Occasionally, they'd go for a run together, but Kevin mapped their route with painstaking care because God forbid they pass a bakery or hot dog vendor. "Naomi says it will take an entire year for my resistance to strengthen," Kevin said as they ran through a deserted industrial park at seven o'clock one Saturday morning. "Until then, I have to be really careful."
Emmaline went along with it, eating what Kevin ate, not buying anything that wasn't listed on the Naomi-approved list, not smuggling in Ben & Jerry's, no matter how much she missed it.
Kevin had taped Naomi cliches on the fridge, which made eating at home a guilt-riddled affair. Whatever you eat in private, you wear in public. Abs are made in the kitchen. Don't kill your workout with food. The question isn't can you, it's will you. Nothing tastes as good as being thin feels. Em had to dispute that last one. Ben & Jerry's definitely tasted better than being thin was. Not that she was thin. But she wasn't fat.
Not yet.
As Kevin lost weight, food became more seductive than ever to Emmaline. It was all she could think about. Time became measured in the hours until she could eat. She fell asleep thinking about food, and as soon as she was done with one meal, she started imagining the next.
While once she'd brought a yogurt and an apple for lunch, she now started eating a huge meal at work. Philly cheesesteaks and burgers and nachos, clam chowder and the Scrammy Hammy at Big Boy. She craved cherry pie, a Michigan specialty.
One day, she came home from work to find Kevin there, a rarity since he'd discovered the gym. "Hi, babe!" she said happily, dropping her bag on the floor.
"Hey, gorgeous," he said, hugging her close, and for a second, she felt such a surge of love and longing it nearly made her stagger. She hugged him back, noting that her hands could now touch. He really was melting away.
Suddenly, Kevin stepped back. "Are you trying to kill me?" he said.
"What?"
"You! You smell like...yes! You went to Ray's Red Hots today, didn't you?"
He made it sound as if she'd just kicked a baby panda in the stomach. "Guilty, Your Honor."
"It's not funny, Emmaline," he said, sounding like a sulky kindergartener. "You reek of Diablo Dogs."
"Well, I had two, Kevin. Okay? Sue me." The hot dog stand was an icon in Ann Arbor, and, back in the good old days, she and Kevin had stopped there often.
He glared at her, then grabbed his gym bag and left.
"Oh, for crying out loud, Kevin!" she yelled down the stairs. "I'm not on a diet! You are! I think I'm allowed to go out for lunch."
He didn't come home that night.
First time ever.
She didn't want to speculate about where he might be.
Instead, she went to the store and bought a pint of Ben & Jerry's and ate the entire thing. Peanut Brittle. It was flippin' delicious.
When Kevin came back the next night, they made up. Sort of.
By March, he'd lost seventy-seven pounds, and Emmaline noticed something one night as he dozed in the chair, exhausted from the fresh gym hell Naomi had invented for him.
Kevin was gorgeous.
Oh, she'd always thought he was good-looking. But now his face was emerging from the chubbiness of jowls and chins. He had beautiful cheekbones and a square jaw. His eyes, now closed, seemed bigger, his lashes a dark smudge on his cheeks.
If only she liked him the way she used to.
It had been a long time since they'd had fun. Or sex. Or fun sex. It's just a stage, her conscience told her. He's still your Kevin.
Except he wasn't.
Once, Kevin had been easygoing, funny, mellow and kind. These days, he was vain, obsessive and...mean. There was no other word for it.
He hated fat people. Stared in disgust. Clucked in disapproval. He also hated people who got gastric bypass. "Cheater," he said one night when they were watching the news about a person who'd lost three hundred pounds. "He'll gain it back. Health is like marriage. You can't cheat on it and expect it to work." One of Naomi's quotes.
"Speaking of marriage, hon," she began, but the phone rang, and it was Naomi, who was also watching the "cheater" on TV.
One day, when they were standing in line to get into a concert at the university, he saw a chubby little boy, about eight or nine years old. "You don't have to be this way," he said. "I was fat once, too."
"Kevin!" she admonished. "Stop it!"
"You're not doing him any favors, letting him eat junk," he said to the boy's mother, who gave him the finger.
