Four Skittles

CW: Disordered eating, calorie restriction

Monica hits end on her watch at the exact moment it changes from 3.49 to 3.5 miles and scrolls down her workout summary, still standing at the end of the driveway.

Duration: 59:09

Energy burned: 264 calories

Distance: 3.5 miles

Steps: 8,249

Average pace: 16:54. Her best this week!

Average heart rate: 106bpm

Tomorrow, she thinks, it is time to upgrade from the 12-lb vest to 15 lbs!

When she unlocks the front door it is 9:42 a.m. — and her older two kids aren't downstairs yet. She breathes in through her nose while counting to four. Holds for three. Releases through her mouth for five.

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change; 

courage to change the things I can; 

and wisdom to know the difference.

She's still searching for the wisdom to know the difference.

Addie graduated from high school 1,934 days ago.

Max graduated 832 days ago.

She maneuvers into a wide, low squat for stability and braces herself as one of her corgis threads back and forth under her— a move the family calls the butt walk, embarrassingly. Her other corgi approaches, nubby tail wagging excitedly and tongue ready to lap up the sweat glistening on her shins. She chuckles and pats them each firmly on their hindquarters. Six times each, for fairness. 

Deep breath. 

“Addie! Max! It’s time to get up.”

She receives no answer. Thirteen stairs lead up to the hallway where she trudges now to knock on their doors and repeat the request. They both respond with half-hearted affirmatives. She massages her temples briefly and heads back downstairs. Glances at her watch again. She has 10,001 steps at 10:01 a.m. How pleasing, she thinks.

Fasted walk, check. 

Her favorite coffee mug is already sitting at the ready on the coffee maker and the reservoir is filled with water. Mark always makes sure she’s taken care of in all the big and little ways. She sets the machine to 10oz, iced, and adds three tablespoons of cookie butter creamer and two scoops of collagen while it brews. 

Opening her fitness app on her phone, she selects a saved meal and ‘adds to breakfast’. Half of a peanut butter chocolate chip muffin with half a tablespoon of her favorite plant-based butter and her coffee add up to 290 calories. Only about 22 grams of protein, but she’ll make up for that later.

She opens the microwave to grab a muffin and— they’re gone. The muffin tin is still there. Empty. Her jaw clenches. A door creaks open upstairs and she looks up to see Max. 

“Did you eat the last muffin?” 

He smiles sheepishly and shrugs.

If you can’t say anything nice, Monica Lynn, don’t say anything at all. Her face has an unfortunate tendency to say things she won’t give her mouth permission to. She turns away. Grabbing her coffee and her favorite red-and-white straw, she brushes past Max, who is now holding a bowl heaped high with Lucky Charms, and heads upstairs to her room. Breakfast can wait.

Her watch vibrates as she settles into her computer chair. The screen shows a familiar notification: Body responses. Your device identified potential signs of stress starting at 10:03. Reflect on your mood to better understand what may have caused a response. She snorts.

*****

That evening, Monica is pulling dinner out of the oven when her watch vibrates. She glances down. Life360: Mark has arrived Home. She smiles, proud that she managed to time things so well.

Her brow furrows. Emily isn’t home yet. She picks up her phone to check Life360 and sighs a breath of relief as she sees her daughter’s dot moving closer. 

Mark wraps his arms around her waist from behind and presses a kiss to her temple, and she leans into his warmth. 

“Dinner is ready. Baked chicken breasts, rice, broccoli. I made enough so you can pack lunches the rest of the week,” Monica says.

Mark grimaces behind her back but quickly tames his face as she turns to place the chicken on the island for serving.

“Kids! Dinner!” 

As everyone settles into their usual seats, the front door bursts open. A series of thwumps sound from the entryway, where Monica knows she’ll later find shoes, socks, backpack, lunchbox, and purse in a disordered pile. 

