by Becky Siame
“No one is squashing you down,” Mama Rose insists. “I just think you need to step back and re-evaluate your decisions.”
“I’m not changing my mind about plastic surgery, and that’s final. I just don’t understand how my friends and family accept me when I’m fat, depressed, jobless, and going nowhere, but they don’t when I’m thinner, happy, have a career, and am making something of myself. It’s the exact opposite with the world.”
“Your friends and family still accept you,” Mama Rose sighs. “We may not approve of your decisions, but we will always be there for you. The question is if you will still be there for your friends and family after you’ve changed yourself. And Isabella?”
“Yes?” I answer, petulant.
“If the world only accepts you when you’re thinner, happy, and going somewhere, then I’d choose friends and family over the world any day.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“ ’FAT’ to all sense and purposes in this work is just plain wrong!”
FROM BELLA’S BLOG
http://www.thelightersideoflarge.com/ch26
Come on - let’s go, let’s go,” I yell from the front door. It’s Friday morning and I have one goal: to get the kids to school for the first time this week before the first bell rings. “You’re going to be late again if you don’t get a move on!”
Abe saunters out of the kitchen, a piece of toast in hand and grabs his backpack off the sofa. “Why have you been so grouchy? When is Jae going to come see us?”
I dig through my purse for my keys. “I haven’t been grouchy. I just have a lot of things on my mind.”
“I want to see Jae,” Fi pipes up as she runs out of the bathroom to collect her backpack.
“Well, he’s busy,” I say. Too busy to call his girlfriend for a week, if I’m even that anymore. “In the car. Now.”
“Why don’t you call him anymore?” she asks, as if reading my mind.
I shut the door behind them. “Jae will call when he has time.” I’m not going to call him. If he wants to talk to me, then he needs to make the first move. I didn’t do anything wrong. He needs to apologise.
As we drive to school, Abe starts singing a song, which Fi doesn’t like, so she starts singing a different tune. They get louder and louder to drown out the other. “Kids, be quiet. I can’t hear myself think!” I shout above the din, and I do have a lot of thinking to do. What should be the topic of next week’s newspaper column? The deadline for the magazine article is this afternoon and I still can’t think of a good ending for it. And why won’t Jae call? He was so gung-ho about driving up to talk about it and then he disappears off the face of the planet. I can’t talk to Sands about it because she won’t answer my calls, and Mama Rose isn’t any help.
“He started it,” Fi pouts.
“You didn’t have to sing,” Abe accuses.
“I DON’T CARE. JUST BE QUIET!” I yell.
The sudden sullen silence allows me to breathe a sigh of relief. I glance in the rearview mirror at two frowns. Oh well. They can deal with it.
“Did you pack my snack?” Fi finally speaks when we are a block away from the school.
“What snack?” I ask.
“Today is my turn to bring a snack for the whole class.”
“No, you didn’t tell me you need that.”
“Yes I did. I told you last night,” Fi insists.
“She did. I heard her,” Abe backs her up.
“Great, just great,” I mutter, turning on my turn signal and glancing in the sideview mirror so I can move over a lane. Around the corner is a convenience store. I pull up to the store, unbuckling my seat belt before the car stops. “Stay put. I’ll run in and grab some pretzels.”
“I don’t want pretzels. I want cookies,” Fi complains.
“No cookies,” I say.
“But I want cookies!”
“You’re not allowed to bring cookies for a snack,” I suppress a growl, getting out of the car. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I rush into the store and head down the crisps and snacks aisle. There isn’t a bag of pretzels in sight. I scan through each shelf, bending down to peer into the depths of the bottom shelf. “Ah-ha!” I spot and grab two small bags of pretzels, which I think will feed an entire class of first-graders, and reach out to take them.
Rrriiip.
I freeze at the sound of my back pants seam ripping. Not again, I moan inwardly. How can I rip my pants when I’m a size twelve? Impossible. What is also impossible is getting out of the store without anyone seeing my underwear.