"Honey, you can't be so judgmental," she told him later. "I know you just want to help, but that was mean."
"What's mean is his mother setting him up for diabetes," he said.
He had a point. But his point wasn't backed by kindness.
When Naomi gave him the green light to eat out in public, Emmaline almost cried with relief. Finally, she thought, they'd return to their regular lives. Sure, they were eating a lot healthier (except for her secret lunch binges). But not eating out or going to friends' houses for dinner...it was hard! Finally, she thought, they could be normal. Go out for dinner, see a movie. Talk.
That night, Em was thrilled. Wore a dress, did her makeup with care, left her hair down because Kevin liked it that way. The restaurant was French and romantic, candles flickering, their server soft-spoken and attractive.
"Would mademoiselle care for a drink?" he asked.
"I'll have a glass of pinot noir," she said. Kevin glanced at her, and she hoped he'd order one, too. He was edgy, poor thing, in a restaurant for the first time in months and months.
"And you, monsieur?"
From the table behind her, someone cleared her throat. Twice. Three times. Emmaline turned around and looked.
It was Naomi, her glittering eyes fixed on Kevin.
"Ice water," Kevin said tersely. "And don't bring any bread."
"Please," Emmaline added. She looked back at Naomi. "Hi. Want to join us?"
"You passed your first test, Kev," Naomi said, ignoring her. "You're doing great. What do you see on the menu that you can have?"
Em sighed.
Thus went dinner. Naomi would cough or hack at each wrong answer. Green salad? And what type of dressing would monsieur care for? (Hack.) No dressing? Very well. Grilled salmon? (Cough.) Make that haddock. Brussels sprouts (cough) no salt, no oil. No potatoes.
"I'll have what he's having." Em sighed. It wouldn't be fair to order the roasted duck with Gruyere bread pudding and butter-glazed asparagus. Forget the chocolate souffle that was already calling to her from the dessert menu. Anyway, she'd gained a few pounds over the winter, and her jeans had been a little tight last time she'd worn them. That being said, the woman at the next table was cooing over something cheesy and delicious smelling. Em's stomach rumbled.
Naomi came over and bent down to murmur to Kevin, her ass practically in Emmaline's face. "Look around, Kev," she said. "You wanna be like those heart attacks waiting to happen?"
Emmaline looked past Naomi's perfect ass. Didn't see anyone abnormal. Her eyes stopped on a middle-aged couple, normal enough in build. The server was bringing them dessert.
"One piece of cheesecake? Five hundred calories. Seventy grams of fat," Naomi said. "Picture your heart, Kev, slimed up with that shit, the muscles pumping slower and slower, clogged with cheesecake." Kevin stared as if hypnotized.
"That's not really how it works," Em murmured. They both ignored her.
"Champagne on the house," the server said to the older couple. "Happy anniversary, and thank you for sharing it with us. How many years?"
"Twenty-five," the woman answered, smiling. They were a nice-looking couple and clearly very happy together, holding hands, smiling.
"All those two have to do is get off their lard-asses and move and stop indulging themselves at every turn," Naomi went on. "But no. They're here instead, stuffing their fat faces--"
"Okay, thanks, Naomi! Nice seeing you," Emmaline interrupted.
"She's right, Em," Kevin said.
"See, that's the attitude that will keep you fat, Kevin. The attitude that will keep people staring at you, wondering why that lard-ass doesn't look in the mirror once in a while and see how repulsive--"
"Stop," Emmaline said. "Just... Naomi, Kevin and I are out to dinner, and I appreciate you helping him get healthy, but please. You're just being cruel."
"She's being honest," Kevin said hotly.
"Well, she's also being mean and nasty and hateful!" she snapped. "Who wants to live the way she does, in the gym all day long, never able to enjoy a meal, drinking those disgusting shakes! I'd rather be like them over there!" Em pointed to the couple. "They don't look like lard-asses to me!"
Whoops.
The restaurant had gone silent, and the anniversary couple sat frozen, the man with a forkful of cheesecake halfway to his mouth.
Naomi lifted an eyebrow and went back to her prison rations.
