by M. E. Carter
“My best friend.” Laney locks her screen and throws her phone in her purse.
“Since when?” Seriously, I’ve known my sister her entire life and I’ve never heard her talk about this presumably flexible friend.
She shrugs and follows the associate who waves her to a chair where she can relax and drink some champagne while we model for her. “Since forever.”
I give up. As long as Bendy is in charge of all the extra parties and celebrations, that’s good enough for me. I have no desire to go purchase party supplies from the Triple X store at the edge of town anyway. And I don’t trust any on-line erotica stores to be as discreet as they claim. I made that mistake once after a Ladies Only Party. My next-door neighbor still won’t let me live it down after his dog got ahold of my package and mistook my treasure for a squeaky toy.
Trudging my way to the last dressing room, I close the curtain and begin the process of trying on my dress. The color is a beautiful shade of red, not quite as deep as a burgundy, but with a purpleish hue which I think goes well with my dark hair. The fabric is flowy which covers a multitude of sins and it’s cinched tight underneath my breasts, giving me a nice boost.
I admit, I’m impressed with my sister’s choice in dresses.
Sliding the curtain open, I strut my way over to Laney where I make a few exaggerated poses showing off how nice I look. She looks as delighted as I feel.
“You look so great!” she exclaims, clapping her hands. That seems to be the normal reaction with this group. “Go stand next to the others. I want to see how everyone will look next to each other at the front of the church.”
I turn and begin walking onto the stage, but my heart plummets. Laney was right. She picked a dress that flatters all our bodies. Standing in a row, all the “ara’s” look long and lean, tanned and tone. And I… I suddenly look like a beach ball.
This wedding is not going to be fun at all.
I always get nervous when I go out with new friends for the first time. It’s stupid, I know, but you don’t really know someone until you’ve met them for dinner and drinks. Talking to them in the office or online just isn’t the same. Tabitha is no exception.
She’s fun to talk to and she doesn’t seem irritated at all by my sourpuss attitude toward all things exercise. But she’s still the smoothie lady. She’s basically the gym therapist behind a bar, except instead of alcohol there’s flax seed. Whatever that is. I’m still not totally sure, or even why I need to ingest it. But so far, it hasn’t killed me.
I was pleasantly surprised when Tabitha invited me to dinner with her and a few gym friends. I didn’t know she enjoyed me as much as I enjoy her, and everyone likes to be liked, right? Granted, I almost cancelled on her twice, after trying on every potential outfit I own. I mean, what does one wear to dinner with gym people? Sports bras are out, not that I would be caught dead in one anyway. Or two. With the size of these knockers, it’s necessary to layer up. It’s a trick another big busted woman on a treadmill taught me when she caught me huffing and puffing and trying to be stealthy while holding the girls in place with my arm. I choose to believe no one else noticed.
After many a thrown pant and top, I finally landed on a plum colored wrap dress. Sort of. It looks like a wrap dress because of the side tie, but it doesn’t really do any wrapping. Honestly, I don’t know how women wear those things. I feel like it’s just asking for disaster. All it takes is one car door shutting and a valet driver stepping on the gas at the exact right moment to be unwrapped like a Christmas present. No thank you. I prefer my clothes not to be torn right off my body. Well, at least in public.
Come to think of it, I don’t think I’d like it in private either. Do you know how much a good quality garment costs these days? Unless Christian Grey comes knocking on my door and hands me his credit card, I prefer to be peeled gently out of my clothing, thank you very much. Not that I have anyone to give those instructions to, which actually works to my benefit. I need to get through my sister’s wedding first before I introduce anyone into that crazy mess.
But after a compliment or two at work, I felt better about coming here tonight. I feel, dare I say it, pretty. Or at least I did, until my sister called to discuss yesterday’s dress fitting.
“I know how hard it is for you to stand up in front of everyone, but it’s my wedding, Rian. I want you up there with me.”
“And I’m going to be, Laney. I’ve already bought the dress, so I’m not sure why you’re bringing it up again.”
“I saw the look on your face at the bridal shop. I just don’t want you to feel inadequate because my other bridesmaids are from my running club.”