I waddle to the checkout counter, trying to prevent my trousers from gaping. So far, so good. No one comes up behind me, but the man in front of me appears to be on a junk food run. From the size of his waistline, it appears he does it often. Then he slowly asks the cashier for five lottery tickets, then a pack of cigarettes, and then pulls out his chequebook and carefully fills it out.
I grit my teeth to prevent from screaming. The kids are going to be late to school again and this guy is buying food he doesn’t need and cigarettes - does he want to see an early grave? What is wrong with him?
Someone gets into line behind me. I glance around, trying to hide my impatience and look casual so as not to draw attention to the tear in my pants. That’s when I notice the latest issue of the Gab Gazette is out. My stomach clenches. I dread to read what is written about me, but I dread not knowing even more. As the fat man moves away with his bags of groceries, lotto tickets and cigarettes, I grab it and slap it on the counter with the pretzels. “These are past their sell by date,” the cashier says, pointing out the date on the pretzels.
“I don’t mind,” I say, pulling out my debit card.
“Are you sure? There aren’t any ...”
“No, they’re fine. Really,” I insist more harshly than I mean to sound. The cashier shrugs and scans them and the magazine. I slide my card, snatch the receipt from the cashier and rush out the door.
I jump in the car, toss the bags to Fi, and turn on the ignition. I start to back out and slam on the brakes with a screech. The fat guy has pulled out behind me but his car stalled. He keeps cranking the engine but it won’t turn over. “Oh, for Pete’s sake move it!” I yell. “You’re going to flood the engine. Idiot,” I mutter.
“Mummy,” Fi says, eyes wide, “you’re not supposed to say that word.”
“Well, it applies,” I snap. The man gets the car started and it rolls a few feet away before dying again. With barely enough room to navigate, I back out and squeeze past him, making sure to throw him a dirty look. He looks apologetic, but I don’t have time for sympathy. I gun the engine and roar onto the street, making it to the school just as the second bell is ringing. “Hurry up. You’re going to be late. Run to class,” I order. But Abe and Fi climb out of the car with aggravating sluggishness without even saying goodbye.
I shake my head. If they’re late, it’s their own fault. I did my part; now they have to do theirs. I pull away from the curb with a sigh. At the first stoplight, I pick up the Gab Gazette and flip to the back page. “What?” I say, puzzled. The Back Page Heroes feature shows Amanda Elliot standing next to a box of clothing. The tagline reads, “Clothing the Homeless is AmandaE’s style.” The light turns green so I can’t read any more. Why is she featured? Did they decide not to feature me? Well, that’s good news. Or are they going to feature me next week?
Once I’m home, I read the article on Amanda: “The plight of the homeless was brought to our attention, and we knew it was within our power to do something about it,” Amanda is quoted. “Instead of selling off excess inventory at the end of each season to variety stores, we decided to donate a portion to homeless shelters across New Zealand.” The article doesn’t mention Jae, although it touches on ‘the recent controversy’ centering on the franchise. “The reprehensible behavior of two employees out of a thousand in the corporation is not something I’m proud of. But I sincerely hope it brings recognition of discrimination against a
ny people group to light so that changes can be made to put a stop to it.”
I snort and shake my head. “How many PR people came up with that well-crafted statement?” I say aloud. “Don’t take the blame, don’t admit to anything, and more power to the little people. Yes, well-said, Amanda.” I angrily flip through the magazine to make sure I’m not in it. Did the Gab decide to pull my story? I hope so.
But hope fails me as I turn to the first article at the front of the magazine. Front Page Fraud is proclaimed in bold red letter across the top. Beside it is a photo of me. It’s composed of two different shots - one taken during one of my radio interviews, the other from a couple of years back when I was at my heaviest. I’m split down the jagged center in each one and then put together in a
Dr Jerkyll/Mr Hyde way. “She says one thing and does another: is New Zealand’s newest fav a fraud?” proclaims the caption.
“Oh, no, oh, no, please God, no,” I say, shaking so hard that I can hardly read the article.
“lap band procedure . . .”
“quest for perfection . . .”
“plastic surgery . . .”
