"We're glad for you," Dad said from the other phone (they always talked jointly).
"We're getting a divorce, by the way," Mom said. "But we'll be living together. Nothing will change for Angela. Or you, for that matter."
One day about a month later, she and Kevin were at his off-campus apartment, lying in his queen-size bed. He was quiet.
"Everything okay?" she asked.
After a long minute, he said, "You don't stutter anymore."
She didn't answer, not wanting to jinx it.
"It's a little weird," he said. "I don't know. We both had a...thing...when we first met. And now yours is gone."
"Well. You never know." She paused, feeling almost guilty. "I feel it there. Like it's lurking, waiting to come back."
He sighed. "Well. It's good, I guess."
It would've been nice, she thought later as she walked through the bitter wind to her dorm, if he'd been thrilled. After all, few knew better than Kevin how the stutter had paralyzed her, marked her, locked her in an invisible prison.
But she understood. He was afraid.
Kevin, you see, hadn't lost the thing that had made him an outcast. He was still fat. He was, in fact, obese. When she'd met him, he was perhaps thirty pounds overweight. He'd gained possibly fifty more pounds at Choate.
The weight kept on coming in college.
Though he never told her what he weighed, she guessed he was at least a hundred pounds above where he should be.
Maybe more.
They never talked about him losing it. With other people, Kevin cheerfully acknowledged that he was fat, or "a big guy." He loved food, loved to eat, and he didn't just eat junk food and pizza (though he didn't abstain from those, either). He'd cook for her, and, yes, his portion would be huge. But Em loved to eat, too, and the last thing she wanted to do was pass judgment or make him feel unattractive. Kevin knew he was heavy. It wasn't a secret.
Besides, she loved him. Truly was attracted to him. His dark eyes were so beautiful, his smile and laugh were totally infectious and he was a great kisser.
But as college passed and he started law school and continued to gain weight, she worried.
They both went home to Malibu for the holidays that year, and Kevin had to buy an extra seat on the plane. His face was fiery with embarrassment, but the thing was, he really did take up two seats.
He didn't speak the entire flight.
"I'm gonna join a gym when we get back," he said in the car.
"Great," she answered calmly. "I'll join, too, if you want. It'd be good for both of us."
He grunted.
And join they did. Kevin went once. Em went five times, then stopped, worried that it wasn't helping. Besides, she ran five miles a few times a week, even in the winter. As ever, she was a strapping woman; she'd topped out at five-ten and had muscles and an ass and some padding. Here in a normal state, her size ten (and sometimes twelve) was deemed quite average. In Malibu, the size "Large" didn't fit her.
Kevin graduated from law school and accepted a very decent offer from a big firm. They both stayed in Ann Arbor, that lovely little city. Em had a pleasant job at a newspaper, trying to put her English major to work by writing obituaries, checking movie schedules and, later, doing some features.
It was oddly thrilling to be able to order a drink and pay bills, talk about coworkers and go shopping for a couch. Both of them liked their jobs and got promoted, moved to a nicer apartment and seemed well on their way to becoming full-fledged adults.
Kevin proposed at an Italian restaurant over eggplant parm and garlic bread, getting down on one knee and presenting her the ring. She said yes instantly and kissed him. Had to give him a hand getting up, but she covered well, pulling him into a hug. The other restaurant patrons clapped politely, but Em saw a few puzzled looks.
He's wonderful, you jerks, she thought even as she smiled. He's the sweetest man I've ever known.
And he was.
He was also lazy, unhealthy and could easily leave her a widow.
So Emmaline made the mistake that changed her life.
She joined SweatWorld, the gym nearest their apartment. She'd never liked gyms, preferring to run. But Kevin hated running (not that he'd tried it in the past decade).
So SweatWorld it was, one of those horrible places with too-loud music and mirrors and complicated machines.
Her plan was to learn what she could and then gently suggest that he give it a try, using the wedding as motivation. They'd set their wedding date for June, and it was August now. Almost a year to get healthy, and then to stay healthy, because Emmaline had loved this guy since she was in eighth grade, and she wasn't about to lose him.
