Bigger (The Nicky Beets series) (21 page)

Well, it was best that I found out about Junior’s philandering ways now,
before I’d gone and boinked him again. Not that that was going to happen on a
scratchy picnic table outside Paco’s on a Monday night. But there had been the
distinct possibility that with a minimum of asinine behavior on his part,
Junior could get me back into his filthy apartment, naked. I’d never have
allowed him in my home, much less my bed, where I could only imagine myself
making love to Chuck.

This was a revelation. I couldn’t truly move on right now. I was still in
love with a drawling Texan who’d dumped me in a handwritten note and taken that
bitch Candace to one of our favorite restaurants and was this very moment
probably unhooking her bra. How could I still ache so deeply for him when he’d
hurt me so terribly?

In any case, it didn’t matter what I felt for him. I would just have to
get over it. They say it takes half the time of the relationship to get over a
person? Chuck and I’d been together six years. Three years seemed an awful long
time to wait until I could be a normal person who wasn’t pining for her lost
love.

However long it was going to take me, I finally decided I needed to
not
date for a while. It would be good
for me to step away from any sort of romantic relationship and spend more time
with my girlfriends. Maybe I’d adopt a cat.

NINE

With my new mindset, I returned to normalcy and my regular routine
– work, exercise, meals I enjoyed, and time alone at home.

I scheduled my weekends so I’d be out of the house with friends, hiking
or visiting restaurants or shopping in the city.

Over the next couple months I dropped another seventeen pounds and
finally fit into a pair of size fourteen pants, where I’d be happy if I stayed
forever. I was one-hundred-eighty-one pounds; almost ninety pounds lighter than
when I’d begun.

Sure, I was still just over forty pounds away from my lowest weight. But
as divine as slipping into size eight jeans again would be, the more I thought
about it, the more I began to believe sustaining a weight of one-hundred-forty
pounds was unrealistic. Size eight had been a struggle to maintain for the
short time I’d enjoyed it. I certainly hadn’t been eating sandwiches or
enjoying my meals at all. Mostly, I’d obsessed about what I would eat that
could give me enough energy but wouldn’t make me gain weight. Enjoyment rarely
entered the picture. Living like that again just wasn’t worth it.

Besides, at size fourteen, I felt much more like an average woman, and
that was a good thing. Hell, I felt beautiful. There are a lot more women out
there who looked like me at a size fourteen than there’d been at size
twenty-four. This made shopping for new clothes a much more pleasant
experience.

Plus, I was receiving far fewer sideways glances. For some reason people
believe they can stare for protractedly at obese people, as if we’re circus
freaks. Sometimes their stares are accompanied by looks of disgust and even
derogatory comments. At size fourteen, that didn’t happen.

A few weekends following my final disastrous rendezvous with Junior, I
found myself sitting in the living room at my mom and Jim’s house. Jim had
called to invite me for lunch, and I accepted, glad for the excuse to get out
of the house.

Mom had made sangria with chunks of strawberry and melon in it. I relaxed
on the couch as we made small talk about how short Robin’s jean skirt had been
at work on Friday (very), the new necklace my mother had bought, and Jim’s
tendonitis.

Suddenly Mom leaned forward to set her sangria on the table and slapped
her knees for attention. She was beaming ear to ear with some kind of secret.
She looked to Jim and he nodded approvingly for her to get on with it. I braced
for impact.

“So the reason we asked you here today is because we wanted to let you
know that Jim is going to be retiring in a few weeks,” she began.

“Oh, wow!” I enthused. “I didn’t know you were even thinking about
retiring, Jim … Congratulations!”

“Well, as your mother put it, we’re not getting any younger, and we want
to enjoy the time we have together when we’re as healthy as we are now,” he
explained. “At this point money isn’t an issue, so it’s time.”

“… And we are moving to Santa Barbara!” Mom crowed.

“Jesus Christ, Lenore,” Jim was shaking his head back and forth.

“What?” she asked. “We are. We bought the most adorable place in this
little community where Kitty and Albert live. There’s so much to do down there
and the weather is fabulous.”

Kitty was one of mom’s old high school friends. Albert was the much
younger man-meat she’d picked up several years ago and moved into her swanky
Santa Barbara home.

“You’re moving? Like … are you selling the house?” I wasn’t sure what was
happening here.

“We already did!” she exclaimed. “We close escrow in a few weeks.”

“But … I didn’t even know you were thinking about moving to Santa
Barbara,” I said, dumbstruck.