“thousand dollars spent at AmandaE . . .”
“no comment from Mr. Elliot’s office . . .”
“stop at nothing to achieve perfection . . .”
By the end of the article, I can’t breathe. I fling the magazine aside and stand up, trying to catch my breath. I spend the rest of the day feeling like I’ve been punched in the stomach. No wonder Jae hasn’t called, not if the Gab Gazette hounded him - what did they tell him? Unable to bear it any longer, I dial Jae and get his voice mail.
“Jae, I’m calling about the article in the Gab Gazette. I told you I was set up, and, and, I’m so sorry they did this to you. I just can’t believe this is happening. Call me, okay? We need to talk.”With great difficulty, I finish my article for Fab You and email it to the editor, but try as I might, I can’t concentrate to start on the newspaper column.
Before I know it, it’s almost time to pick up the kids from school. I’m halfway out the door before I remember to change my ripped pants. When I pull up to the curb to collect the kids, Fi’s teacher approaches my window holding one of the pretzel bags. “Hello,” I say, trying to sound cheerful and not like I’ve had one of the worst days of my life.
“Hello, Ms Fomai,” she says.
“It’s White,” I remind her.
“Ms White,” she says, frowning, “can you please make sure that Fi brings a class snack that isn’t stale?” She holds up the bag. “It’s past the sell by date and we couldn’t eat them, they were so bad.”
“I do apologise,” I murmur.
“Thank you. Have a good weekend,” she says, though her tone says the opposite of her words.
“Mummy, I’m hungry,” Fi whimpers.
“Me, too,” says Abe. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”
“No, we’ve got to get home. Your aunt Tiresa will be here soon to pick you up.” And then it hits me where the Gab got a hold of that old photo of me. “Tiresa, you pa’umutu.” I should have known it. Tiresa gave them the photo, and who knew what other bits of information, for ruining her engagement party. That is so typical of her.
“What’s a puhoomootoo?” asks Fi.
I pull away from the curb. “It’s a word you must never say in front of Mama Rose.”
•
The clock’s minute hand ticks by as I wait for Tiresa to pick up the kids for the weekend. At least now, instead of feeling like I’ve been punched, I burn with fury and the anticipation of confronting her on this mess she’s made.
To my dismay, it’s not Tiresa’s car I hear rev in the driveway - it’s Mika’s. “I do not need this right now,” I moan. And then he’s at the door and the kids are excited and jumping around.
“Dad, can we go to McDonald’s?” Abe asks.
“No, we’re going out for Chinese. Now get your stuff in the car and go jump on the trampoline or stay outside. I have to talk to your mum.”
Unlike when I try to hustle them out the door, the kids obey Mika immediately, stumbling over themselves to see who can get out first.
“Bella, how have you been?” Mika asks, moving over to the sofa and sitting down. “I haven’t seen you since the charity dinner. You looked fantastic, by the way.”
I flop down on the opposite side of the sofa and rub my temple. “Mika, I’ve had a really long, bad day, so please do me a favour and just tell me what you want and leave, okay? I just really need to be alone.” Alone so I can call Jae again. How he must hate me by now. That’ll teach him to get involved with a fat girl.
Mika looks concerned. “Bad day? What happened?”
I stop rubbing my temples. “Mika, really? You’re my ex-husband, not my confidant. I’m not about to pour out my heart to you and I’m sure Tiresa will thank me for it.”
Mika, instead of taking the hint and leaving, scoots closer. “Bella, Tiresa is why I’m here.”
“Oh, brother,” I groan and Mika grabs my hand.
“Bella, I’ve been in agony for months and I knew when I saw you at the dinner that I had to make right the terrible mistake I made five years ago. I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re ten times a better woman than Tiresa is. You’re strong without being pushy; you’re voluptuous without being vain. You gotta give me another chance.”
I roll my eyes. “Another chance to stab me in the back?”
