“So?”
“So I made myself a promise a long time ago that I would never sleep with a girl unless I’d seen her at least twice. Not unless I woke up the next morning and couldn’t stop thinking about her.”
“You called me first thing the next morning.”
“Pretty much. The first chance I got, or gave myself, anyway. So now you know. I
couldn’t stop thinking about you yesterday, and I don’t think I’ll be able to for a long, long time.”
I grabbed his face and kissed with long and lingering kisses, biting at his lips and then stroking them with my tongue. I grinned when I felt his growing pressure against my stomach.
He dipped down, his mouth an unstoppable force against my skin. When he started kissing the slow path around my breasts again, I was a goner.
“I know that some people might consider this coercion,” he whispered, “but at this point I kind of don’t care.”
Whatever he was going to ask me, I knew the answer would be yes. I could only get out a half-whimper, half-groan, and arched my back into his kisses.
“Would you please stay the night? I want to remember every second of this one, and I want every second to be with you.”
I was absolutely right. “No” was never an option. I reached over to the nightstand, ripped open another square packet, and pulled the covers over the both of us, even though I knew they wouldn’t stay there for long.
Chapter 11
As the weeks rolled on, I realized that I’d never had a real boyfriend before.
That probably sounded stupid, but it was true. I’d had fuck buddies. I’d had guys I was talking to, and who would take me out for dinner or dancing at nice places. And, since I’d been with Nate, I realized they were probably doing it for themselves.
Just like Jake, I realized all those guys had dropped off the map since I’d gotten back to Philly. And just like all the designers I’d worked with before my accident, they wanted nothing to do with me once I came back sixty pounds heavier.
The thing about Nate was, he made me want to tell all of them to fuck off. With Nate, I did two things I never had done that much of before the accident: Eat, and exercise. And I realized how much I loved to do both. In two weeks, we’d eaten the city’s best sushi, Indian, Mexican, even Ethiopian. Nate knew all about food, and wine too, and he taught me how to appreciate the nuanced tastes of each dish and vintage.
One warm fall afternoon, wandering through the Reading Terminal Market with the sunshine streaming through the high glass windows and our fingers threaded together, Nate pointed out his favorite discoveries. “There are homemade pierogies and kielbasa, or the grape leaves at that place are to die for. And you’re not leaving here without some Bassett’s ice cream. Their Irish coffee flavor is just…wow.”
As we walked by the produce stand, the vibrant peppers and lush greens decorating table after table, Nate stopped in his tracks. He headed to the stand with the herbs and basically caressed a bunch of green leaves. “This is gorgeous,” he said to the shopkeeper.
“Comes from a little farm up in Chadd’s Ford,” she said, smiling. “Would you like to try some?”
Nate folded a leaf into his mouth, and his eyes fluttered shut as he chewed and moaned.
I giggled. “Foodgasm?”
“Understatement,” he said, “of the year.” He picked up the crate holding the bunches of basil. “We’ll take it all.”
“What are we doing? I’m starving,” I complained as he handed some bills to the checkout girl.
“Have you ever wondered why we haven’t eaten Italian?”
“Um…we’ve only known each other two weeks?”
“No. Because I make the best pesto you’ll ever taste.”
“And you’re going to show me?”
We paused in the middle of the market, letting the noise and the light and the colors and the smells wash over us. He squeezed my hand, pulled me into him, and kissed me, steady and strong and lingering.
I’d never felt happier, or more treasured, with a guy. Which made me finally feel semi-okay in this body.
“Yes. And then I’m going to show you some of my other tricks.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t make me beg.”
“Well, the night is young.”
He dropped my hand and pinched my ass with his free fingers. I squealed and kissed his cheek, and two hours later, I was swooning over pesto sauce, pretty sure Nate wouldn’t give a second thought to the garlic breath that followed.
One month later, I sat on the worn couch in Doctor Albright’s office, warm light streaming through the windows. It was a welcome change from the gray, rainy chill that had seemed to settle over all of Philadelphia in early November. I didn’t know whether it was the sunlight or the antidepressants, or just the past three weeks with Nate, but I was practically bouncing on the sofa.
When she stepped in, a smile broke across her face. “How are you, Catherine? You look well.”
“I feel good,” I said. I seriously could not control my grin.
“Is the medication working out for you?” she asked, peering down over her glasses.
“Oh. Um, I think so. I don’t feel super different, but the mood swings aren’t as bad as they used to be. Pretty nonexistent, actually.”
“Yes, you are actually glowing. Did the nude modeling give you some sense of empowerment back? Professor Astor said you sat for her but needed to leave in the middle, and haven’t called her since.”
“Oh, you talked to her?” Was she allowed to do that?
“Just in passing. I’ve recommended the treatment before and I like to keep anecdotal evidence for whether it’s working. Exposure therapy is relatively common, but that particular mode isn’t. We’re lucky to be at a university, and have access to unique things like human form drawing classes.”
“Well actually, she was right. I didn’t finish. I did two poses, and at the end of the second, I thought one of the guys in the class was complaining about my body.”
“I see. And?”
