Dumplin' (Dumplin', #1)

by Julie Murphy

The word fat makes people uncomfortable. But when you see me, the first thing you notice is my body. And my body is fat. It’s like how I notice some girls have big boobs or shiny hair or knobby knees. Those things are okay to say. But the word fat, the one that best describes me, makes lips frown and cheeks lose their color.

Little versions of each of them seem to live inside of me, one louder than the next. The only voice that isn’t there—the one I need the most—is my own.

I am a total badass. A fat badass.

it’s this reminder that no matter who you are, there will always be someone prettier or smarter or thinner. Perfection is nothing more than a phantom shadow we’re all chasing.

“She has a way of making people do that. Infectious, my dad says. I tried really hard not to like her. But the harder I tried, the more I wanted to like her. She doesn’t try to be my mom. Not like some other ladies would. She’s something else to me, though. Not a friend, but not a mom. I don’t know.”

Father Mike gives his sermon. I guess I expected it to be in Latin or something, but it’s not, it’s in English. Each word is measured. The whole thing feels a little bit like a ceremony, like when I was in Girl Scouts and I went from Daisy to Brownie.

All the pageant season diets my mom and I have done flip through my head like index cards. Protein bars in fourth grade. Weight Watchers in fifth. Salads in second. And none of it ever worked.

Beautiful, he says. Fat, I think. But can’t I be both at the same time?

And I know I’m good at being who I am. I’m good at saying, ‘This is me. Back me up or back the fuck out.’ Ya know?

I may be uncomfortable, but I refuse to be ashamed.

Sometimes figuring out who you are means understanding that we are a mosaic of experiences. I’m Dumplin’. And Will and Willowdean. I’m fat. I’m happy. I’m insecure. I’m bold.