Here we go again….
I love my sister. Laney and I are only a couple of years apart and growing up, we were the best of friends. We loved riding our bikes around the neighborhood, usually to a small pond at the end of the street. In hindsight, it was really a drainage ditch, but we didn’t care. We called it turtle pond because there were always red-eared sliders to find and feed. They loved when we brought vegetables but weren’t fond of bananas. A couple of times we found a turtle with an injury or who was small enough to become hawk food. We’d take them home and put them in a cage until they were big enough to go back to turtle pond.
Once we hit high school, turtle pond became a memory, but we had various activities that meant we didn’t spend every minute together. We still stayed close—going to movies with friends that overlapped both our social circles and binge watching One Tree Hill, or whatever we thought was the best show on TV at the time.
But ever since she took up marathons, dropped a ton of weight, and found the man of her dreams, she’s become, well… somewhat unbearable. I know she’s not trying to be mean. She wants me to feel the same joy and contentment she’s found. It’s nice and all, but running without being chased by a bear, holds no interest to me whatsoever. Okay, let’s be real. Running while being chased by a bear holds no interest to me either.
She hasn’t quite figured out yet that we don’t have the same goals. Hers might be to stay a voluptuous size twelve. Mine is to get to the enchiladas inside the restaurant as soon as possible because what is that wonderful aroma??
“Seriously, Rian. I remember what it was like to be overweight.”
Knowing she can’t see me, I give into my immediate reaction and roll my eyes. I would never do that if she could see me, although I’ve come really close a time or two. It just creates a fight these days.
“I remember always feeling so dumpy next to everyone else no matter what I wore, and I don’t want you to feel like that.”
I stop in my tracks and look down at the dress I painstakingly picked out. Suddenly, I don’t feel as pretty as I did when I put it on. For the third time, I have to physically stop myself from hanging up on Laney and texting Tabitha to cancel.
“I’m not sure what to say to that, Laney,” I say with all the calm I can muster. “I wasn’t feeling bad about myself until this conversation started and now, I’m questioning whether or not I ever want to go out into public again.”
“Oh, Rian, stop.” I can practically hear her dismissing my feelings with a wave of her hand. That’s the other thing about Laney that’s changed. With her newfound confidence is the lost ability to be sensitive to anyone else’s feelings. Or maybe just mine. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I just want to make sure—”
“I don’t flake out at the last minute or you’ll have no choice but to fire a groomsman at the last minute to ensure the pictures balance and it’s all Bradley’s friends and family, so it’ll cause a rift. Yeah. I know. With as many times as we’ve had this conversation, I can’t forget.”
She breathes out what sounds like a sigh of relief. “Okay, good. I just wanted to check. It’s just so stressful, I know I’m a bit of a bridezilla right now…”
Ya think?
“So please just humor me if I ask you a dozen more times, okay?”
Oh, goodie. I always look forwa
rd to my family berating me because of the genetic gift of heft. It does wonders for my confidence levels.
“Yeah, well. If I stop answering your calls, you know why.”
She titters her laugh, as if she thinks I’m not serious. If I was a bitter woman, I’d already be planning my cancellation the day before the ceremony just to piss her off. Too bad I’m a nice person. Mostly.
“Oh, Rian, you know you wouldn’t do that to me. It’s one of the things I love about you. You accept me no matter how wedding crazy I get.”
Uh huh. Or so she thinks. I haven’t bought my wedding gift yet.
“Yeah, I know. But listen, I’m out with some friends right now so I need to let you go.”
She gasps. “Oh! Is it a guy friend?”
“No idea. I was invited to go with this group. I’m sure men will be there.” I don’t tell her where I met this new friendship circle. In fact, I haven’t told anyone in my family at all about my new hobby, although the hobby part is more about bantering with Abel. I just put up with the rest. But if I let my family in on it, I know what would happen.
Nothing good. My sister would start making plans for me to join her at the half marathon, her fiancé would then make a gross remark about watching her boobs when she runs, my mother would get all emotional that her “baby is getting healthy,” and my dad would grunt and ignore us all.