Kevin asked for the check. He didn't speak to her in the car, even when she tried to make light of the night. When they got home, he went into their bedroom and closed the door. A second later, she heard his voice as he talked on the phone. "Hey, Naomi. It's me."
*
WHEN KEVIN HAD lost a hundred pounds, he asked to speak with Emmaline.
"I think we should break up," he said calmly. "My life is taking a different direction, and I need to focus on that." He didn't meet her eyes.
"We're getting married in two months," she whispered.
Nothing she said made a difference. She tried not to cry and failed. Tried not to beg and failed there, too.
"You don't support me," he said, the accusation dripping like melted butter.
"I do support you," she said. "You know I do."
"No, you don't. You keep talking about the old me."
"I miss the old you! You were happier, Kevin! I'm not talking about being fat. You were funnier and happier and enjoyed everything more. Now all you do is go to the gym and count calories. That's no life!"
"Naomi says--"
"Please! Not another one of Naomi's famous quotes. Not when you're breaking up with me!" She started to sob. "Kevin, I've loved you since I was thirteen."
"You don't know me."
"How can you say that?"
"Em, you'll never understand. I'm finally someone I like. I'm sorry you don't, but Jesus! Don't tell me to go back."
"Can't you be healthy and still be sweet, Kevin? Because you were the nicest, best person I ever--"
"Yeah. I had to be, so people wouldn't hate me."
"No one hated you, Kevin. No one hates a person for being overweight."
He rolled his eyes. "Right. Look. I'm sorry, okay? But I can't be the true me while I'm with you. You're holding me back."
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "K-K-Kevin, p-p-please."
The stutter bolted upright, a delighted rictus grin on its face.
It was back. Kevin's fat was disappearing, but after all these clean years, her stutter was back.
Kevin looked at her, his face gentling. "I'm going to say this for your own good, Emmaline," he said tenderly. "You've gained weight this year. You might want to watch what you eat."
*
AND THAT WAS THAT. The Kevin she'd loved, who'd made being picked last for teams tolerable, who'd loved her when her words were stuck, was gone, shed like a snake skin.
He moved in with Naomi.
She wrote him a letter, unable to stop herself. It was filled with phrases such as "never stop loving you" and "don't understand" and "please give us another chance" and all those wretched, horrible, debasing phrases that your friends tell you never to say. He didn't answer.
When it seemed truly final, she went home to Malibu to break the news to her family.
"Kevin and I broke up," she said that night around the kitchen table with her parents (who no longer spoke directly to each other, yet still lived together) and Angela, who was visiting from Stanford, where she was getting her PhD in astrophysics.
"We figured that was coming," her mother said smoothly. "I accept you exactly as you are."
"And I love you unconditionally," Dad said, not to be outdone.
"Um...thanks," Emmaline said. "What do you mean?"
"We always knew," her father said.
"Knew what?"
Mom patted her hand. "That you're gay, honey."
Emmaline blinked. "No, I'm not."
"You don't need to pretend, Emmaline. Your father and I don't care what your sexual orientation is." She handed Em a tissue.
"Your mother and I had dinner with the Bateses the other night," Dad said. "They told us about Kevin's weight loss. It's wonderful, isn't it?" Good old Dad, ever clueless.
"I liked Kevin better when he was fat," Angela said. "And I'm so very sorry about this, Emmaline." Flawless Angela always said exactly the right thing.
Em went back to Ann Arbor, only to find that the paper was downsizing, and she was out of a job.
Nana had left Angela and Em her little house in her will. They'd planned on renting it, but now, it was a godsend.
The newspaper in Manningsport had one paid employee. Even if there was an opening, Em had her fill of covering town meetings and school concerts.
There was a job advertised for administrative assistant at the police department, which had all of one full-time cop and one part-timer. Levi Cooper, the chief, had been a year behind her in high school, a bit of a toughie, on the football team. All grown-up now, a veteran, somewhat grumpy and good at his job.
Em found that people confided in her as they called with their problems. "Oh, Emmaline, hi, honey. My husband is late coming home, and I hate to be neurotic, but you think Levi would swing by Suzette Minor's house and see if Bill's car is there? You know Bill. You don't? Well, he's not the most faithful dog on the sled team."