But boy, she hated going to the gym. All that sweat, the smell of bleach-soaked wipes that people used to swab down their machines, the clack of weights and the grunts of humans, the whirring of spin class, the shouts of the staff.
There was one woman in particular Emmaline avoided. A hard-muscled trainer named Naomi Norman who stared as Em ran on the treadmill. Naomi's modus operandi was to scream at her clients, using words of encouragement such as, "Don't be such a fucking pussy! Get your fat ass in gear!"
Rumor had it that Naomi had been a marine, a convict, a gym teacher and raised by wolves. All seemed true. Em did her best to pretend to be in the zone, earbuds firmly in place. When she did ask a SweatWorld employee for help with a machine, she made sure it was one of the nice people.
After a month, Em broached the idea of Kevin coming with her, and she used Naomi. "Babe, you have to come with me. You know that woman on The Biggest Loser?"
"Not really, no," Kevin said, not looking up from the paper.
"Well, Naomi is like her, except with very large hemorrhoids. She's evil. I'm scared of her."
"So find another gym." He got up to pour more coffee (adding half-and-half, not the nonfat creamer she'd bought).
"Well, this one's two blocks from here. You should come one day, honey. To protect me from Naomi."
He smiled at that.
It was a start.
She knew Kevin didn't like being overweight. She knew his blood pressure and cholesterol were high. She also knew he was aware of how to lose weight and why he should.
And she knew that her telling him to do it wasn't going to do the trick.
A week or two later, on a quiet Sunday morning, she bit the bullet. They were finishing breakfast (pancakes and bacon...a lot of bacon). "Hon, why don't you come to the gym with me today?"
"I'm really busy," he answered instantly. And it was true; his job as a corporate tax attorney kept him at the firm till late in the evening, and he did work at least for a few hours each weekend.
She covered his hand with hers. "Kev, I love you. You know that. And I'm so excited to be married and have kids and all that good stuff. But I want us to have a long and happy life, and...well...I'm worried that we won't if you don't get healthier."
She knew not to use words like diet or portion control or exercise more and the like. Focus on health and love, the literature had said. She'd read dozens of articles on the subject. Obesity interventions, they called them, and she cringed a little at the phrase.
Kevin looked at her for a long minute. There was hurt in his eyes, and her own welled with tears.
"I just don't want anything bad to happen to you, babe," she whispered.
"I could get hit by a bus crossing the street," he said, a defensive edge creeping into his voice.
"I know. So could I. But--"
"Fine. I'll go."
"Really? That's great!"
"I'm not making any promises. I'll go once."
"Thank you." She kissed him, and he smiled. Her sweet Kevin, the nicest guy in the world. She took him to bed first, to show him how she felt. Yes, he was a big man, but she felt so safe with him, her head on his chest afterward, his heavy arm around her.
They had to stop to buy gym shorts that fit, and Emmaline was horrified at how big they were. The weight had cre
pt on, ten pounds here, another ten there, and somehow or another, Kevin had become immense.
He was quiet on the way to the gym. "You okay?" she asked.
"I'm disgusting."
"Oh, Kevin! You're not!" She squeezed his arm. "Honey, you have a big frame, and, yeah, you're heavy. But we're doing something about it. Okay?"
He gave a dejected nod.
Em held the door for him, chattering away, hoping to God Naomi wasn't there. Her goal was just to get him to walk a little on one of the treadmills, make it fun, chat about the wedding, try to keep him distracted, because Kevin hated exercise (obviously). The more painless this could be, the better it could work.
Kevin registered as Em's guest, signing the waiver they made people sign if they topped the scales at more than 30 percent of their ideal weight.
Kevin weighed almost twice what he should, the skinny, muscular man with bleached teeth told them. His ideal body weight was 188; he weighed 354.
"It's fantastic that you're here," the man said. "Congratulations."
Kevin mumbled in response. He didn't make eye contact with Em as they walked to the treadmills, past the weight machines and the muscle-heads screaming with exertion. Kevin was out of breath by the time they got there.
He was dying inside, Em knew. She smiled at him and set the treadmill at the lowest speed. Set hers at the same.
"This was probably the hardest part," she said in a low voice. "Just walking in the doors."
