by Jeff Erno
His own future, far murkier, didn’t seem so optimistic. But today wasn’t about him. Today was about his bestie and her wedding. At the reception, Oliver stood at the attendants’ table and raised his crystal goblet, tapping the side with his silver spoon to capture everyone’s attention. He placed the spoon down, waiting for the murmurs to quiet, before speaking. He reached up to his neck, slid one finger behind the collar of his dress shirt, and wiggled it a bit for comfort. Actually, it already felt somewhat looser than it had two weeks prior at the tuxedo fitting. He’d started his new diet but hadn’t yet dared step on a scale to check his progress.
As all eyes turned to him, he cleared his throat. “I know this isn’t really typical, having two best men at a wedding, one for the bride and one for the groom. Then again, Amanda and I are not typical best friends.
“Back in third grade, when we met, Amanda recruited me to play the dad in a game of house on the school playground. She, of course, was Mom.” He looked at Tyler. “So I already have experience being married to this lady, and let me tell ya, you’re in for a hell of a ride.” The audience chuckled.
“Amanda works as a chef, ya know. Already landed herself a position at one of those fancy-schmancy upper-class restaurants. I know you probably can’t tell by looking at me, but I know a thing or two about food… and Amanda’s been feeding me all my life.”
His gaze locked on Amanda’s, and though she still maintained the sweet, ever-broadening smile, he detected a hint of sadness in her eyes. After clearing his throat, he continued. “In all seriousness, I’ve known this gal since elementary school, and she’s my dearest friend. She’s one of the kindest, most compassionate, and accepting people on the planet. When she and Tyler met five years ago, she made a special trip up north to the college I was attending, just to introduce him, and I have to say, I immediately approved. They’re an amazing couple, and they’re sure to head into a spectacular future together… decades of happiness and prosperity.
“I’d just add one word of caution to the groom, though. Tyler, don’t let her overfeed you. You don’t want to look like this in five years.” He held out both arms, displaying himself as the example. “Did I mention Amanda and I were in band together? People have often asked me, what was your favorite instrument? ‘Oh, that’s easy,’ I told ’em. ‘The lunch bell.’”
The crowd burst into laughter as the bride’s smile waned just a bit. “But, hey, this isn’t my fault. I’ve been fat since I was a kid. This whole obesity thing could have been avoided, though… if they’d have just sent an ice cream truck into our neighborhood every day. What? You don’t get it? Not just an ordinary ice cream truck. No, an ice cream truck that never stops.”
This time the laughter was accompanied by a smattering of moans. “Oh, I know, I’m killing you. But this tuxedo’s killing me. These things are designed more for people who are in shape. Wait, I’m in shape. Aren’t I? Isn’t round a shape?”
Oliver knew a lot of fat jokes. He’d heard them all and could go on for hours, but as he looked up once more to Amanda, her smile had become a grimace. He might have taken the self-deprecation a bit too far this time. Not only had he hurt himself but also his best friend. He just smiled, though, laughing it off as he raised his glass for the toast.
“To the bride and groom. I love you, Amanda. I love you, Tyler. Here’s to a wonderful future.”
Later, during their dance, Amanda held him close, pressing her cheek against his. “You look magnificent in that tuxedo, baby.”
“For a beached whale, ya mean?”
“Ollie, stop it.” She pulled back and stared straight into his eyes. “For anyone. I’m telling you, you look amazing, and if you’d quit feeling sorry for yourself, you might just meet someone. You know, like really meet someone, as in a date. Half the guests here are gay.”
Oliver laughed and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “No, because even if what you say is true… even if I do look good in this tux, I also know what I look like underneath it.”
“Honey, please stop putting yourself down.” The tone of her voice pierced Oliver’s heart. She needed him to stop belittling himself… for his own sake.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. This is your day. It’s not about me.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” She pulled back again, this time holding him by the shoulders. “I mean you need to quit judging yourself through this lens. You are more than a fat person. In fact, I don’t even like that term, because you’re not really all that overweight.”