“And he caught me crying on my way out, told me it was a misunderstanding. His eraser was breaking through the paper. That was all it was.”
“But then, you haven’t been back?”
“No, because...well, that guy turned out to be pretty great.” That grin crept back up over my face and I was sure Doctor Albright could see every steamy moment that had passed between Nate and me. So I figured, what the heck, and told her everything—how he took me rock climbing to make me feel strong, and all the ways he made me feel sexy, too.
Doctor Albright made some notes in a small black book. It was so tiny that I wondered if she had a separate one for each patient.
“So, can you tell me about a typical week for you right now?”
“Usually I have class in the morning, I’ll do some studying while I wait for Nate to get out of his classes. Then we’ll do dinner, usually in, but sometimes out with friends. I spend some nights at the studio and the rest with him, typically.”
“Mmm. Can you tell me whether that’s different from your life last year?”
“Oh, yeah, completely. I mean...” I met her gaze to find an “I told you so” face there. Oh. Oh. That’s what this was. “It’s just that I’ve changed since the accident, you know?”
“How? You’re still the same major, and you’re still in a sorority, right? Still have the same roommate?”
My brain froze. “Yeah. Yes, you’re right. But—”
“So what’s different? Has your attitude changed?”
“Well, yeah. That stuff’s not important to me. You know, partying and sorority stuff and everything.”
“Why not? What’s changed?”
I wracked my brain. I knew what she was asking, and I didn’t want it to be the answer. But I knew it was, and eventually, I gave up. “My body.”
“That, but more importantly, how you think of it as affecting you being in the world. I’m so happy you’ve found this man who make
s you feel beautiful when you’re with him.”
“But?”
“But I worry about you tying your self-worth into only that. And I want you to consider that it may only be when you’re with him. When you go to sorority events, how do you feel?”
I thought about the first TG of the season, which Nate couldn’t make it to but where I stood against the wall all night. Or all the way back to that first night we went out, and Jake staring disdainfully at my body—a memory I really didn’t want to relive. “I haven’t even been to the clubs or anything this year. Wearing heels is tough, and…” Tears pricked at my eyes for the first time in weeks. “I hate it. I feel like I don’t fit in.”
“You’re a normal size, Catherine. Are there are other girls in your sorority who wear a size ten, or twelve, or fourteen? Or at the clubs you used to go to?”
“I....well, yeah. I’m sure there are.” I thought for a minute, and was able to pull out three names from the class of girls I’d entered the sorority with. “Yes. But...”
“But what?” Doctor Albright wore a small, sad smile, one that told me she knew she’d caught me.
“But they’ve always been that way?”
“I’m sure that’s not true. They may have developed into their comfortable weight in seventh grade or in high school, or even in their freshman year of college. But they’ve learned to deal with it. You haven’t, yet. And hiding behind Nate and how he makes you feel won’t help you deal with it all the way. That’s why I want to push you, Catherine. I do think we succeeded in nipping body dysmorphia in the bud. I really do. But now I want you to live with who you are. Right now. Yes, you have a boy to tell you you’re beautiful, and when you’re with him, you believe it. That is amazing. But now I want you to step outside that comfort zone. Push yourself. Find that feeling in yourself, instead of getting it from others.”
A familiar pain, made up of a tight chest, a spiraling feeling in my head, and a lump in my throat, took over my whole body. I tried to hide it, I did. But there was no way. “Can’t I just...I don’t know. Make that my project next semester, or something?”
Doctor Albright leaned forward and covered my hands with one of hers. “I promise you, I’m telling you this for your own good. But you and this boy are young. So many things can happen, and his presence in your life is not guaranteed forever. I don’t want him to become a crutch. Do you understand?”
I did. But I didn’t want to.
I smiled a sad smile. “Okay. So, more exposure therapy?”
She mirrored my expression, and sat back. “Yes. Once a week, do something you used to do. Without Nate. Shopping with your friends—especially your very thin ones. A sorority event. Going out to a club. Maybe even modeling again.”
“No, no. No. I can’t model.”
“Maybe we’ll talk about that the next time. I’m actually thinking there’s someone I could call.”
Next time. She wanted to see me again. And she’d want me to model. Wasn’t going to happen. Even though we still had half an hour in our session, I felt pricking behind my eyes. I got to my feet. I didn’t want to cry in front of her.
“Thanks. I have to go.”
I had my hand on the door when Doctor Albright called, “Cat. I know it’s hard, but promise me you’ll try. Or at least think about it.”
I looked back over my shoulder, just out of the corner of my eye. “I promise.” I wasn’t sure I could do any such thing, but I just wanted to get the hell out of there.
The only thing that kept me from crying on the four-block walk home was the promise of tortellini with Nate’s perfect pesto sauce that night.
Chapter 12
In the next week and a half, I did nothing to complete Doctor Albright’s assignment. Whenever the idea popped up in my head, I was on the elliptical, or in bed with Nate, or teasing him through a recipe in his kitchen. I felt good. Why did I need to be in the real world? If spending all my time with Nate was what I needed to do to get through this semester, that was what I was going to do.