“Sorry I’m late! Rehearsal ran over a little bit and I couldn’t resist stopping by to grab us a sweet little treat. I got you a small iced pumpkin chai with cold foam and caramel drizzle!” Emily descends on the table holding a drink carrier, beaming. 

Monica tries to hide her hesitation as she takes the drink with what she hopes is a gracious smile. It’s hard to believe she used to swing through the drive-thru with Emily not so long ago without thinking about the havoc it may wreak on the scale or her other health metrics. Now? She can’t help but think that if she finishes the drink, it will completely negate her 3.5 miles of walking this morning. 

“Thanks, sweetie,” she says, toying with the straw wrapper.

Emily appears unaware of the mental calculations her mother is doing in her head as she gives a rapid-fire synopsis of her day at school and rehearsal. By the time Emily wraps up, lamenting her awkward delivery of her lines as Gabriella Montez opposite her crush’s Troy Bolton, everyone else has finished eating. Emily has yet to take a bite. 

“You’re a delight. He’d be a fool not to find you charming. Now please, eat your dinner.” Monica takes a tentative sip of the gifted drink and closes her eyes to savor the creamy texture and spiced sweetness. She decides she’ll just walk an extra lap after dinner and forgo her nightly square of chocolate. 

“What did everyone else do today?” Mark asks.

”A customer complimented my hair,” Addie chimes in, gesturing to her clearly home-dyed blue pixie cut. 

“That’s nice. What about you, Max?” 

“I have an interview at 8:30 tomorrow morning.”

“You do? Where at?” Monica asks. 

“Harris Teeter. I’ll send you the address so you know which one to bring me to.”

Monica takes another sip of her drink and gazes nervously toward Mark. 

“Was there a question I didn’t hear?” Mark is lifting one brow. 

Nobody says a word. Emily sets her fork down with a clatter and pauses mid-chew.

“If you are expecting a ride, you better be asking your mother and not telling her. She’s not your unpaid Uber driver.”

”My bad. Mom, can you bring me to the interview tomorrow?” 

Mark clears his throat. 

“Oh, uh, please?” Max adds. 

Monica mentally runs through how she’ll have to rearrange her day to make sure everything on her to-do list gets done with this new added responsibility, but all she says is, “Of course.” 

After her evening walk with Mark, which is at a much more leisurely pace as they chat about anything BUT the kids, Monica opens up her fitness app again. She makes sure everything is synced and all of her food is logged. She’s over her calorie goal by 82 calories, so she holds her breath as she hits “Complete Diary”. A pop up appears and says “If every day were like today, you would weigh 118lbs in 5 weeks.” She breathes a sigh of relief. Still maintaining her ideal weight.

*****

One of the dogs wakes her up, whining. She looks at her watch. 4:39. Rubbing her eyes, she swings her legs over the edge of the bed. She heaves herself up and ushers them downstairs to let them out, stepping into the backyard to keep an eye on them. They quickly do their business and beat her back to bed. She and Mark share a king-size bed and still the small dogs manage to make it so she’s barely hanging on the edge as she climbs back in. 

She tosses and turns for what feels like forever and checks her watch again. 4:48. She sighs. If she falls asleep now, she’ll get 57 minutes of sleep. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries again to sleep. Instead, her mind decides to replay the crash she drove by the previous day. The cars had looked bad. She says a quick prayer for the people involved and thinks again about how easily that could happen to herself, Mark, or Emily on any given day. More sleep is officially not happening.

Rising from bed, she makes her way to the bathroom and steps on the scale. 119.2. She rubs her eyes. She steps off the scale, taps her foot on it to calibrate it, waits for it to say 0.0, and then steps back on. 119.2. Her heart sinks and she wishes she’d surreptitiously dumped out half of her drink last night. Oh well. She was already planning on using the heavier vest today. That will burn extra calories, and she can eat lighter today. Hopefully she’s just bloated from the dairy.

She readies herself for her morning walk and lightly kisses Mark. He stirs, looking up at her from under heavy brows, eyes squinty. 