Oliver had to laugh, though mirthlessly. “Amanda, I’m at least a hundred seventy pounds overweight. Google it if you don’t believe me.”
“So what? I love you just the way you are, and there’s someone out there… some equally amazing guy, who is going to feel exactly the same way.”
“A chubby chaser.”
“Maybe, but so what?”
He brushed a thumb against her cheek. “Amanda… baby… can we not have this discussion here, on the dance floor—on your dance floor during your dance?”
She nodded and released a frustrated sigh. “Fine, then learn to take a fucking compliment. You look amazing. Period.”
Nodding slowly, he closed his eyes. When he opened them, Amanda was staring into his face, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Thank you,” he whispered, and once more kissed her on the cheek before stepping aside to allow one of the groomsmen to cut in.
OLIVER’S DETERMINATION to lose weight felt drastically different this time. He’d previously made numerous attempts, some serious and some fleeting and half-assed. Some lasted days or possibly even weeks, some merely hours. Every time he made the slightest progress by taking off a few pounds, he’d then turn around and gain it all back and then some.
This time, however, he decided to stick with it no matter what. Going for a complete lifestyle change, he hauled his industrial-sized trash can from the garage into the center of his kitchen and began tossing shit into it from his cupboards.
“Ollie, those are my favorite!” Benjy sat on a stool at the bar separating the kitchen and dining area. “Marshmallow cream chocolate graham-cracker cookies, and they’re not even open!”
“Take ’em if you want ’em.” Oliver didn’t even turn around but continued tossing items over his shoulder into the huge plastic tub. “Six-pack of Snickers bars, Cheez-Its, Fig Newtons… no wait, those are fat-free.”
“I’ll take the Pop-Tarts if you’re gonna just toss ’em.”
Oliver grabbed the family-size box and handed it to Benjy. “You want this box of Cap’n Crunch too?”
He made a face and shook his head. “No, thanks. I hate how they get soggy when you put milk on ’em.”
“Oh my God, that’s the best part. Sugary goodness melting against your tongue.” Oliver’s mouth watered thinking about it. But he’d stuck to his diet for almost a month now, and he should have done the kitchen cleanout a long time ago. He was finally getting used to his low-fat, low-calorie diet. That meant very little sugar, and he’d discovered the longer he went without it, the easier it became to resist.
“I think the diet’s working, Ollie. I can see it in your face. It looks so much thinner.” Benjy’s unfailing optimism annoyed Oliver at times. He didn’t need to hear about his face getting thinner. He didn’t fucking care about his face! He needed to shed some massive pounds from his humongous, grotesque body.
“My pants feel looser, actually.” Oliver kept his temper in check. Benjy meant well, after all. “But I don’t want to weigh myself yet, not until my one-month anniversary.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ve heard people say you shouldn’t weigh yourself too often when dieting.”
Just what the hell would that beanpole know about dieting? Maybe Oliver should just ask him to leave.
“You wanna play Overwatch when we’re done here?” Benjy asked. “That new guy from Virginia texted me this morning, asked if we wanted to join his team.”
“We’ve already got our own team,
and no, I don’t want to play. I have to work out.”
“You mean like at a gym? I could go with you if you want.”
“I don’t go to a gym, and I don’t want an audience.” At this point, he no longer even tried to conceal the edge in his voice. “I think you should just leave. You’re not any help here.”
Benjy laughed, obviously thinking Oliver was kidding. But when Oliver turned around and glared at him, the smile drained from Benjy’s face. “Oh, okay. I’m sorry, man. I can—”
He looked like an abandoned puppy, and a pang of guilt stabbed Oliver’s heart. “No, man, it’s cool. I’m just…. I don’t know, edgy or something. I’m sick of starving myself and no one even noticing a difference. I’m sick of passing up cookies and cakes and burgers and pizzas, all the stuff I love to eat. For what? It’s been a whole month, and look at me. No difference. No fucking noticeable change!”
