Jessie's Journal (11/6/26) (Patreon)

Dear Journal:

Michelle wasn’t exactly happy to see us.  I trailed behind the other girls, and, by the time I tripped the jangly cowbell above the door, sissy’s smile had wilted like the Bluebonnets in the restaurant’s centerpieces.

“Have a seat,” she said, pointing at a corner booth.  She was busy topping off a burly-looking trucker’s coffee.  “I’ll be right over.”

Gretchen smiled and waved. “Take your time, sweetie!”

“She always does,” Marjorie muttered.

Gretchen shot Marjorie a dirty look as we slid into the booth.  Had I not been there, however, I’m sure the comment would have garnered giggles. 

“I think I’ll try something different today,” Stacy said, opening a menu. Like everything else in the place, it was greasy and oversized.   Stacy’s doe-eyes pranced across the pages like a fawn in a meadow, before eventually flitting over to mine.  “What do you recommend, Jessie?  Don’t you eat here a lot?” 

The girl was dumb as a stump.  She knew I didn’t eat there.  I’d declined every time they’d invited me. 

Gretchen and Marjorie looked at her like she had two heads.

“I just figured with family working here…” she stammered, trying to explain herself.  “I’m not saying that because you’re…you’re…”

Gretchen massaged her forehead with her fingers.  “Jesus, Stacy, just please stop talking.”

“It’s OK,” I said, letting her off the hook.  “Try the chicken-fried steak.  It’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” she said, smirking at the other girls.

Sissy dragged her feet coming over.  Not that I blame her.  Bright smiles masked the trio’s true intentions, but my sister wasn’t stupid.  I’m sure she knew what was going on.  And I’m sure she figured I was there to pile on her just like all those pounds.

“Hey,” sissy huffed, pulling a pad and pen from her apron's pocket.  “What can I get you?”   

It had been a while since I’d seen sissy in her uniform.  It's seen better days.  (Then again, so has sissy.)  It's always been tight, but now it has more gaps, stains, and puckers than a dentist’s waiting room. 

She’s only been at Mel’s two months, but she looked twenty years older.  I suspect it was mostly due to her impatient scowl, but the nascent jowls along her cheeks and chin also sagged the youth from her face...much like the Plantar Fasciitis had sapped the spring from her step.  Her makeup wasn’t helping either.  She used to wear it so professionally, but today it was caked on to hide the blemishes bubbling beneath the surface.  It was about as successful at concealing her facial flaws as her uniform was at hiding her fattened figure.

“Want me to come back in a few minutes?”

None of the other girls spoke.  No small talk.  No hugs.  (Not that I blame them, given how sissy looked and probably smelled.)   They just sat there with goofy grins, their eyes bouncing back and forth between sissy and me. 

I wondered if we were all wondering the same thing…     

Was Michelle the fat sister now?

Finally, Gretchen cleared her throat.  “Jessie, dear…I believe you said something about treating.”

“Oh, right,” I said, giving the menu a perfunctory peek.  “I’ll do the Cobb salad.  Bring everyone else the chicken-fried steak.”  I glanced around the table.  “I really appreciate our growing friendship.”  Then I made eye contact with Michelle as I handed her our menus…

“And I want to make sure things keep growing.”

A smile spread across sissy's face, melting away ten years and twenty pounds. 

“You got it!”

--Jessie