“What are you doing?”

“Going for my walk. I couldn’t sleep.”

”I’ll come with you!” Mark throws the blankets back with no hesitation and she’s filled with warm and fuzzy affection.

Monica glances at her watch. 5:08. 

“I’d love that. You can make your coffee and bring it with you. We have plenty of time.”

Mark gets dressed and makes his coffee. She straps on her new 15-lb vest and they head out the door. At the end of the driveway, they pause to start tracking their walks on their respective watches. Monica is tired. It’s humid and sticky. Still she takes the lead and they set out at a decent pace. As they return home, she again hits end on her watch at the exact moment it changes from 3.49 to 3.5. She pulls up the workout summary.

Duration: 59:47

Energy burned: 280 calories

Distance: 3.5 miles

Steps: 8,310

Average pace: 17:05

Average heart rate: 109bpm

She does a double-take. She had really felt that extra three pounds, especially in her neck and shoulders. She pulls up yesterday’s summary. Maybe it’s a bigger difference than she thinks.

Mark is looking at her, concern furrowing his forehead. 

“You okay, babe?”

”I guess. I’m just...” Monica’s eyes burn with the threat of tears as she continues, “disappointed?”

“Why?” 

“Sixteen calories.”

“What?”

“Lugging three extra pounds for an hour earns me 16 calories. Sixteen, Mark. That’s four Skittles. Four. I can’t even taste the whole freakin’ rainbow. And my heart rate was barely higher.”

”I’m sorry you’re disappointed. But you look fantastic, and I had a hard time keeping up today. You’re so fit. I’m so proud of you.”

”You’re sweet. I’m just trying to keep improving. Growth mindset and all that.” 

“When are you going to take a moment to celebrate the achievements you’ve already made?” 

She doesn’t have an answer so she just walks toward the front door, unlocks it, and assumes the corgi greeting stance. 

Mark follows her inside and watches the dogs' antics with amusement. Monica’s face lights up as they greet her. When was the last time he saw her this relaxed? She laughs as they almost knock her over in their fervor. He watches her smile fade as she checks her watch and looks at his own. 6:28.  

Monica heads up the stairs and he follows, but she turns left at the top of the stairs. Mark watches as she knocks on the door of their son’s room. 

“WHAT?” Max snaps.

“We have to leave for your interview in an hour. Please get up, take a shower, shave, brush your teeth, and put on some nice clothes that aren’t wrinkled,” Monica answers.

Mark stares, dumbfounded. Monica turns and catches sight of his face. 

“What?” 

“What do you mean, what? Does he always talk to you that way?” 

Monica just shrugs.

“And he’s twenty. Why are you even waking him up?” 

Monica opens her mouth. Closes it. Shrugs again, but this time with just one shoulder.

“He has an interview.”

“Do you have an interview?”

“No, but—”

“It’s time to let him fail.”

“But he needs a job.”

“Let him worry about that.”

Monica’s stomach churns. 

Her watch vibrates. 

She checks it. Body responses. Your device identified potential signs of stress starting at 6:29. Reflect on your mood to better understand what may have caused a response. 

She snorts.

“What?” Mark asks. 

“Apparently I’m stressed.” 

“Thank God your watch told you. Otherwise how would you have known?” His lips twitch. He tries to school his expression to be appropriately serious. She swats at him and attempts to glare, but her traitorous face quirks into an amused smirk instead. 

She takes one last glance over her shoulder at Max’s still-closed door and pulls her husband into their own room. 

She checks her watch. 6:40. Mark reaches over and grips her left wrist gently with both hands. He turns her wrist over and begins to unclasp her watch. 

She yanks her hand away.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I think it’s time for you and the watch to take a break.”

Monica hesitates briefly before removing it and placing it into her nightstand drawer.

“I know a really effective way of dealing with stress,” Mark whispers into her ear.

Shivers race down her spine, the watch entirely forgotten.

For twenty minutes, anyway.