Mika clutches my shoulders. “I’m leaving Tiresa. Let’s elope. This weekend. Right now. Let’s drop the kids off at Mama Rose’s and we’ll go anywhere you want to on our second honeymoon. Bella, think about it. No more worries about where the money’s coming from. No more living in this shack. You can spend your days writing to your heart’s content. I have a maid who will clean and do laundry. You won’t even have to cook. Think of how happy the kids will be to live in one home all the time. Just say yes and Tiresa will be gone tonight. Please, please say yes, Bella. I love you. You’re so sexy now; you’re…”
As Mika gushes, I consider his offer. Having a lawyer for a husband again might be useful if I want to sue the Gab for libel. Or at least threaten them if they say anything worse about me. A maid, a mansion, and a man: what is there not to love? Free from monetary woes, perhaps my writing will really take off. I can write from pleasure and not necessity. And with my new body, I now fit into Mika’s circle of acquaintances and business associates. I won’t be the cow on the couch any longer. And Tiresa: I could face her with a triumphant smile. I won Mika back. Not even my perfectly-proportioned sister can keep him away from me.
Those thoughts race through my mind in about ten seconds. It takes five seconds to remember Jae and how much he means to me, even if he is no longer my boyfriend.
“It’s like I told you on the phone after you got out of hospital. You’re so sexy now; you’re…”
“What are you talking about? You never called me.”
“Don’t you remember our conversation?”
“No.” I rise from the sofa. “I am sick and disgusted with you, Mika. You can’t decide which sister you want. If I go back to you, how long will it take for you to crawl back to Tiresa, spouting this same crap? Let me make one thing clear: I will never take back your sorry, two-timing ass. I feel sorry for Tiresa for putting up with you. Lord knows how she’s going to feel when you leave her for someone else, because you know you will. You’ve gotta upgrade to the latest version, the newest toy. Well, newsflash, Mika: I’m not the latest version and newest toy.”
Mika stands. “Bella, I told you how I felt about you on the phone. Why are you acting like we didn’t have that conversation? I love you.”
“What bloody conversation are you talking about?”
“The weekend you went away with Mr Fancy Pants.”
“How do you know about that?” I ask as the answer pops into my mind. “Tiresa.”
“Tiresa what?” Mika asks.
“The phone rang as I stepped into the shower but I fo
rgot about it. Tiresa must have answered it.”
Mika pales. Tiresa knows about everything. There is a hint of desperation in his voice as he tries to recoup his losses. “I don’t think of you as a toy. You are the mother of my children. I…”
“Need to come up with a new line, because that one’s overused,” I scoff. “’Mother of my children’-ha. You mean the woman you left two weeks after she had your second child? Yeah, that really makes me feel special. Like I said before, I’ve had a really bad day and you’ve just made it a thousand times worse. So get out.”
“Don’t do this, Bella. Don’t throw our lives away,” he pleads.
“I will be throwing my life away if I elope with you,” I say.
“ShyNSweet, I thought we had something.”
I gasp. “What did you say?”
Mika now looks sheepish. “I’m RoMANce, your online friend. I disguised myself so you would take a chance on getting to know the real me. And you do know the real me. Think of all the nights we stayed up chatting. Bella, you told me so many things about yourself, which I never knew. But now you know you can trust me. I was there for you. I’m still here for you. I want to spend the rest of my life staying up late and talking to you and getting to know you. I’m still your romance man, but you’ve grown into something more than someone who is shy and sweet. I mean, you are sweet, but you’re not shy. You’re passionate and that has lit a passion in me for you.” Mika lunges for me and wraps his arms around me so I can’t move. “Please say yes, baby.”
“Let me go, dammit!” I am beyond rage. Mika is RoMANce? I want to throw up, scream, kill him, and then start over again. I revealed my secret desires and wishes to MIKA? All that time I thought RoMANce was some overweight, shy guy in public who only let out his real self in anonymity online. I believed RoMANce really cared about me as a friend. How often did I look forward to our chats or was pleasantly surprised to find him online at just the right moment when I needed a listening ear? How often did I almost suggest that we meet for coffee, but held back, wanting him to ask me once he felt secure enough in himself? And all this time he was Mika?