Kevin didn't answer. He bumped up the speed a little higher and started jogging.
Em knew he wouldn't be able to keep that up. Too much, too soon.
Sure enough, he had to lower the speed a minute later. She pretended not to notice and kept walking, though if she were alone, she'd be running at her usual seven miles an hour.
Then she saw Naomi.
The trainer was wearing microshorts and a sports bra. Her arms curved with perfectly defined, elegant muscle, and her stomach was flat and lean but not ripped. Long, tanned, beautiful legs. Her body was perfect. Not unappealingly muscular...just perfect. There was no other word for it.
And evil personified, because her face changed as her gaze stopped on Kevin. Her hands went to her hips, and she sauntered over, slowly, her eyes narrowing.
"What are you doing in my gym?" she asked Kevin, her voice just shy of yelling. "Really. What the fuck are you doing in my gym?"
All around them, people grew quiet.
"How dare you," Emmaline said. "Back off, Naomi."
"Is this your man? Are you here to be supportive? Huh?"
Kevin's face flushed even redder.
"As a matter of fact, yes," Emmaline bit out. "He's here. He's taken the first step, so shut up."
"Oh, how sweet." Naomi sneered. "Guess she has the balls in the family, huh, fatty?"
It was nearly dead silent now.
"I'm reporting you," Em said. "You can't talk to us this way."
"Is that right? We'll see, won't we?"
"Be quiet," Kevin muttered.
"Yeah," Em echoed. "Shut up, Naomi."
"I was talking to you," he said.
Emmaline stopped walking, then jerked to a run to avoid being thrown off the treadmill.
"You're disgusting," Naomi said, her eyes on Kevin. "You know how much fat you're carrying right now? Slick, yellow, nasty-ass slabs of fat? Oh, wait, you have a big frame, right? You're a big guy. Is that what you tell people? Is that what she tells you? You have a slow metabolism? Thyroid problem? Bullshit."
"I do have a thyroid problem," he mumbled.
"Right. You're a fat, lazy food addict, and you make me sick. You've done this to yourself. You made yourself disgusting."
"I have an eating disorder," Kevin said, his voice meek.
"I have an eating disorder," she mimicked. "No, you don't. You have no self-control, no self-respect, and you're lying to yourself. I bet she lies to you, too. 'I love you just the way you are, honey!' Right?" Naomi looked around at the other gym members, who were unabashedly staring. "Well, guess what? Everyone here looks at you and thinks you're grotesque. No one cares about your great sense of humor and beautiful mind."
"That's not true! Stop it!" Emmaline yelped.
"Shut up," Kevin ground out.
He had never said anything like that to her. Ever.
Naomi reached over and pushed the stop button on Kevin's treadmill. He was drenched in sweat; the seven minutes they'd spent walking just now was more exercise than he'd had in a long time.
"Get out," she said. "Go home, lard-ass. Order a pizza. Bet you have Domino's on speed dial."
Just last night, Em had made a big salad with grilled chicken; Kevin had a huge serving, then called for a pizza. Extra cheese.
Now he just stood there, his head hanging.
"You want to lose weight, lard-ass? It's not gonna happen from climbing on a treadmill twice a week. You think just walking in this door is enough? It's not. You may as well not even try."
"Jesus," Emmaline breathed. "Honey, let's go. There are plenty of other--"
"What do I have to do?" Kevin asked.
Naomi smiled. "Every fucking thing I say."
It went against all the literature. It went against everything her parents had said. Bullying wasn't supposed to work. Humiliation wasn't supposed to motivate.
Kevin signed up for a six-month membership with two hours of personal training a day.
"Why?" Emmaline asked as they went to the car. "I don't get it, Kevin."
"She told me the truth," he said. He wouldn't look at her.
When they got home, he went straight to the bathroom and turned on the shower. A minute later, she heard him crying. It broke her heart, but he wouldn't unlock the door when she knocked.
He didn't eat for the rest of the day.
The next day, he wasn't there when she got home from work. She texted him; he didn't answer. Around nine, he came in, sweaty and red-faced, a stiff new SweatWorld gym bag in his hand.
