another. “Gorgeous.” Another woman. “Stunning.” She cocked her head towards a tall, young lady standing with an equally tall, young man. “Sexy.”

“You’re all of those things, Cynthia.”

“I’m not thin.”

“But you’re not fat,” Katie insisted.

This had been a debate between them since they were in preschool together and two decades later, it was still raging. And today, Cynthia didn’t really want to continue the argument that would never end, so she just shrugged.

“Let’s go see Santa,” Katie said.

“Fine.”

As they stood by the side, Katie looked at the mall Santa. “Oh, he’s cute.”

Cynthia looked. “He is, kind of.”

Katie pulled her arm. “Come on. Let’s get in line to sit on his lap.”

Cynthia sighed, but followed Katie.

“We should both sit on his lap and kind of be sexy,” Katie suggested, with a sneaky little smile on her lips.

“You can,” Cynthia replied. “I’m not feeling very sexy.”

“Fine.”

They slowly made their way up the line in silence.

“Next!” A man dressed as an elf called. “Five bucks.”

Katie asked, “Can we both sit on his lap?”

“Knock yourselves out,” the elf answered listlessly.

“Pay the elf,” Katie told Cynthia.

Cynthia handed him a five-dollar bill. Then Katie, with Cynthia in tow, strolled up the red carpet littered with bits of runaway fluff from the fake “snow” thrown on everything, and approached Santa sitting two steps up on his red velvet throne.

“Ho, ho, ho, ladies,” he called out, patting the tops of both of his thighs. After hours of snotty brats, he was more than happy to have two young women sit on his lap.