The Lighter Side of Large (38 page)

Sands and I glance at one another and smile. It is good to see Riyaan accepting his crazy mother. “Give her some time, Riyaan,” I say. “Sometimes it takes a while to accept the best.”

Riyaan tears up. “I know, I know. That’s why I’ve drawn up some goals for Cat to work toward to help her return to regular society. I just hope she agrees to them.” He wipes his eyes as Cat sits next to him. “How are you today?” he inquires.

Cat looks at each of us. “Why is everyone smiling? I don’t trust it when everyone’s happy.”

“Goals!” I snap my fingers, suddenly brightening.

Sands looks at me sideways. “What is this, a football match?”

“No,” I say. “I can’t believe I forgot about my goals.” I grab my purse and dig through it, pushing the monstrous bunch of keys out of the way to reach the bottom. My purse always seems bigger when I can’t find what I’m looking for. My fingers eventually close around a folded piece of paper. “Ta-da!” I announce, holding the paper aloft. “My nine month goals. I’ve got to mark one off -well,” I unfold the paper and look at Sands’ handwriting, “one and a half.” I dig through my purse again for a pen and mark through the last goal and the first half of the first goal. “Just two and a half to go. Not bad for a few months’ work. And best of all is that I’m not doing this to show up Tiresa and Mika anymore. I’m doing it because, as you said,” I nod to Sands, “I deserve the best.”

Bella’s 9 MONTH GOALS

1. To lose weight and achieve the perfect body

2. To embark on a successful career

3. To be financially stable

4. To find a good man

•

It’s Friday afternoon and Jae, the kids, and I are singing, “Bingo” at the top of our lungs. We’re cruising along the highway, on our way to Nelson Parks National Forest for a three-day weekend at Go 4 It, and we’ve been singing non-stop since we left Nelson.

“Okay, that’s enough singing for now,” I turn in my seat and laugh breathlessly at the kids when we finish the song.

“Aw, Mum, one more song,” Abe begs.

“Nope,” I shake my head. They reach for their game devices; Abe also puts in earbuds and turns on his iPod.

I turn back around and smile to myself that I can turn around in a vehicle. Will I ever get used to being smaller? I hope not. The sensations of buying smaller clothes, of not having my hips overhang chairs, and not having to squeeze through narrow aisles feels great.

“Ms White, how are you?” Jae is finally able to ask now that the kids are quiet.

“I am doing great,” I reply.

“Oh? What’s up?” Jae asks, placing his hand on my leg.

A shiver of excitement runs through me, but turns into a shudder of anxiety. Do I mention the AmandaE incident to Jae, who was there but doesn’t know I know he was there? How will he react? I may find out why he was there, which means one less secret about him. Yet I had been so insulted, so humiliated - did I want him in on my secret? We are dating, though. If there is a good time to share secrets, it’s now.

“Well,” I start, “I took care of an issue which has bothered me for a few months now, and it feels great to get it off my chest.”

“What was it?” he inquires.

I sigh, unsure of his reaction and hesitant to bring up the humiliating scene which he witnessed. “Remember a few months ago when Riyaan started boycotting that store where I was treated rudely?”

“And Cat wanted to set their dumpster on fire,” Jae nods.

“Which she never did, by the way. Anyway, the whole reason I went into AmandaE was to avoid running into someone. But while I was in there, the salespeople treated me like garbage because of my weight. So I went back last week and gave the manager a piece of my mind, and then I wrote an editorial and submitted it to the Post and Courier. I got a call from both op-ed editors and they said they were printing it in both Sunday editions. Isn’t that exciting? I haven’t had anything published since college. But I still need to write to the president of AmandaE, as you suggested, but I’ve been so busy this past week, I haven’t had a chance to. I’m thinking of sending them a copy of the editorial after it comes out along with a letter of complaint.”

Jae keeps his eyes on the road. His next words surprise me. “I wish you had told me about this earlier.”

“Why?” I ask. “What could you do?”

His hand suddenly feels very light on my leg. “I may have been able to help sort it out.”

Now that is surprising. Just what is his connection with AmandaE stores? “It’s okay. I don’t need a man fighting my battles for me. This is one I need to fight alone.”

“Fight your battles?” he echoes. “
Is
this a battle?”

“Well, yes, it is,” I defend. “They discriminated against me because of my weight and I’m not letting them get away with it. The ultimate goal of my article is to raise awareness of the prejudice, which obese people face. I’m not calling for a boycott of AmandaE stores or anything like that. I just refuse to shop there until they issue an apology and show some compassion and tolerance for all people.”

“So if the president apologises, you’ll be satisfied?” Jae asks, sounding skeptical.

I’m really taken aback by his tone and attitude. He must be more connected with the stores than I suspect. “I guess so,” I say. “Is there something wrong? Something you want to tell me?”
Like why you were at the store and why you aren’t saying you were there and heard everything?

Jae doesn’t reply right away. He seems deep in thought. “No, it’s just that . . . being in business, an accusation of discrimination can be really bad. Not that I condone how you were treated. It’s just that, well, why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I guess maybe because I had Riyaan and Sands supporting me that, well, I didn’t feel compelled to tell you about it. There are things in your life which you don’t feel compelled to tell me about, isn’t there?”
There’s your opening, Jae. I can’t make it any easier for you to spill the beans.

Jae sighs and seems to recover. He pats my leg. “Never mind. I’m glad you stuck up for yourself. But I am willing to fight battles with you, if you ever need a knight in shining armour. Or at least a squire or pageboy.”

I don’t push the issue. Jae is uncomfortable about something and I don’t want to ruin the weekend. Instead, I try to look on the positive side. “I can always use a handsome knight,” I reply. “And thank you for wanting to stick up for me.”

