This morning has been so crazy that I haven’t turned on my phone. The second I do, there is a message from Jensen. “Good morning, beautiful. I really wanted to ask you this in person, but … I don't want to wait until tomorrow to see you again.” His voice softens, and I can just imagine his eyes peering up at me. “Please come over tonight … and stay.”
My butt hits the chair. This moment feels a year in the making. I am so, so ready for this, yet in some ways I am not at all prepared. I have to wonder if he has ever been with a girl like me.
Looking in the mirror hasn’t been the same lately. Now I see the glow in my cheeks, the specks of silver in my eyes, and hear the music when I laugh. I’m still self-conscious, but I’m no longer that scared little girl I was when Etta showed up.
But then my eyes travel downward, and I remember Laura’s insults. No one’s opinion is worth my loss of self, but that doesn’t change the damage done.
The heck with it!
Forget you, witch. I bet you're divorced three times before you hit forty.
And with that I toss my gorgeous locks back and swing my hips with pride while heading off to work. Great things lie ahead, and I deserve them!
Lizetta walks out of the bathroom, wearing a baby pink nightgown. There is something about its simple elegance, and the grace of the woman underneath it, that could shame lingerie models into a corner.
The satin sways with the wiggle of each step she takes, sending my heart a flutter. This is the definition of grace. I want to treasure this image forever.
However, it’s not what either of us needs.
Lizetta enters the bed, then reaches to turn off the lamp. “Oh, no you don’t. Let me see the object of my desires.” I roll her on top of me, raise her arms, and send the satin barrier gliding into the corner. I want her—for all that she is, inside and out.
My body turns electric as I roll her down, easing her onto the bed, and start trailing kisses downward. Lizetta reminds me of a voluptuous model—an object of Renaissance art. I want to go to a museum in Italy so a room filled with paintings of her can surround me.
The way her waist flares into glorious hips makes my hormones spark so hard they may fly out the window and jumpstart Bertha. She’s radioactive. Just being near her makes me glow inside. This girl has me twisted around her finger, and I hope someone epoxies me down so she can’t unwrap me.
My kisses progress downward, and she tightens her abs, sending home the message of why she wore the nightgown.
Why can’t she see how much this moment means to us? This beautiful woman has earned the right to release her insecurities and know happiness. I glide up her, and the kiss we share causes my chest to deflate in ecstasy.
No, this is not just ecstasy. This is elation brought on by all that I feel for this woman, because for the first time, I’m about to make love to someone—to truly release my heart and soul. So few get to know what that means, and that joy is happening to me. I am blessed, privileged, and humbled by the honor of being with her, but I too have earned this. I’ve fought to become a better person, to be worthy of someone as beautiful as she is, and I am so incredibly grateful. This overwhelming bliss is what we deserve, and I won’t lose sight of its significance, nor will I let her.
Our eyes lock, and warmth fills me from within. It slides into my soul like honey, causing me to brazenly confess, “For the first time, I’ve fallen, and it’s deeper than I ever imagined possible. I love you, Lizetta.”
Lizetta smiles, and a little laugh of amazement seeps out. I seem to have caught her off guard. Good. I don’t like how she’s trying to hide herself, and she needs to know that she is exactly what I want. She says the words back, and I’m just so damned happy at how wonderful my life has become that I want to howl for the world to hear.
With a flick of the wrist, my boxers land to cover the glare coming from the lamp, casting just enough glow for both of us to enjoy the moment. Tonight we cave to the fact that there is something greater than we can fathom at work.
Jensen drifts off to sleep, and I slip into the bathroom. While standing in front of the mirror, I close my eyes and flip on the light. I’m daring myself to take a serious look at what Jensen just saw. While he didn’t say a word about knowing why I wanted to kill the lights, his expression indicated I might be in for a pep talk over my insecurities.
Just like Jensen and his demons, this is a battle that I need to fight alone. For years, others have tried to sell me on a new self-image, but time and again I’ve chosen only to listen to Laura’s taunting and the self-doubt it brings.
