The Girl I Used to Be by Heidi Hostetter (that summer book .txt) 📕

“Did she say anything?”

“It wasn’t so much talking as it was a feeling. That everything’s going to be okay, eventually.” Jill rested her head on her arm. “I miss her, El.”

“I do too.”

“She would have known what to do.”

“We’ll get through it.”

“I don’t want to be here if Marc decides to come back.”

“Whatever you want. You can stay with me. I just moved into a two-bedroom and I have lots of space.”

With a jolt, Jill realized that Ellie had moved into the apartment they’d looked at months ago. This was a big deal for Ellie, to finally get her own space, and Jill had yet to congratulate her. Ellie, who was supposed to be her best friend.

Misunderstanding Jill’s disappointment, Ellie’s expression changed from concern to surprise. “I don’t have to invite you to come over, do I? You know you’re welcome. I even had a spare key made for you. We can go right now.”

In response, Jill squeezed Ellie’s arm. “I’ve been thinking. Remember Ricky Tremont?”

“Ricky from high school? That’s a stretch.” Ellie wrinkled her nose. “Sure I remember, but what made you think of him?”

“I dated him for—what? Three weeks, a little more, a little less?” Jill glanced at Ellie, and when she nodded, Jill continued. “And do you remember the music I listened to back then?”

“The Ramones.” Ellie sagged dramatically as she rolled her eyes. “On repeat.”

“We even tried to dye my hair black, remember?”

“Yes, I do.” Ellie groaned. “You drove us all nuts.”

“Remember when I tried to convince you to sneak up to Queens to see their show?” Jill laughed. “We were going to take the commuter rail? But we couldn’t figure out the tickets?”

Ellie smiled, then asked, “Whatever happened to them? You used to love them, then all of a sudden you didn’t.”

“Ricky Tremont said their music was stupid.” Jill shrugged. “And because I was desperate for him to like me, I threw away all my posters and never listened to their music again.”

“You didn’t. Oh, Jilly.”

“Yep. And the boy after him…” Jill squinted as she tried to recall the boy’s name. When she couldn’t, she swirled her free hand around the top of her head. “The one with the hair? Took me to prom senior year?” Jill straightened, steeling herself against the memory of what she’d done. “Aunt Sarah made a prom dress for me. Picked out a pattern and bought the material. She made it because she wanted me to have something nice and she knew I probably wouldn’t otherwise. And she wrapped it in white tissue and mailed it to me. The card inside said she knew I’d look like a princess and all she asked for in return was a picture.”

“I remember. It was blue.”

“Ice blue satin,” Jill corrected. “The boy I went with, the one with the hair, happened to see it before the prom and he called it tacky. Said only hookers wore ice blue satin. So I stuffed the dress into the back of my closet and never looked at it again.” She frowned, feeling a stab of regret at what she’d done. “That boy picked me up wearing a rented tux and a neon-green cummerbund but had the nerve to call blue satin tacky.” She paused to catch her breath. “I don’t even know what happened to that dress. I wish I did. I wish I had it now. I’d wear it every day.”

“Everyone knows you have to date a lot of toads before you find a prince,” Ellie offered, as consolation.

But Jill shook her head. She slid from her chair and began to pace the room. “When Aunt Sarah asked about it later, about the prom, about the dress, I lied to her. And when she asked for a picture of me wearing the dress she’d made, know what I told her?”

Ellie shook her head.

“I said I couldn’t afford to have them taken.”

“Oh, Jilly.”

“Know what she did?” This time Jill didn’t wait for a reply. “She sent me twenty dollars. And she offered to help me find the photographer.”

“Oh no.” Ellie sighed.

“Yeah.” Jill drew a ragged breath. “My whole life I’ve changed myself to be whatever the guy I’m with wants me to be, no matter the cost. Ricky with the posters, Neon-green Cummerbund, and the one after that, whose name I will never utter. And now Marc.” Jill felt her breath catch. “I’ve lost myself, Ellie. Somewhere, I’ve lost the girl I used to be.”

“You’re being entirely too hard on yourself. Marc’s the one who cheated, not you.”

“You asked me to lunch, week before last, do you remember?”

Ellie frowned so Jill filled in the details, striding across the floor and chopping her hands through the air as she spoke. Marc hated when she used her hands to talk. She did so now freely.

“The new Italian bistro in Westfield. You said the eggplant parm reminded you of Aunt Sarah’s and that the garlic bread alone was worth the drive.” She whirled around and threw up her hands. “And what did I tell you?” When Ellie opened her mouth to speak, Jill answered for her. “That I would only go if I could have a plain green salad without dressing, which is ridiculous if you think about it. I never even tasted the eggplant parm.” She closed her eyes, pushing past the lump in her throat. “I miss Aunt Sarah every single day and when you found a place that might bring me a little closer to her, I ordered a green salad. Do you know why?”

“Tell me.”

“Because I had a dress fitting later that afternoon—hours after lunch—and I needed to be a perfect size six. That’s the size Marc wanted me to be and that’s the size the saleswoman had ready. But, El, I am not a size six—never have been.” Jill shifted her gaze because she couldn’t meet her friend’s eye. “So I don’t eat and I exercise too much. And I force my body into a six because