Page 14 of AMS.TER.strum

‘You’ll need to let out your jeans,’ he says, consistent with my expectations.

‘No need, really. They’re elastic,’ I clip.

Normally, I would put the sugary bites back and push the bowl away, eager to show remorse, as if I can’t get to them when he’s gone. But today, I’m determined to hold my ground, emboldened by the compliment that’s been inhabiting my head for the past two weeks.

‘You look fabulous, Corrie. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.’

It was meant to be the Band-Aid to Johan’s comment about me eating a piece of Luuk’s birthday cake, but ended up being more than that: a balm to heal it. It was also awkward as hell—he looked shocked that he’d even said it, and I was equally shaken by how much I liked it. Apparently, its effect is long-lasting, because now I’m looking at Johan defiantly, in gladiator mode, ready to defend my body, despite secretly wondering whether maybe, just maybe, he is right.

‘Hey, don’t be like that; you know I don’t mind you being a bit chubby.’

‘How chubby?’

‘What?’

‘You heard me. How chubby is acceptable? What BMI?’

He laughs. ‘Schatje, you know I like you as you are.’

‘Chubby.’

‘Ach, man, curvy, voluptuous, whatever you might call it. There are guys who don’t like to be seen with plus-sized women, but I don’t mind.’

‘How kind of you…’

‘If you don’t like the word, stay away from the Haribo snoep.’

‘I want us to part ways.’

The words slip out like beads of mercury from an old-fashioned broken thermometer. For a moment, we look at each other silently, as if who will speak first is a dare. Johan beats me to it.

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘What if I do?’

His hand covers his face, then slides down to his neck. ‘Because we’re good together. Because we’ve made all these plans for the future. Because we love each other and are about to start a family.’

The arguments sound hollow, but these three reasons are like a cookie-cutter attempt at appeasing me every time we have a fight, although never before have I suggested we break up, convinced Johan was the one, and we’d make it, despite the hurdles. I don’t doubt we’ll make it; only now, I don’t believe it necessarily has to be together anymore.

‘A family with the chubby your family won’t meet? Wait, what did your mom say when she saw my photo? Ze is een dikke. According to her, I’m plain fat.’ The word chubby tastes bitter and acrid like bile, just like her comment about me being fat when Johan mentioned it in passing.

‘Come on, baby, don’t be like that! Since when do you mind my jokes? Why are you blowing my mom’s words out of proportion? Is it hormones? Could you…?’

‘Definitely not.’

He is closer now, his mouth reaching for one of the gummy bears, after he gives me a kiss similar to the ones that made my knees wobbly. ‘Here, now we’ll both be chubby.’

‘That makes everything okay?’

He lets out an impatient huff. ‘Ach man, what does it take to make you happy?’

‘You being like in the beginning, caring and considerate. Standing up to your family about us, before we have a baby. You’re forty-five, you can’t let them decide about your life.’

There, I’ve tried the words for size, directly addressing what bugs me for the first time. No pussyfooting, just what I want done. Although I’m not even sure it will bring us back to where we were more than a year ago, before criticism became a daily dose in our common life.

‘I’ll do my best.’ His promise sounds eager, as if he really means it. ‘But will you also stop exaggerating and taking apart every little thing?’

In the spirit of good disposition, I hum something close to a yes. But as he resumes his kiss, hands pulling me closer, I wonder if what we had can be resurrected in order to make what we have salvageable.