Slowly my eyes peer open, taking myself in from the bottom up. My calves aren’t bad, but my thighs—Oh Lord!
My eyes slam shut. I don’t want to do this.
Okay, try it again.
Light slips through the cracks of my lids. My thighs could definitely use some trimming. Then again … I twist at the hip, and a sleek curve jets from the back of my knee, up my tush, and to the top of my hip. You know, that’s not half bad.
“Not half bad” is a terrible way to describe myself. I have got to get a better self-image. Tonight, when Jensen wrapped his arms around me, my brain told me those arms needed to stretch; yet his hands were centered on my back with his elbows hanging at my side. I hate that side of myself—the side that constantly screams the lie that I am bigger than I am. That side shuts its trap, starting right this second! Now, what is a more eloquent way to state what I see?
I twist back so that I am dead on in the mirror again. It’s hard not to cringe, but I win the battle.
Deep breath. Okay. Try again.
My thighs flow into hips that crest like waves of the ocean. Little ripples appear at the widest points before the waves rush up, reaching for each other to form my waist and then surging into glorious breasts that I wouldn’t trade for anything.
There, that wasn’t so hard. In fact, it sounded pretty fantastic.
It’s time to force myself to see reality. I’m not a size two, and there is no baggy covering that will hide that fact. Do I want to be a size two? Would it matter if I were?
No, but I should be able to say my size without hating myself.
Okay, here it goes.
I’m a size fourteen—a perfect fourteen, which is exactly the same as most plus-sized models. It is also the average size of the American woman. It’s not that big, yet the fashion industry messes with our heads so we think it is. You also can’t judge a size by its number, because some manufactures alter them for the sake of vanity. The size on a label often means nothing. However, if you take a tape measure to me, I’m model perfect.
For years I have thought of myself as ugly because I chose to listen to what some people told me. Their hang-ups are their problem, not mine. Bodies are not ugly. Being unhealthy is ugly. Not caring about whom you are inside is ugly. Not long ago I ate nothing but burgers and fries. While there are times that I still indulge, I now censor what enters my body, because I love myself. That makes me beautiful.
I’m changing. I’ve come to recognize that my heart is big, and now, inside this mirror, I see what beauty looks like. It is amazing what you see when you find new perspective. I can only dream what other fantastic things lie ahead!
With a flick of the switch, I finish leaving a part of my old self behind, and head back to my future—my bright future.
CHAPTER TEN
Wednesday, June 14
Jensen’s been looking a little shifty since I arrived at his apartment. It’s especially weird because ever since we spent our first night together, a couple of weeks ago, he’s been nothing short of adoring. Not a single lunch break or drive to or from school has gone without a call ending in him saying I love you, and not a moment together has been lacking in kisses and caresses. Overall, I feel worshiped. However, the walk on the way to Bert’s was another story, not to mention that this is our usual, cook-at-home night. Something is up.
“So, uh. There’s a special reason why I wanted to come here
tonight. It’s um, it’s pretty important.”
“You want to ask me something big, so you brought me to Bert’s? Oh, that’s right. Allowing yourself to steal fries is big. Healthier eating or not, do you have any idea how crazy I think that sounds?”
“I’m not talking about fries.” His thumbs keep spinning in little circles around each other—faster, slower, faster, slower.
“Then you won’t be having any?”
“In your dreams!”
Thankfully, he is still acting like himself when it comes to fries, but then his eyes get shifty again.
“I have to ask you something, and I’m a little nervous about it.”
My gaze darts to his hands—empty. They then go to his shirt pocket, which is non-existent. The ring must be in his pants’ pocket.
Wait. A ring? Already? We’ve only been dating two months. Isn’t that a little soon?
Forget the perception of time, I’m saying yes! Sweet sugar dumplings! Short courtship, long engagement, here I come!
