Emily's Christmas Break

Emily shuffled into the living room on the second morning of Christmas break, bowl of Froot Loops already in hand. The gray hoodie was the only thing that still (barely) fit; the zipper had surrendered somewhere around Halloween. She eased herself onto the couch, thighs spreading to make room for what was now essentially a built-in coffee table. The bowl settled perfectly on the broad, taut shelf of her chest like it had been designed for the job. Spoon in, crunch, repeat.

(“Fuck, here she comes,”) she thought as her mother’s footsteps approached from the hallway.

Mom appeared in the doorway, coffee mug frozen halfway to her lips.

“You’ve gotten too big.”

Emily didn’t even look up. Just another spoonful. Crunch.

Mom stepped closer, reached out, and tried to lift the bowl. It didn’t budge; the shelf underneath was rock-solid. “You’re still taking those pills, aren’t you?”

Emily shrugged, milk sloshing gently but never spilling. “Maybe.”

Mom’s hands moved to the sides of the massive swell, squeezing once like she was testing a mattress. “I can’t with you. If you want to ruin your life, go ahead.”

Emily finally looked up, deadpan. “I swear to God, Mom, it’s the most practical thing I learned all semester.”

The bowl stayed perfectly level. The hoodie stretched another millimeter. And Emily kept eating.