Copyright 2018 by Colleen Hoover

Part of me wants to forget it and lock myself in the office and work the rest
of the night. But I know I won’t be able to if I don’t check on her. Make sure I
didn’t see what I thought I saw.
I lay the book open on the patio table to dry and make my way into the
house, toward the stairs. I’m quiet. I’m not sure why I feel the need to be quiet as
I work to sneak a peek at her. I know she probably can’t process much, so what
would it matter if I made my approach known? Even still, I remain quiet as I
make my way up the stairs, down the hallway, and to her bedroom door.
It’s slightly ajar, and I can see the window that overlooks the backyard. I
press my palm to the door and begin to open it. I’m biting my bottom lip as I
peek my head in.

---

Verity is in her bed, eyes closed, hands to her sides on top of the blanket.
I breathe a quiet sigh of relief, and then feel even more relief when I open the
door a little wider, revealing an oscillating fan moving back and forth from
Verity’s bed to the window overlooking the backyard. Every time the fan points
toward the window, the curtain moves.
My sigh is louder this time. It was the damn fan. Get a grip, Lowen.
I turn off the fan because it’s a little too chilly in here for it. I’m surprised
April left it on to begin with. I cut my eyes toward Verity again, but she’s still
asleep. When I get to the door, I pause. I look at the dresser—at the remote
sitting on top of it. I look up at the TV mounted to the wall.
It isn’t on.
April said she turned on the TV before she left, but the TV is not on.
I don’t even look back at Verity. I pull the door shut and rush down the
stairs.
I’m not going back up there again. I’m scaring myself. The most helpless
person in this house is the one I’m the most afraid of. It doesn’t even make
sense. She wasn’t staring at me through the office window. She wasn’t standing
at her window, looking at Crew. And she didn’t turn off her own TV. It’s
probably on a timer, or April accidentally hit the power button twice and
assumed she turned it on.
Regardless of the fact that I’m aware this is all in my head, I still walk back
to Verity’s office, close the door, and pick up another chapter of her
autobiography. Maybe reading more from her point of view will reassure me that
she’s harmless and I need to chill the fuck out.

---

So Be It
I knew I was pregnant because my breasts looked better than they had ever
looked.
I’m very aware of my body, what goes into it, how to nourish it, how to keep
it toned. Growing up watching my mother’s waistline expand with her laziness, I
work out daily, sometimes twice a day.
I learned very early on that a human is not merely comprised of only one
thing. We are two parts that make up the whole.
We have our conscious, which includes our mind, our soul, and all the
intangible parts.
And we have our physical being, which is the machine that our conscious
relies on for survival.
If you fuck with the machine, you will die. If you neglect the machine, you
will die. If you assume your conscious can outlive the machine, you will die
shortly after learning you were wrong.
It’s very simple, really. Take care of your physical being. Feed it what it
needs, not what the conscience tells you it wants. Giving in to cravings of the
mind that ultimately hurt the body is like a weak parent giving in to her child.
“Oh, you had a bad day? Do you want an entire box of cookies? Okay, sweetie.
Eat it. And drink this soda while you’re at it.”
Caring for your body is no different from caring for a child. Sometimes it’s
hard, sometimes it sucks, sometimes you just want to give in, but if you do,
you’ll pay for the consequences eighteen years down the road.
It’s fitting when it comes to my mother. She cared for me like she cared for
her body. Very little. Sometimes I wonder if she’s still fat—if she’s still
neglecting that machine. I wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken to her in years.
But I’m not interested in speaking about a woman who chose never to speak
of me again. I’m here to discuss the first thing my baby ever stole from me.