“Oh, sheesh,” Mom waved her hand. “We’ve been talking it over for a
while, but didn’t get serious until a couple months ago and then we just
decided to go for it! You won’t miss us – you’re always so busy, anyway.
And just think, you can come visit for holidays and we can go wine tasting.”

She wanted me to be as ecstatic for them as she obviously was, but the
look on my face was utter shock and disbelief. Several months ago this probably
would have been welcome news. After all, most of my interaction with my mother
involved her criticizing me, and I normally dreaded every visit.

Now was different. Now it seemed my anchor was lifting and I was being
left adrift. What was keeping me in Berkeley? The job I hated? The townhouse it
cost me too much to rent? I had friends there; that was true. But I was truly
directionless and wasn’t sure I wanted to even be within a hundred miles of the
place anymore.

To my embarrassment, tears welled up in my eyes and started rolling down my
face.

“Why are you
crying
?” Mom
looked exasperated.

“Sorry,” I blubbered, unable to say anything else.

“Lenore, for godssakes. I told you to take it easy,” Jim said. He pulled
himself out of his chair and sat next to me on the couch with his arms around
me. I pressed my face into his shoulder and sobbed. Mom ran to the restroom for
tissue.

“Look, kiddo,” Jim started. “I know you’re going through a rough patch
right now. It probably feels like everyone is leaving you, and you’ll be all
alone.”

I pulled my head away and nodded, accepting a handful of tissues that I
pressed around my nose to prevent a snot flow.

“But you know that’s not how it is, don’t you?” he asked. I didn’t know,
so I didn’t respond.

“Any other time, you’d be thrilled about this,” he said. I would, so I
gave a muffled laugh through my tissue.

“That’s what I thought.”

He hugged me again tightly. “You’re gonna be fine. Before you know it,
you’ll be happy about this.”

“Sorry,” I managed again. “I didn’t mean to … have a meltdown. I think
it’s great that you guys are doing this. I’m just still kind of a wreck.”

“It’s all right, I get it,” he said, stroking my hair.

Mom was standing with the pitcher of sangria in her hands, a helpless
look on her face. “I think we could all use another round.”

I stood to give her a hug and she held me tightly. “Poor thing,” she said
softly, and uncharacteristically. It was the sweetest moment we’d had in eons.

Then she pulled away and glared at Jim. “Are you going to barbecue those
ribs sometime this century? We’re starving over here.”

And with that, the moment was over. Jim rose with a chuckle to do her
bidding and I took a generous swig of sangria.

“I dunno. The gym is so gross – all those meatheads staring at the
skinny girls with the big boobs. And they’re always blondes. And you can always
see their thong underwear through their insanely tight spandex pants. Who wears
thong underwear to exercise?”

“I wear thong underwear every day,” Laurie said matter-of-factly. She’d
been trying to convince me to join a gym with her for the last ten minutes as
we enjoyed breakfast at a local diner. Sage was busily tearing open sugar
packets and creating a giant sugar mountain on the tabletop.

“You do not,” I said.

“Do so,” she replied, crunching off a piece of buttery sourdough toast.
“I’ve been wearing thongs since high school.”

“I thought hippie feminist moms were against thong underwear,” I argued.
“And how is it that I’ve known you my entire life and I am just now finding
this out?”

“Hippies love thong underwear because you need less cloth to make them,”
Laurie said. “Besides which, you’re just trying to distract me so I stop
talking about you joining the gym with me.”

“Why don’t you just come to yoga with me? Or come jogging? I use the
track at the middle school. You know what’s awesome about it? It’s
free
.”

Laurie rolled her eyes. “I don’t jog. I want to use that elliptical
thingy. Besides, they have yoga classes at the gym.”

“They do?” I asked. Laurie might have a point here. I was already paying
an arm and a leg for yoga classes with Phil. If I could pay the same amount and
also get to use gym equipment, all the better. “Huh. All right. Well, I’ll
check it out.”

“Let’s go tomorrow,” Laurie suggested.

“Sheezus, seriously?” I asked. “What’s the deal? You never exercise. Why
are you suddenly all nuts about joining a gym?”

Laurie paused and chewed slowly, staring down at her plate.

“I dunno,” she finally answered. “I just figured you’re exercising all
the time and getting fit, and it might be fun for us to go work out together.
They have child care and stuff, so … I figured what the heck.”

Laurie was gorgeous the way she was, rubenesque in her flowing hippie
clothes. Her ultra feminist ways prevented her from seeing her body as anything
other than a beautiful vessel that didn’t need to be changed to suit anyone’s
preferences, and that’s the way she’d always behaved. I suspected her sudden
desire to join a gym had more than a little to do with the sudden
disintegration of her marriage, but I wasn’t going to push the point.