“But I did notice. Ollie, you didn’t put on the extra weight overnight, and you can’t take it off that way. You said yourself, your clothes are starting to feel loose. You’re losing, man. You’ve probably lost way more than you even expected you would.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Why don’t we go weigh you right now? I know you wanted to wait a month, but it’s close enough, and you need the ego boost.”
“But… but what if I haven’t lost any? What if I’ve gained or lost only a little?”
“Trust me, you’ve lost weight.” Benjy slid off the stool and stepped into the kitchen to grab hold of Oliver’s wrist. “C’mon, let’s go see.”
Reluctantly, Oliver allowed his friend to drag him out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom. He’d purchased a special scale that went up to four hundred pounds, and his first official weigh-in had registered three hundred thirty-two pounds. He honestly didn’t know what to expect, what to even hope for at this point. It had been just four days shy of a month.
“Hop on!” Benjy ordered, pointing to the scale.
“I don’t know.”
“Ollie, please.”
Oliver sighed, then smiled sheepishly. He held up both arms, fingers crossed on each hand. “Okay, let me kick my shoes off.” One at a time, he toed them off and then took a step onto the scale. It felt like the world had shifted into slow motion as he balanced himself, then stepped on with the other foot.
“What did you start at?” Benjy asked.
“Three thirty-two.”
“Oh my God!” Benjy started clapping, jumping up and down.
“What? What is it?”
“Three oh six! That’s twenty-six pounds! You fucking lost twenty-six goddamn pounds already!”
“Really? That can’t…. Wait, are you sure?”
“Look!” He pointed at the scale as Oliver stepped off and gazed down at the digital readout. The scale was programmed to continue displaying the weight for a few seconds.
“Benjy! Oh my God! Oh my effin’ God! I lost twenty-six pounds!” He grabbed Benjy and pulled him into a tight embrace that lifted him right off the ground.
Benjy giggled excitedly, hugging back with a tight squeeze. “I told you! I told you you looked thinner.”
Chapter Three
OLLIE JOLTED awake, as though he’d stepped off the sidewalk and jarred himself back into reality. He woke like this regularly, fighting for breath, and his heart seemed to kick-start life back into gear. He fell in and out of sleep during the day too. Simple activities most people did with ease, like walking to the end of the block, standing for an extended period, or even mowing the grass, presented challenges for a young man Oliver’s size. Walking any distance left him winded and achy all over. His knees and back hurt, the backs of his legs throbbed, and his feet felt like they’d been crushed in a vise.
Even sitting for long periods made him sore. And he didn’t sleep well because he couldn’t breathe normally. He’d awaken numerous times throughout the night, gasping or choking, and had contemplated scheduling a sleep study to determine if he needed a CPAP breathing machine.
For all these reasons and more, his determination to lose weight became about something far more important than vanity. Sure, he wanted to look better. Being only twenty-four, he especially wanted to someday go on a real date with someone special, not just a group outing or a meetup with a gang of friends. He dreamed of one day going to a beach and taking off his shirt without embarrassment, or—dare he admit it?—making love to another man.
But at this stage, those superficial issues of changing his physical appearance remained fantasies he couldn’t fully conceptualize mentally. He tried looking in the mirror and imagining what he would look like as a slender man, and the mental picture wouldn’t even form. He couldn’t see himself that way in his mind’s eye. So the idea of a date or of a shirtless stroll on the beach didn’t even toy with his psyche. He had more important things to worry about.
Things like his heart health. Being this obese placed a terrific strain on his cardiovascular system. He knew by the way his chest ached after the slightest physical activity that he was killing himself by carrying around so much excess baggage. And the day he decided to start an exercise program, he also scheduled a long-overdue appointment with a general practitioner. He wanted guidance, not judgment, so he used the internet to choose a doctor who specialized in weight loss.