Jae smiles at me and my heart melts. “Did you bring your sketch book?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Yes, sir,” I reply, patting the bag at my feet. “I am ready to draw while you three get adventurous.” I still wasn’t up for a lot of physical activity, but I did need to sketch some new caricatures for my blog.

“Good,” Jae nods. “We’re going to have a fun weekend.””Agreed,” I smile.
At least we agree on that.

•

For the rest of the weekend, Jae seems somewhat reserved. On the outside, he smiles and laughs and seems to enjoy taking Abe and Fi on what they call “wild adventures” while I watch from the sidelines or stay at the store chatting up Chuck. But there is something wrong, I can tell. He barely talks to me.

It’s no big deal, one half of my brain insists, but the other half doesn’t buy it.
What if he is having second thoughts about our relationship and wants to break up? My fragile heart can’t handle that.

On the drive home Monday afternoon he turns to me. “Bella,” he says, checking the rear view mirror. The kids are engrossed in their games and music in the back seat. “I should tell you something.”

“What’s that?” I ask, with a sinking heart. He sounds so serious. Just then my phone rings. I grab it out of my purse, inadvertently tossing my keys onto the floor of the Jeep with a loud jangle. “Hang on-not a number I recognize. Wonder who it is. Hello?” I say.

Jae turns back to the road while I talk. His shoulders a slump. Something is dreadfully wrong.

As I listen to the voice at the other end of the phone I flash a huge grin at Jae. It’s great news. After a final goodbye, I clap my phone shut and pump a fist in the air. “Yes!” I squeal.

“What is it?” He inquires.

“I can’t believe it. That was Channel 11. They’re affiliated with the Post and they say their message boards are flooded with people wanting to know more about my editorial, and so they want to interview me on TV this Thursday during their morning program. Can you believe it?”

“Really?” Jae asks, dumbfounded.

“I can’t believe it. My little editorial gets in the paper and now I’m going on television? This is incredible.”

“What are they going to ask you?” Jae asks.

“They’re going to send me some talking points. They want to know more about what happened at the store and my fight against obesity discrimination. I can’t wait to tell the gang. Oh my, what should I wear? No loud patterns, right? Maybe my red top? Though it’s baggy now. I need to go shopping. But not at AmandaE, ha-ha. Jae, this is so exciting!” I grip his arm in delight and lean over to kiss him on the cheek.

“It is exciting,” Jae agrees tonelessly. “I’m happy your column got so many readers.” I am so excited it more than makes up for his lack of enthusiasm.

I practically dance in my seat. “Do you mind stopping at a grocery store on the way to my house? I want to pick up both papers. I hope they haven’t sold out. I can’t believe it! I haven’t published anything since college-well, aside from my blog for all its twenty-four followers. But I mean be really published. I hope they used the cartoon I sent with the article. Jae, this is fantastic.”

“Yeah,” Jae agrees. “Bella, about your article. There’s something I need to tell you.” I stop wiggling for a moment and give him my full attention. “Babe, I,” he pauses and sighs. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, but you know that other business of mine?”

“Marketing in fashion, yes?” I encourage.

“Well, it’s more than marketing. I’m…” he keeps his eyes glued to the highway. Just then my phone rings again.

“Sorry,” I apologize, looking at my phone. “It’s Sands. Do you mind?”

“No,” he shakes his head.

“Hello, Sands,” I say, without giving her a moment to talk. “Guess what? I’m going to be interviewed in television about my article. Seriously!”

“You’re kidding,” Sands squeals on the other end.

“No, I’m not. I just got a call from Channel 11 and they want me on their morning show on Thursday.”

“Wow!”

“They said the Post’s message board is flooded because of all the feedback.”

“What in heaven’s name are you going to say?” she laughs. “I hope you don’t get camera shy.”

“I don’t know,” I reply. “I’ll probably talk about what happened at the store and then bring up discrimination against the overweight. They’re going to send me some talking points.”

“And you can use the coverage to promote your blog.”

“I know!” I agree. “Free advertising for my blog; negative campaign for AmandaE, ha-ha!”

After the conversation with Sands ends, I turn back to Jae but he is unwilling to return to what he wanted to tell me earlier. I am in no hurry to be potentially dumped so I let it go. Basking in my new found success is much better. For a moment, it masks the growing feeling in my gut that is equivalent to the realisation one feels when bungee jumping without a cord.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“If you don’t respect yourself, who will? If you don’t have confidence in yourself, who will?.”

FROM BELLA’S BLOG
http://www.thelightersideoflarge.com/ch22

The production assistant sticks her hand up the front of my blouse, clipping the microphone onto my collar. Our sudden level of intimacy embarrasses me but she acts like it’s no big deal. She does this everyday.

But it’s not everyday I am on television and my nerves are fluttering. “Are you nervous?” asks Dad, who has come with me to the studio for support and because I am driving him to chemotherapy after the interview, which is only supposed to last two minutes.

“Yes,” I say.

“You’ll do fine. Take a deep breath, relax, and be yourself.”

“Ms White, are you ready?” asks another production assistant with a clipboard.

“Go get ‘em, kiddo,” Dad says as I follow the Dad into the studio. The news anchors are behind a high desk, reading the teleprompter. A burst of music plays and a light turns green above our heads.

“This is a commercial break,” the Dad explains, leading me to the desk and gesturing to a high chair. The news anchors, Sam Martin and Haley Hagen, greet me and we chit-chat for a minute before the Dad signals that we have ten seconds until we’re back on the air. Taking Pa’s advice, I take a few deeps breaths to calm myself. It doesn’t work.