As much as it pains me to say it, I’d rather listen to wedding plans.
“Well, don’t forget to fluff your hair, bat your eyelashes, and stick to salad! It’s the safest, easiest thing to eat when trying to impress a man. But no onions!”
I pull my phone away to make sure this is still my sister I’m talking to. Since when does she put in so much effort to attract the opposite sex? This is a side of her I haven’t seen before. It’s kind of disturbing.
“Thanks for the advice. Gotta go.”
I hang up quickly and drop my phone into my clutch, pulling the door open and enjoying the fragrance as I step inside. It smells like chips and salsa and hot tortillas warming in the back. I have arrived in my heaven.
The bar off to the right only has a few customers, Tabitha being one of them.
“Rian!” She waves me over while she takes a sip of her very fruity looking margarita. I’m so glad I live in Chicago. Tonight is the perfect night to take advantage of the designated drivers, also known as public transportation.
When I join her at the bar, she gives me a quick hug. The bartender, who is looking almost relieved that another patron showed up, drops a napkin and a quick, “What can I get you?” before I even sit down.
“Whatever she’s having would be great.”
“Strawberry margarita, coming up.”
“So where is everyone?” I ask with a smile, noticing Tabitha is sitting by herself. So much for meeting some people from the gym.
She’s not discouraged, though. “Almost everyone cancelled, so there’s just going to be four of us.”
Oddly, I’m not disappointed. I enjoy get togethers, but it’s always hard to really talk to people if there are more than a handful. Just a few means I have a much better chance of remembering their names and faces next time I’m walking through the facility, avoiding people.
“Anyone I know?”
She takes another sip just as mine is placed in front of me. I join her in drinking and am pleasantly surprised when the flavor hits my tongue. Strawberry, sugar, and just enough tequila to make it worth my while. Not to mention, it’s served in a giant beer mug with sugar on the rim. This is going to go perfectly with my carb-loaded, cheese-filled dinner. Francesca is going to kill me for this on Monday. But really, if I don’t have one cheat day a week, how am I expected to stay on track?
“Do you know Carlos?” I shake my head, even though the name sounds familiar. I just can’t place him. “You’ll probably recognize him. He’s there all the time. Never misses a day. He was supposed to have dinner with his dad, but something happened. Like he broke up with his girlfriend or something.”
“Oh, no! And he’s up for going out?”
She scoffs. “Oh, no, honey. Carlos isn’t into relationships. His dad broke up with his girlfriend.” She snaps her fingers like she just remembered something. “Oh, and Frank is coming,” she adds. “He’s the old man with white hair. Totally reminds me of the Rat Pack era. He’s a hoot.”
This is going to be an interesting blend of people. The smoothie bartender, the gym rat, the Sammy Davis wannabe and me—I feel like there’s a joke in there somewhere.
Putting her mug down on the counter, Tabitha swallows quickly, eyes widening in delight. “Speak of the devil.”
She leans over and gives the man who I assume is Carlos a hug. She’s right. I do recognize him. He’s the god who looked right through me on my first day at the gym. And yes, I know how pathetic it is that I remember. But how could I forget? Thick, dark hair with some gray on the sides that just makes him look more distinguished. Huge, blue eyes framed with long, thick lashes. With light brown skin, he’s just under six feet, but seems much taller when you add in all that swagger. He exudes the kind of confidence I’ve never possessed.
“Hey, beautiful.” He kisses Tabitha’s cheek and immediately turns to the bartender, ordering just a bottle of water. Odd. I expected something fancier than that.
Tabitha groans. “Please tell me you aren’t detoxing again. You’re not fun to be with when you do that. Especially at a bar.”
He flashes her what can only be described as a mega-watt smile and leans against the bar. “Not detoxing. Just making up for some unnecessary calories I ate the other night. I’m feeling kind of bloated.”
I try really, really hard not to snicker, but I fail. I can tell through his gray t-shirt and jeans that he’s got muscles in places I don’t even know exist, and he’s worried about bloating? Bloating is what I’m going to be after eating tonight’s meal and it’s nowhere near what his version is.
Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to hear my reaction. Tabitha does, although she may already be three sheets to the wind as it seems more like she was just reminded I’m here.
“Carlos! You know my friend Rian, right? From the gym?”
He narrows his eyes and cocks his head at me, trying to place me. “No. I don’t think I do. Carlos Davies.” He reaches out his hand to shake mine, and I can’t help but note that I’ve seen him several times, yet I don’t ring a bell to him. Figures.
“Rian Thompson.” I also can’t help but notice that his hand is strong and warm. It dwarfs mine, which makes me feel oddly petite and gives me the urge to giggle. I may not need a second margarita. Clearly, it’s gone to my head already. “Nice to meet you.”
We pull away aaaaaannnnnndddddd cue the awkward pause. You know what I’m talking about. When everyone is trying to be friendly, but no one knows what to say because we literally have nothing in common. Fortunately for us, we’re called to our table.
Following behind both of them is a strategic move on my part. I have no interest for this Apollo to have a birds eye view of my backside.
We’re seated at a table for four, still waiting on the final member of our party. I look through my menu while halfway listening to Tabitha and Carlos chat about some of the gym employees, a new protein mix Carlos might be interested in, and some woman named Alison who was a friend of theirs but apparently flaked on them. Something about a millionaire she met and suddenly her number changed. Sounds like she wasn’t that good of a friend to begin with if you ask me, but I suppose I don’t have room to talk. My sister keeps not-so-subtly trying to shove me out of her wedding.
I know deep down that’s not her actual motivation for constantly bringing up my obviously inferior looks to her friends. But the more it happens, the less I believe her when she says it’s just her bridezilla coming out.
“Well, hello gorgeous.” I look up to see a man kissing Tabitha on the cheek and her giving an overly flirty response to his greeting. This must be Frank.
Wit
h a head full of white hair and a leisure suit on, I could see him breaking out a stogie right here in the restaurant and regaling us of casino lounge stories from the 50’s. Tabitha was spot on. He could have stepped straight out of a time machine. I like him immediately. Especially when he turns to me, his eyes full of mischief and takes my hand in his, kissing the top of it.
“Well, well, well. I didn’t realize I would be dining with not one, but two gorgeous women.”
And that flirty giggle I stifled before pops right on out of my mouth. I’m sure my face is bright red as he sits. He doesn’t seem to notice when Tabitha nods at me, eyes wide, mouthing, “Right?” and fans herself.
“If I was only forty years older,” Tabitha says, eyeing him over the rim of her drink. Her flirt game is strong with this one. Although I don’t sense it’s remotely sexual at all. Just the banter of two good friends who enjoy each other’s company.
“And if I was only forty years younger,” he flirts back.
Suddenly, my insecurities fade away. This might be a fun night after all.
Chapter Six
CARLOS
I’ve always liked Frank. He’s been a staple at Weight Expectations since long before I started going regularly, and I don’t think he ever misses a day. I don’t think he really works out, but he’s always around—chatting with members who are taking a break from their reps, hanging out at the smoothie bar regaling stories of times gone by, flirting with the staff in a way that doesn’t come across as creepy or weird, just friendly.
He is one cool cat and basically my idol. He is who I hope to be when I’m pushing eighty. Hell, he still rides a motorcycle some days. Others, he brings his 1962 Chevy Corvette. It’s in mint condition and when he throws on his shades, it fits his personality to a T.
Having dinner with him last night was a blast. He’s just easy to be with and doesn’t judge anyone. Ever. He’s much too interested in having a variety of personalities in his life. Plus, he’s always up for trying new things. Just last night he convinced the ladies to sip shots of tequila. Rian crinkled her cute nose up when he suggested it and argued that the scent association of tossing her cookies after a wild night in college is still strong, but Frank wouldn’t let it go. This wasn’t Jose Cuervo. No, he sprung for some top-shelf expensive stuff that went down smooth. I didn’t drink it myself, but the surprise on Rian’s face when she finally caved, left no room for doubt.