He rolled out of bed, heaving himself up from the mattress. He shouldn’t be obsessing about what lay in store, but all he could think about was his doctor appointment. This first one terrified him, and a half hour later when he pulled his SUV into the parking space at the clinic, he almost backed out immediately. Hey, he’d lost twenty-six pounds already on his own. Maybe he didn’t even need a doctor. But he sat in the vehicle for a few moments, taking deep breaths, trying to reason with himself. He should have brought Amanda or Benjy for moral support, but he’d been a bit self-conscious about the whole thing. Which, of course, made no sense whatsoever. They both knew he was dieting and trying very hard to lose weight, and Benjy especially had been incredibly supportive. He certainly would have accompanied Oliver had he asked. But no, he had to confront some of his demons alone. His fear of all things healthy—doctors included—was something he had to face head-on.
“Good morning!” The exaggerated cheerfulness of the receptionist at such an early hour of the morning both annoyed and bewildered Oliver, but he offered an obligatory half smile.
“Oliver Paxton, here for an eight-fifteen appointment with Dr. Evans.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Paxton. May I call you Oliver?”
“Sure.”
“So happy to serve you this morning. I’m Shirleen.” She smiled sweetly. “If you’ll just sign in on the clipboard, I’ll get you some paperwork to fill out, and I’ll need your insurance card and co-pay, if there is one.”
“I believe it’s twenty bucks.” He removed his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out his insurance card along with one of his credit cards.
“Thank you.” Shirleen thrust another clipboard into his hand. “Please fill out everything, front and back, and when you’re done, the doctor will be right with you.”
Oliver took a seat in the empty waiting room, squeezing his oversized body into the normal-size chair. His belly protruded to the point he was able to use it as a shelf for the clipboard. Thank God he’d scheduled the early appointment after all. Only crazy people and the terminally obese were up at this hour of the fucking morning.
When he finished the extensive medical history form, he pushed himself up from the chair and stepped back to the desk.
“All set?” Shirleen looked up, smiling broadly as ever.
“All set.” He nodded and passed the clipboard over the countertop.
“Very well. The doctor will be with you shortly.”
He sat back down, involuntarily huffing as he did so, and debated digging in his pocket for his phone. Before he could decide, the inner door to the examining rooms opened, and Oliver looked up to see who’d be escor
ting him back to see the doctor.
“Hi, Oliver? I’m Brad Evans, your doctor.” He extended his hand.
Oliver gulped as he stared at the man’s face and into the most gorgeous eyes he’d ever seen. Fuck, not just the eyes—the whole face was perfect. The doctor looked like he’d stepped off the runway of a fashion show. He couldn’t be a day older than Oliver, and was physically perfect in every imaginable way, from the broad shoulders straight on down the V-shaped torso, to the narrow, thirtyish inch waist.
“Hi” was all Oliver could manage.
“We’re pretty much on a first-name basis here. Hope you don’t mind.” The doctor—or, Brad, rather—smiled. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll just get your height and weight and get you situated in an exam room.”
“You do that?” Oliver stared at him, surprised. His mouth had dropped open, and he probably needed a tissue to wipe the drool from his chin. He closed his trap and gulped nervously. “I mean, um, don’t you have nurses?”
Brad laughed and nodded. “We do indeed have a nurse, but his shift starts a little later. For my early-bird patients, I take care of all the vitals myself. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Uh, no. That’s fine.” He followed the doctor down the hall until he stopped at a digital scale. It didn’t look like any Oliver had seen before, a far cry from the old-fashioned type where they moved bars back and forth along the top until they balanced. This one consisted merely of a mat to stand on and a digital readout on the wall about eye level.
“If you’ll just step right up. You may remove your shoes if you desire.”
He did desire. He didn’t want a single unnecessary ounce of weight registering for his official weigh-in. It had been over a week since he and Benjy had weighed him at home, and he was starting to feel anxious, concerned maybe something was wrong with his scale, or even worse, that he’d gained back some of what he’d lost.
“That’s actually why I’m here… my weight.” Oliver looked at the doctor as he toed off his shoes. He did not yet move toward the scale, though. “I’m trying to, um, ya know….”