by Hayleigh Sol
Wonder where I got it from.
“Anyway, it only gets harder and harder for women to keep their weight down once they’re in their thirties. You’re already on the curvier side so it’ll be even more of a challenge for you, sweetie.”
Did calling me “sweetie” count if she was also implying I was overweight? “Mom, I’ve told you before that I have a healthy relationship with food and exercise now. I’m happy with myself.”
That hadn’t always been true. Desperate to avoid gaining the “freshman fifteen” in college, I’d fallen into unhealthy patterns of intense runs after indulging in pizza the night before or skipping meals after a night of drinking. This kind of behavior lasted for over a year and was accompanied by migraines and terrible sleep.
I was the thinnest I’d ever been. But my eyes were hollow and I was miserable.
My mother, who I’d suspected of bingeing and purging a few times over the years, had raved about how wonderful I looked when I was home for the summer.
Lisette, on the other hand, called me out on my bullshit “I’m fine” dismissal of her concerns. When I returned to school the next fall, I kept a promise I’d made to her and scheduled an appointment with one of the grad student counselors–in–training at the health center. Dana helped me to understand what a healthy relationship with food and exercise should look like, rather than the disordered eating I’d been doing. That’s what it was called when you weren’t quite diagnosed with an eating disorder like anorexia or bulimia, but you were definitely dealing with body image issues.
Dana had also shown me, without ever saying so outright, that my mom was a major contributor to my obsession with being “skinny”. The next time I saw Lisette and the other girls, I was looking more like myself and we had a very honest, somewhat tearful, talk. They were far more vocal in blaming my mom—and my absentee father—for their roles in my self–esteem issues.
It was at this time that I changed my major to nutrition and learned everything I could about healthy eating habits that would last a lifetime. No more fad diets or extreme exercise for me. I knew that not every young girl was lucky enough to have the support I did. My best friends were the bedrock I built my stronger self on. I would always look out for them, even from themselves, the way they had for me.
Tracie was no different. I’d been so distracted at the engagement party by Garrett that I felt like I was failing her already.
Had Noah been a little too friendly with that pretty coworker of Tracie’s I’d seen him talking to? I didn’t know. Because I’d allowed my attention to be diverted by Garrett’s stupid blue eyes, silently cursing him for keeping his identity to himself and letting me make an ass of myself.
But distraction time was over. I was on a mission to make sure Noah was good enough—I still had major doubts about that—for Tracie to marry. If she wanted to get married at all.
After taking Mom out for birthday lunch—we both had salads with vinaigrette dressing on the side—I dropped her off and headed home before she could decide we simply had to work off those calories right now.
Tracie had arranged for me to meet with a team of her website and app designers in the next couple of weeks. I’d told her we could do all this after the wedding, but she’d sent me a calendar invitation anyway. I’d accepted.
It was exciting to think I might finally make some progress on making my services accessible to a larger portion of the population. With the meeting on the books, I took the afternoon to review the last iteration of my website redesign that had still been not quite right. The designer and I had never seemed to click or be on the same page and I had high hopes for Tracie’s team.
The increased revenue I anticipated with expanding my single brick–and–mortar boutique to an online storefront was certainly nothing to sneeze at, but I really did want to help others find their confidence, their strut, like my counselor and friends had done for me long ago.
A gust of hot, dry wind blew in through my open windows, bringing with it the acrid scent of smoke. It was wildfire season in California and, where the Southern California I’d grown up in had the Santa Ana winds, up here they were called the Diablo winds. An appropriate appellation as they were every bit as dangerous for fire season as their southern counterparts.
I checked the local news to see how close the fire was—still far enough to not be worried about evacuations or road closures—and was relieved to see the firefighters were gaining the upper hand, estimating seventy–five percent containment in the next twenty–four to forty–eight hours. That could all change rapidly, of course, with a shift in the wind. But I decided to get ready for my date anyway.
At the engagement party, Garrett had informed me that he was testing out some new dishes for one of his restaurants—yep, I learned that not only was he a chef, but a chef who owned or co–owned more than one restaurant, the fancy–pants overachiever—and I could make amends for calling him “moral excrement” by being his taster.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I’d told him.
I couldn’t say why I’d turned him down. Maybe it was my natural contrariness. Maybe it was because his olive branch sounded suspiciously like a date and I needed a date with Haughty von Stick–up–his–ass like a hole in the head.
Yeah, I was still a little pissed that he hadn’t accepted my apology.
Or, maybe I just wanted to see that smirk wiped off his lips when he’d been so sure I would leap to do his bidding. A good–looking dude like Garrett probably had chicks doing whatever he wanted all the time.
Well, not this chick.
My date tonight was Tracie and I counted myself lucky to be getting a piece of her time. Ever since she and Noah had started using titles, our ladies’ nights out had gradually dwindled. I’d honestly thought his presence was a temporary blip, that my girl and I would soon be back to drinks at a local bar or movie nights in. I hadn’t seen the signs that her boyfriend was a permanent fixture. One that was about to take her away for good.