His grip on my hands tightens. Shouldn’t he be getting down on one knee? I’ll settle for a proposal in a burger joint, only because we had our first date here, but I at least need a ring or him down on one knee. Seriously though, ring or not, how could I refuse this man?
“I want you to meet my mom,” he says.
“What?” screeches out of me. Regret quickly hits. My response was cold, but is he really freaking out over me meeting his mom?
“Come on, it won’t be that bad. We’re not meeting the Pope.” He takes a second to think about that. “Huh. Would you even care if you met the Pope?”
This conversation is weird. At least the freak out made him unclench a little. “Of course I would care. Giant things scare me.”
“Giant like important or giant like large? I didn’t think he was that tall.”
“His huge hat freaks me out, kind of like The Statue of Liberty.”
Jensen’s brow scrunches. “The crown on The Statue of Liberty scares you?”
My hands fly as I rant, cause, well, “No, the whole freaking statue does—especially that face. It’s already kind of creepy, and then they had to go and make it huge. Whenever I’m in Vegas, I have to stay away from that fake one for fear it’s going to come to life and step on me—or worse, come crashing down. I don’t want my last vision to be of a giant nose descending to snort me up.”
Finally, he leans back in his chair like he normally would. Still, I’m not buying that me meeting his mom is what has him all rigid. “You’ve seen too many movies,” he tells me.
“Don’t sound so surprised by that obvious fact. Does this body look like it does much other than crash out on a sofa?”
“Well, not to worry. My mom is short. Wear heels and you’ll tower over her. You will in no way feel that she is The Statue of Liberty.”
“Wrong!” I let my hands fly to the sky in hopes that the more animated I become, the more he will relax; yet he stays locked up.
“Wrong, how?”
“If my son brought home a girl, I’d likely have a torch in my hand. Face it, Jensen, I’m screwed.”
He chuckles at me. It’s about time. “Does meeting my mom scare you that much?” he asks.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve been dying to meet your family.” I’ve also been dying to see that painting his mom did—the one that matches both my dream and that Tarot reading. “It’s just that you are not your usual self. The last time this happened, I got some pretty bad news. If this is really as simple as meeting your mom, I think you’d be a lot less affected.”
Jensen takes my hand, but instead of the sweet smile he normally gives, his eyes lock on my fingers. “I swear that I’ve given you all the bad news there is. Thing is,” he takes a deep breath, like really deep, “I can’t forgive myself for hitting her with that bottle. Hell, I don’t even know how I can face her. But mending our relationship will bring me as full circle as I can get. I’ve faced everything else alone, but for this I really need some support. Also, with you fully integrated into my life, I’ll be in a better space than I have ever been. If I take Monday off, you can still work Saturday and go with me for your weekend. Please? It’s really important.”
He has to know I would never say no. “Of course, but why did you need to bring me here to ask?”
Jensen dips his head and gives me the most adorable glance. “I love how your hair glistens in the light here.”
“Here? You mean, outdoors?” Then the obvious checks me to the boards. “Oh my God! You do just want fries!”
That’s it! If we ever get married, I’m making him vow to love, honor, and keep his grubby hands on his own food.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sunday, June 25
This is ridiculous. It's my mom, for God’s sake. The facts that the last time I saw her I told her to go to hell while putting a dent in her head, and that I chose drugs over her, are making this pathetic bastard shaky. Actually, even with us having already talked it out, I should be on my knees while begging for forgiveness.
I knock, and then wait while my insides spasm. Never again. Never again will I put myself in this type of position.
Heels click from behind the door, causing my jitters to intensify.
We’ve already talked it out. I flat out asked for forgiveness, and she, in no uncertain terms, granted it. Now it's just a matter of seeing each other in person. The hard part is done, right?
Then why does it feel like I'm about to meet my maker?
Well, Mom is my maker, but still—
The lock clicks, and I expect Mom to peer through a crack to make sure it’s safe. I wouldn’t blame her in the least. If she doesn’t answer with a baseball bat in her hands, it will be a miracle.