One day, a woman came into the station and introduced herself. Shelayne Schanta, looking to start a book club. Could she put up a notice on the bulletin board? "My fiance dumped me for my aunt, can you believe that?" she said. "Gotta find something to do in my free time."
"My fiance left me six months ago," Em heard herself saying.
"Did he cheat on you?"
He had claimed no, but even if hadn't slept with Naomi before he dumped her, he'd been emotionally unfaithful, putting all his trust and attention and time into that shrew. Also, People magazine's "Half Their Size" edition had just come out, and Em (and the rest of the world) got to hear what Kevin really thought of her. That was infidelity enough.
"I think so."
"Welcome to the club," Shelayne said. "The bitter betrayed."
The name stuck, and the Bitter Betrayeds became her refuge. There wasn't much reading, but there were martinis and venting. They hung out at O'Rourke's from time to time. Emmaline joined the town hockey league, having become a pretty good skater during high school. She kept up her grandmother's flower garden; the smell of lilacs and irises reminded her of happy memories.
As it had been in school, her attitude became her armor. If she was a tough, mouthy jock, then she wasn't a woman who'd been tossed over for a mean girl.
But God, she missed Kevin.
She kept a button-down shirt of his from when he'd been at his heaviest. It was massive; she could wrap it around herself twice. It reminded her of the man who would make her macaroni and cheese on the second day of her period each month. Who had cut out Dilbert cartoons for her all through high school. Who sent her the complete set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer when she had her appendix out.
Whenever she felt lonely, or whenever she felt that maybe the time had come to register on eCommitment or Match.com, she found herself staring into her closet at that old soft blue shirt. She'd take it out and sleep in it, and even though the old Kevin was no more, she couldn't help remembering the boy who'd befriended her when she'd had no one else.
CHAPTER EIGHT
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THE DRIVE FROM LAX to Rancho de la Luna was not going to be long enough.
Emmaline's plan was to get to the resort, check in as quickly as possible, then hide in her room, kill half a bottle of wine and fall asleep watching TV.
Jack fell asleep within seconds of getting into the passenger seat of the rental car, though he did run a hand over the hood as they got in. Because, yes, she'd rented a tricked-out Mustang convertible. She wasn't going to pull up at Rancho de la Luna in an economy car.
She pulled onto the 405, flipped off the driver who laid on his horn behind her and tried to unclench.
Jack didn't stir. His head was tipped back, blond hair shining in the sun. His sunglasses were on, and he looked like he belonged here in the land of the beautiful people. Faith had been right about her brother; he was a fantastic date. So far, anyway. Cheerful, reassuring, gorgeous. This wasn't a surprise as much as a concern, because Emmaline could definitely see herself becoming a slutty cliche and sleeping with her wedding date to prove she wasn't a dried-up, rejected hag.
Inglewood. Culver City. Santa Monica. The familiar names flashed past alongside the speeding cars. It was a bit of culture shock, driving on L.A. highways again, the sunlight glaring and the smell of exhaust all around her.
Yesterday, the five-year-old Cabrera triplets had come up to her in the park to play with Sarge, and they'd all ended up rolling around in the fresh snow and pretending to be snakes (Lucia's idea). Then all three kids climbed on Em and told her to be a pony, and she crawled around in the snow, whinnying, much to their delight (and Sarge's).
Twenty minutes in SoCal, and she was already homesick.
Relentless golden sunshine beat down. It was in the mid-sixties, maybe hotter here on the highway. She took the Santa Monica Freeway and headed for the Pacific Coast Highway.
Mom had told her a while ago that Kevin and Naomi had moved back to Malibu. That was before her parents had moved to Stanford to be closer to Angela.
Weird, picturing Kevin back here. In her mind, she saw the chubby, pale boy she'd first met, and a bittersweet ache swelled in her chest.
There was the ocean, glittering blue and calm. The scruffy hills of Southern California formed a wall on the eastern side of the road, the Pacific on the other.
"This is beautiful," Jack said, sitting up and taking off his sunglasses.
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