Yeah, Doctor Albright had been in my position. Sort of. The difference was that her weight hadn’t been her entire identity, the one thing people thought of when they saw her. She hadn’t been dumped based solely on her body, like I was.
Not that I even cared about asshole Jake anymore.
But because of Nate, at least I spent more time in the design studio than I ever had before. Any time I told him I felt huge, or ridiculous, he reminded me that it had to be either my attitude or my clothes. He could remind me that any of my body-image freakouts were unwarranted with a few strategically placed kisses. If it was my clothes making me feel horrible, we could figure out other options.
I’d learned the basics of sewing in my freshman and sophomore years, of course. But now I really got into it, learning how to turn a seam and make interesting structures for a model’s body out of fabric.
I stood at one of the computers in Temple’s fashion design studio surrounded by bolts of fabric and mannequins. All the mannequins were size fours, bigger than the average fashion model, weirdly, but still four full sizes smaller than me.
Nate strolled around the studio, stopping to gaze out the long windowed wall that looked out over the city. “God, the architecture just kills me. Can we come here some time at night? I want to see it lit up from this window. Drexel might not have a lot of things, but it does have an incredible view.”
“Shut up,” I said, through pins stuck between my teeth. I was pinning a heavy brocade to the mannequin for a waist ruffle on a dress that had a faux-wrap top. I’d had this idea in my head for weeks, but couldn’t seem to get it right. It didn’t help that my semester portfolio project, a collection that I’d have to present on the design school’s catwalk in December, was looming.
“Very old-school,” Nate said, walking over and assessing the design. “Very film noir.”
My cell phone dinged in the pocket of my jacket, and through the pins jutting out of my mouth, I mumbled, “Can you get that? Joey might be texting me.”
“We going out?” he asked, a tone of mild interest in his voice. He pulled the phone out of my coat pocket and swiped at it to read Joey’s message.
“It’s not Joey,” he said. “E-mail from Doctor Albright? Your doctor e-mails you?”
I hadn’t told Nate about Doctor Albright, for a couple of reasons. First, I was doing just fine. Second, I didn’t want him to think his girlfriend—or whatever I was, since we hadn’t talked about it—was a nutjob.
I dove for the phone, dropping the pins and letting them join the dozens of others that students had dropped on the floor. I clicked open the e-mail, and it looked like Doctor Albright had followed through on her promise to call someone for me. The e-mail said, ANNOUNCING THE REAL WOMAN PROJECT – Competition to create eight original, inventive designs for America’s real woman, sizes 12-16. It went on to describe the event as a possible alternative to the end-of-semester portfolio project, and winning the highest votes from a panel of judges came with a five-thousand-dollar prize.
“This could be really great,” I said, looking up at Nate and telling him the whole thing when he seemed interested. But as I read, his face fell.
“There was one of those back when I was at USC. Those poor fashion design majors.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“What? What happened?” I quirked an eyebrow.
“Well, they just…no one really took them seriously, you could say.” He shrugged and walked away to pace in front of the huge glass windowed wall again.
“Nate? You okay?”
He still didn’t meet my eyes. “Yeah. I just hate to think of you working so hard, and someone slamming you. You know?”
Was he just trying to protect me? He probably wasn’t wrong—no one knew better than I did that my self-esteem was still pretty damn fragile. But five thousand dollars….I could pay for most of a semester with that. Especially without the extra hundreds I used to pick up walking runway shows here
and there, and how much I was struggling this year, five thousand was a hell of a lot. I chewed on my lip. Something about his anxiousness was bugging me, something I couldn’t put my finger on.
“But honestly,” I placed my hands around the mannequin’s waist. “Who is even this size? She would slip through your hands, or you would break her.”
“You’re right,” he said, sounding more like his normal self. “Is there anything we can do to get a mannequin in here who’s the size of an actual person? That a guy would actually want to sleep with?”
I rolled my eyes at him and picked up a new handful of pins. They slid cleanly through the fabric one by one as I smiled at the sheer satisfaction of being back in the studio again. At Nate being there with me. “According to the fashion magazines, you’re one of the dumbest guys on the planet for wanting to sleep with a girl who looks like me. Not that I wouldn’t want to be thinner.”
“Seriously, though, what size are you?”
“I keep telling you,” I laughed. “Twelve. Sometimes fourteen.”
“And is that considered plus-sized, or whatever?”
I tilted my head and gazed at the mannequin. “It’s a plus for you, because you’re the only guy who wants to sleep with me.”
“Nuh-uh,” he leaned down and murmured in my ear. “Everyone wants to sleep with you. I see the way guys look at you.”
“Oh,” I said, turning in his arms and kissing him softly. “Then why am I bothering with you?”
A cocky grin spread across his face. “Because I take care of you. In more ways than one. And I’m sexy.”
I giggled as my head fell back. “You do. And you are. But cut it out, because we don’t know who else is going to walk in in the middle of the day.”
“Oh, just give me a minute with your shoulder. You know how I love your shoulder.”
A sigh escaped my throat as I brought my head forward again, exposing the area for him. “Remember when you told me that that was like a frame?”
Picture Perfect Page 9