Laurie has to be the only hippie I’d ever met who’s never tried yoga.

She’d shown up to class in loose linen pants, a cotton short-sleeved
shirt with a drawstring at the bottom, and socks.

I started giggling the moment I spied her shuffling my way, a loaner mat
under one arm.

“What?” she asked. She took hold of one end of the mat and tried to throw
it out flat onto the floor. It was stuck together due to the sweat of former
users and made a disgusting ripping noise as she flattened it out. She wrinkled
her nose.

“What on earth are you wearing?” I asked her.

“This will be fine. This material is very breathable.”

“Dude. You need to get some regular workout clothes,” I suggested. “And
your own mat, while you’re at it.”

Laurie shrugged and pulled her hair into a ponytail. Our instructor
padded into the room in a chic turquoise yoga top and clingy pants that hit
mid-calf. She was the embodiment of all things yoga – long-limbed, lean,
and serene-looking.

The instructor introduced herself as Journey, and I contained an enormous
eye-roll. I refused to look Laurie’s way for fear I’d start laughing
hysterically. Journey led us through an opening “Om,” then a series of light
warm-up stretches before getting down to the nitty gritty.

This was a beginner’s class but still challenging enough that I was dripping
sweat onto my mat, as usual. Laurie looked baffled and was swinging her head
around to watch how the other spandex-clad yoga students were completing their
poses.

Journey instructed us to move into triangle pose, so I slowly slid one
arm to the ground and the other toward the sky, my chin following the skyward
hand. I heard Laurie collapse noisily onto the floor, and I managed to stifle a
laugh. She reminded me so much of myself in my first yoga class. The difference
was Phil wasn’t here to scowl at her.

Journey, noticing the commotion, slid gracefully toward Laurie and
assisted her into the position as Laurie grunted and puffed. “Breathe deeply
through your nose,” Journey advised. Laurie didn’t answer – she was out
of breath and her muscles were shaking. It was all she could do to hold the
pose, much less breathe deeply through her nose.

Journey patted Laurie lightly on the back and continued a survey of the
room. She paused by my mat and murmured, “Very nice.” I beamed.

I was liking Laurie’s idea of joining a gym more and more. Phil had never
once given me any sort of positive feedback, regardless of the fact that it was
obvious my yoga had improved dramatically over the several months I’d been in
his class.

Laurie, on the other hand, appeared to be cursing herself for ever
dreaming up the notion of joining a gym.

After the session ended, Laurie drank deeply from her water bottle and
trudged toward the exit in exhaustion. “I think you were right about these
clothes,” she admitted.

“Mmhmm,” I answered.

“Anyway, I’m not sure I’m cut out for yoga.”

“Of course you are. You should have seen me during my first class,” I
reassured her. “Plus this instructor is way nicer than my other one.”

“Uggghhhh,” she answered. She’d paused in the doorway, which led directly
into the gym. A number of people were working out on the machines, and Laurie
surveyed the room as a trickle of sweat crept out of her hairline and ran down
her face.

“Hey, do they have a juice bar here?” she asked, wiping at her face with
the back of her hand.

“Ummm, I dunno,” I said. “You want some juice?”

“Um, yeah,” she said. She was still watching various people jog on the
treadmills and lift weights.

“What are you looking at?” I asked her. “That guy in the wife-beater?”

“Huh? No…” she answered, looking distracted. “Just wanted to know where
the elliptical machines are.”

The elliptical machines were in plain sight, almost directly in front of
us. I pointed them out. “I think you lost too much liquid. Maybe you do need a
smoothie.”

I led her around the gym until we found a little snack counter. A perky
teenager juiced a thimble-full of wheatgrass for Laurie, who took the shot and
chased it with another thimble of orange juice.

“Feel better?” I asked her.

“Yeah,” she said. She did look perkier. “Let’s just sit here for a
minute.”

“OK,” I agreed.

We sat and stared at the gym rats, each seemingly more beautiful than the
next. We didn’t speak much but exchanged knowing glances when we spied
particularly interesting workout wear. Finally about ten minutes later Laurie
piped up.

“Well, I guess we should go.”

“All right,” I agreed. “See you again Wednesday?”

“Um. How about tomorrow? For regular gym stuff? I’ll do the elliptical
and you can do whatever it is you do.”

That was fine and jibed with my schedule, so I agreed happily to it and
told her I’d see her there the next evening.