The swing of the door creates a breeze, and I find myself facing a beautiful woman who looks slightly apprehensive. She gives me a full body once over and then focuses into my eyes. A smile comes. She recognizes me this time. She didn't before. Hell, I didn’t recognize myself before.
The whole sizing-me-up thing takes fewer than two heartbeats, and then she's out the door and yanking me into her arms. I’ve made it! I’ve come full circle! All my hard work is being rewarded!
Thank you, God. Even if her anger surfaces and she chews me out for everything that I did, which she would be totally justified in doing, I’m good.
Jensen’s mom clings to him while mouthing, “It’s a miracle. It’s nothing short of a miracle.” Watching Arlene’s fingers as they dig into her son’s back, like she's afraid to let go, drives home the magnitude of all that happened. When she does release him, she looks straight into his eyes. She’s crying so hard that the words barely come out. “Yeah, that's my boy. I've missed him.”
“Mom, I am so sorry for—”
“You've already said it, and I’ve already accepted it. Now I just want to see my son and get to know this woman who means so much.”
The tight cling I am drawn into forces me to accept that the demons that once possessed Jensen are real. Visions of my father passed out on the floor after my mom clocked him with a skillet flash before me. “People can change,” Paul has always said. “I’m living proof. Just be careful, because we are human, which means we can screw up, too.” Why do his warnings still sneak up on me? I guess he just taught me well.
The smell of lemons and freshly baked cookies hits me as I step into the house. Yumm! I will totally forgo healthy eating for one of those!
To the right, an unheard voice beckons my attention. The presence is warm, yet its call sends shivers up my spine. Just two steps away hangs destiny. While Jensen and Arlene are locked in another hug, I make way to the artistic interpretation of my dreams. My lips part as I stare and try to decipher the image. It turns my heart weightless with joy, yet my forehead aches from being smacked with fear. How well this image matches both my dream and that Tarot reading seems unreal.
A beam of light bursts into the room, and then disappears. My heart races at what feels like a f
lash of lightning. The Tarot reading! The lightening bolt on The Tower card!
The front door clicks shut, and I turn to find myself alone and feeling stupid for being frightened by sunlight that seeped through the door when it was opened. I look back to the painting and my stomach twists. What does it all mean? Arlene painted this for Jensen, so one of them must be tied into the meaning behind my dream. The light flares again as Jensen and Arlene return from grabbing our bags out of Bertha.
Arlene invites us into the family room for cookies and lemonade. I follow, walking away from the painting, yet feeling drawn backward into fate.
The photos on the family room wall repeatedly catch my eyes, but my inner vision is all kinds of murky. I want to pay closer attention to Arlene’s funny stories of Jensen as a child and the pranks his family would play on each other, but only one thing is on my mind. “Arlene, Jensen told me you painted the starlit landscape in the foyer. What inspired it?”
Arlene sips her lemonade and reclines in her chair, yet I expect dramatic music to fill the background at my inquiry of forbidden knowledge. I’ve seen too many soap operas.
“It came from a dream that Dad had when Jensen was little. Maybe it was because Native Americans can become captivating when we talk about visions, but the way Dad told it made it seem so significant that I wanted to capture it.”
“I miss Granddad,” Jensen says with downcast eyes, “but I am kind of grateful that he missed all of the bad things that happened. Eddie and I really let him down.”
Arlene touches her hand to his arm. “Honey, we are past that now, remember?”
He squeezes her hand, and his eyes gaze to her in earnest. “There are some things I’ll never get over, but I want it that way. Sometimes remembering you were once an idiot can keep you from becoming one again. Just because I’ve found my way home doesn’t mean there isn’t more for me to learn.” Jensen looks to a photo on the wall of a man and two boys. The man has that same air of dignity and strength that I saw in Jensen the day we met. I take Jensen’s hand and give him a smile. He forces one back.
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