Because that’s what always happened when people coupled off; it was even worse once they got married. If Tracie and Noah planned to have kids, I may as well remove her name from my contacts list now.
When Tracie had told me she was engaged, I’d felt disappointed, almost betrayed, that she was going back on her anti–marriage, anti–conformity stance. I had thought we’d been committed to the cause, united in our singlehood, proud and independent feminists. She’d let me down by joining the breeders of the world. The sheep who followed the path that was expected of them.
Worse than that, though, was my absolute certainty that our friendship would be affected—significantly, I was sure—by the change. Not only with her choosing to spend time with her husband over her friends more often, but also because she would start having less and less in common with her single, unencumbered female friend.
For several years, I’d been preparing myself for the same thing to happen with my five besties. Except Holly and, maybe, Lisette. They were as dedicated to the single life as I was. As dedicated as I’d thought Tracie was. Holly, I knew, would never tie herself to someone long–term. She’d closed up shop and boarded up the windows on that possibility long ago.
Just like me.
But the other women in my life? I could see each of them as part of a couple. Frankly, I was surprised it hadn’t happened with Simone or Emma already. That was one reason our annual trips and monthly calls were so important to me. I had to hang on to them as long as I could.
In some ways, it helped that we’d moved apart for school, for our careers. If they’d been in the same general area as me, like Tracie, it would be even harder to cope with the emotional distance their significant others were sure to create.
“Hey there, hot mama.” Tracie’s arm slid around the back of my shoulders as she smooshed our cheeks togethe
r.
I pivoted on my bar stool, moving my clutch from where I’d set it on the neighboring seat to save it for her. “Hey, yourself.” My eyes scanned her top to bottom. “Looking good, babe. I like that top paired with that skirt.”
She beamed. “Yeah? I wondered if I’d get the Bailey stamp of approval. You know I have trouble with matching tops to bottoms. I had to go with the stupid skirt, though; it’s sweltering with all this smoke in the air.”
Fanning herself, she sat and ordered a drink as I continued to sip at mine. “So how was lunch with your mom?”
“About like I expected.” She half–frowned in sympathy. “But tell me what you and Noah thought about the venues you toured.”
See, in spite of my wishing she wasn’t getting married, I could be a good maid of honor.
“Well, it’s been tough to find a place that’s open on Thanksgiving, so we’re considering the day after.” That was something I’d suggested as a possibility earlier in the planning process. Tracie was typically easygoing and it didn’t seem like she was bothered by the change. “That opens up the venue options a bit and, with such a small guest list, it’d be pretty easy to switch the date. Our out–of–towners were planning to be here the whole weekend anyway.”
She and Noah had visited two places today and she gave me the pros and cons of each. They had another two or three to look at in the next week and, as she spoke, I was struck again by how genuinely happy she looked.
A little stressed by everything that needed to be done. But, still—happy. Especially when she talked about her fiancé.
“Noah keeps insisting that we deserve a honeymoon, even though neither one of us should be taking time off.” She pinked up prettily as she glanced down at the bartop. “He says we should start our marriage as we plan to go on – a lifelong shag–fest interrupted only by absolutely necessary food breaks.”
“Sounds good to me. Don’t make me envious, though; I haven’t had a shag–fest in…way too long to count.”
Actually, I’d never had one. Not even with my ex. Huh.
I supposed that was one point in favor of marriage. At least the honeymoon, anyway. Like spending time with friends, I was positive the hot monkey sex would fade away. It made me sad to think of Tracie becoming one of those people—the married masses—who only had sex a few times a year. Would that be the reason Noah would eventually use to blame her for his wandering dick?
“You know, Garrett mentioned that you’d turned him down on the menu testing.” That was a surprise, he hadn’t seemed at all perturbed when I’d done so. “You’re missing out, lady. He makes some amazingly creative dishes. And he doesn’t invite just anyone to try them.”
She was giving me the same knowing look she had at the end of the engagement party. The one that said she knew we were hot for each other so why didn’t we just go out already.
I was saved from responding by her phone vibrating violently enough that we both jumped. As she tapped out a text, the soft smile on her face told me who was on the other end. This was no good. With Noah texting, how would I have a hope of showing her, reminding her, of all the fun single–gal times she was about to trade in for the marriage noose?
Explaining that Noah was trying to schedule meetings and had a question about their wedding appointments for the week, Tracie promised she’d be quick and continued typing. She made a joke about his inability to check the digital calendar they shared; he’d probably be as lost without her as he’d be without his assistant at the office. Part of me secretly hoped the hassle of planning a wedding, something Tracie had never wanted before Noah proposed, would get to be too much and she’d…what, call it off?
That didn’t seem likely. But, yeah, maybe a part of me hoped it would happen. Perhaps Noah would be no help at all—Aaron certainly hadn’t contributed much to our plans—and Tracie would get just as frustrated with him as I had been. She’d ask herself if his total lack of interest in everything from the music to the food meant he was actually uninterested in her. Uninterested in starting their life together.