"Hey!" she said. "How was it?"
"Good."
"Um...honey, I'm so glad you're doing this, but do you think Naomi is the best person to--"
"Yeah. I do. Thanks."
Three days later, he came home from the gym with a list in his hand and, without further ado, opened their cupboards and began tossing everything into the trash, making disgusted noises as he read labels.
"What are you doing?" she asked, retrieving a can of chicken stock. "Come on! That's not even opened!"
"It's poison," he said. "Look at the sodium count." He gave her a condemning look. She did the grocery shopping, after all. He picked up a packet of pad thai sauce and tossed it in the trash.
"Okay, hon, we can donate this to the food pantry. But can you tell me what's going on?" He tossed an unopened box of Special K, which she snatched. She loved cereal. "Are we going gluten-free or something?"
"Yeah. And sugar-free and dairy-free."
"What's left?" she asked, trying to make a joke.
He turned on her. "Do you think this is funny? Look at me. I'm sickening."
"No, Kevin, you're not."
He rolled his eyes and went back to the purge.
That weekend, he was so sore he could barely put on his pants. But he went to the gym, anyway. "Naomi says pain is weakness leaving the body," he told her.
She went with him, but Naomi ignored her, preferring instead to screech at Kevin, calling him lazy, a quitter, a slug. Twice Em had to go to the ladies' room to cry.
"I think it would be best if you and I went to the gym at different times," he told her on the way home. "I appreciate the support, but I need to focus."
"But...well, sure. Whatever you need, babe. Whatever works."
"Thanks," he said, squeezing her hand.
Naomi took Kevin grocery shopping, and when Em saw the receipt, she yelped; two bags of gluten-free, dairy-free, sugar-free, organic food cost more than she spent in a month.
All through the fall, he kept it up. He at
e only lean protein and hard-to-digest vegetables and lumpy shakes made from green powder and soy milk. Quinoa and flax and wheatgrass. Egg-white omelets and raw broccoli, grilled fish and red peppers. He did fasts and cleanses and purges. The bathroom smelled ghastly. His sex drive dropped.
And all he could talk about was working out. "Naomi says" became the two words that began most of his sentences. Caloric load, adipose, anaerobic, layered eating... It was all they ever talked about. Well. All Kevin ever talked about.
He did, however, start to lose weight.
Nine pounds the first month. Eleven the second. In December, they had a big fight over her wanting to bake Christmas cookies to send to her parents and Angela. Kevin said they "couldn't afford the risk" of her baking something not in his diet plan.
She baked the cookies anyway when he was at work, boxed them up, sealed them with packing tape and addressed them, then went for a run. When she came home, she found Angela's package ripped open and a furious Kevin. He'd eaten at least a dozen cookies, he said, and it was her fault. She threw temptation in his path when he was at a vulnerable point, and how was that being supportive?
"See, I thought I was baking cookies for my family," Em said frostily. "I didn't realize I was such a temptress."
"Laugh it up. You'll be crying over my coffin if you can't support me."
"I do support you! And, my God, I'm so sick of that word!"
"I have to go to the gym," he said with a martyred air. "And I'll have to fast now for three days. Please have the rest of the cookies removed from our apartment when I get back."
"For God's sake," she muttered. "Fine." She sighed, then hugged him. "I'm sorry. I love you, and I'm really proud of you, okay? I just didn't realize I wasn't supposed to bake for anyone anymore."
"I'm an addict," he said. "Please be more respectful of my issues."
He only lost four pounds that month. Her fault again, he said, for bringing him to her office party and letting Angela and her mother make Christmas breakfast.
The gym became his favorite place. Those long hours at the law firm weren't as carved in stone as they'd seemed. In fact, the partners were all thrilled he was taking better care of himself.
So was Emmaline.
Except she barely saw him anymore, and, when she did, all he could talk about was food and exercise.
They couldn't go out to eat with friends because the temptation was too great. If Emmaline went out with friends from college or coworkers, Kevin asked her not to bring home the leftovers. They couldn't go to the movies. Night after night, they stayed home, Kevin falling asleep in the chair, exhausted from his workout.
In Your Dreams Page 9