Maybe.
Tracie and I were at similar places in our professional lives, though hers had several more dollar signs attached. We’d realized success and we were ready to take things to the next level. I’d thought that, if I could show her a great time tonight, it would remind her that neither of us had the time or, until recently, the inclination to add a man into the mix.
Foolish of me. The plans and hopes of someone desperately clinging to the life she’d had before someone she loved left her behind.
“Bailey, you’re not gonna believe this…”
Great, she was probably ditching me to be with him.
“But Noah and Garrett were having dinner nearby and they’re coming here for a drink right now. Is that okay? I know tonight was supposed to be just you and me; I can tell the guys to stay on the other side of the bar.”
I plastered on a smile and shook my head. “No, don’t be silly. Of course they can join us.”
So much for ladies’ night out.
We’d moved to a tall table with four stools when the guys arrived and Tracie and Garrett were laughing, trading sibling banter and barbs—similar to the crap my brother and I gave each other whether via phone, text, or in person—while I watched Noah flirt with the bartendress.
I was paralyzed, torn between pointing it out to Tracie and walking over there to further spy on or confront the dickweasel. When she excused herself to the restrooms, I considered following Tracie and asking if she’d seen what I had. It seemed more prudent, though, to keep an eye on Noah while his girlfriend—fiancée—wasn’t around to catch him herself.
“You a big PAC–12 fan?” Garrett was looking at the TV screen behind the bar as it played a college football game on mute. He’d shifted in his seat, leaning so close to me now that I was treated to whatever magical ocean–scented deodorant or cologne he wore. The one that always made me want to get closer and breathe him in.
It. Breathe it in.
“I’m more interested in the other game going on over at the bar.” I tipped my head in Noah’s direction, where he was still smiling away at his new friend.
“What, Noah and that bartender?” I cut are–you–serious eyes at him. “They’re just talking.”
Uh–huh. “Sure they are.”
Garrett’s grin was disbelieving. “You really think he’s trying it on with both his fiancée and her brother in the same room?”
“He’s been over there an awfully long time, don’t ya think? How long does it take to make a drink?”
With a head shake and a half–smile, Garrett watched the pair. “I think they’re talking about the game.”
“Give me a break.”
“No, really. Look, she has on a Trojans shirt. USC is Noah’s alma mater.”
Huh. It was a possibility, I supposed. An unlikely one, but—
After one last smile and a fist bump with the bartendress, Noah was headed back to our table, grinning away with the boyish enthusiasm I’d already come to associate with him in the few interactions we’d had at the engagement party. It was such a different look than the one he presented to the press.
“That was so cool, the gal at the bar not only went to USC when I was there, but she dated one of my frat brothers. Man, I thought she looked familiar. They’re getting married next summer. Small world, huh?”
Garrett tipped a smug eyebrow up in my direction. I rolled my eyes at him.
“So, you were in a fraternity in college, Noah?” At my question, Garrett’s expression leaned toward suspicious. Perhaps my tone had been overly sweet–and–innocent. But, having known my fair share of frat–douches in college—and having been engaged to the president of the douches himself—I had my own suspicions about why Noah had been among their ranks.
To n
ail as many chicks as possible in as short a time period as possible.
Not that I had a major objection to promiscuity, as long as one protected themselves and those they slept with. But there’d always been a sort of competitiveness to the frat–douches’ sluttiness. An attitude that it was all a game and the women they nailed were nothing more than token pieces in it. Not human beings with feelings.
“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. I got talked into it by some friends, guys who were tired of spending more time in front of their computers than talking to girls. Like me.” He chuckled, the bashfulness in his expression endearing.
Darn it.
“The party scene got a little old but I did manage to meet some people, make some good friends.” He laughed again and shook his head. “They weren’t all bad guys. Believe me, this one”—he put his arm around Tracie’s waist as she joined us—“gave me such a hard time about it when she found out.”
“Found out about what?” Tracie snuggled into Noah’s side and even I had to admit they both looked cozy. And in love.
They gazed into each other’s eyes as she razzed him about being a frat–boy and he teased her about being a brainiac Physics TA. She teased him back for his two years as a nerdy Calculus TA and it looked like they were at a draw.
An adorable couple–banter one. Blurgh.
“Tell me, Bailey.” Garrett was in my space again. “Do you assume every man you meet is a lying, cheating asshole? Or are my buddy and I special?”
“Nope, nothing special that I can see.”
So maybe it had come out a touch snarkier than intended. But I was—depressed was too strong a word—disgruntled. Yes, that was the perfect Bailey word.
Disgruntled.
Tracie and I were supposed to be out solo and single tonight; I was going to show her all the fun she’d be missing as a married lady. Barring that, I was going to dig for dirt on her boyfriend—fiancé, whatever—in an attempt to determine if Tracie’s concerns about him when they’d first gotten together were still an issue.