Conversations With the Fat Girl (18 page)

"Thanks again." I wave.

"No problem. See you later?" Domenic follows his grandmother to the car.

"Absolutely!" I yell, just that much louder than I should.

He did everything right today. And for once I didn't seem to mess it up.

I watch them drive away, lock up the house, return the moving truck, and

head over to the dog emporium. Solo is incensed. I have left her there

the entire day. She wants me to pay for it. I look at Solo and decide to

go ahead and sign her up for obedience classes even though it's money I

can ill afford. I nervously babble on about her genetics and how she's

always been nervous. The woman behind the counter winces as I fill out

the necessary papers and pay the tuition. She then nods and tells me we

need to come in for an evaluation first. I schedule a time and walk to

the car feeling like a proud and responsible pet owner.

I drive home and don't know what to feel first. Peregrine is right. I

drop the key on my filing cabinet that sits right next to the door. Solo

is wandering around among the boxes smelling the old scents. I wish I

could just talk to Domenic about that night. Ask him what the hidden

track means. Ask him what he was thinking bringing another girl to

Peregrine's party. Ask him to be honest. I feel like so much of my life

is spent hiding what I really feel. That's an exact quote from

Peregrine. I hate that she's right. I hate that even as she stared in a

bathroom mirror think-

147 Conversations with the Fat Girl141

ing up trivia questions about herself-she hit the nail on the head about

my entire life.

Why can't I just thank Domenic and, in a breezy tone, ask him if he'd

like to see a movie. Or ask if I could take him to dinner as a

thank-you. Maybe I can make that a goal for this week.

I need my best friend. I want to tell her all about Domenic, the guy who

just sounded fine to her. I put in a call to Washington, DC. The machine

picks up.

"Hey, Olivia . . . it's meeee . . ." No one answers. I keep talking into

the answering machine.

"Well, I am officially moved. I thought I would give you my new number .

. ."

"Hello? Hello?" It's not Olivia.

"Hello?" I question.

"It's Gwen! Where are you? This is Maggie, right?" There's that

tumbleweed again. I can hear the saloon door swinging behind me as I

reach for my six-shooter.

"Yeah, where's Olivia?"

"Oh, she's here. We're all here. Girl, you are missing out. Olivia?

Olivia? You want to talk to Maggie?" Does she want to talk to me? Who

the hell is she? Gwen puts her hand over the receiver and I hear talking

and laughing. I should just hang up.

"Is this Maggie?" It's still not Olivia.

"Who's this?" How many people are going to get on this phone before the

actual person I called is able to speak to me?

"This is Shawna. Shawna Moss. Olivia works in the office next to me. Oh

my God, she does sounds exactly like Olivia. Olivia? Olivia? She sounds

just like you!" Shawna Moss drops the phone in a fit of laughter. I wait

with my head in my hands.

"What did I tell you, girl! You are missing out. We have champagne and

it is flowwwing!" Gwen toasts the receiver.

148 142Liza Palmer

"Hey, Gwen?"

"Yeah? What is it, girl?"

"Hey, can you put Olivia on the phone, please?" Girl?

"Oh. Sure. But you are missing out. Oh, and by the by, we chose the

Bellagio in Las Vegas for the bridal shower. We're planning on tons of

shopping." There are gales of laughter in the background. Gwen

continues, "Can you make the reservations? Olivia and I in one room.

Shawna, Hannah, and Panchali will share another. I hear you're bringing

your sister?"

"Kate?"

"Whatever. You can stay with her. Can you make the reservations?"

"Yeah. Can I talk to Olivia now?" She sets the phone down, and once

again there is distant laughing and talking.

"What up, girl?" It's finally Olivia.

"Hey" I relax.

"Is everything okay? Everyone can't wait to meet you. I can't believe

you couldn't make it."

"I just want to give you my new number."

"Oh, just call back and leave it on the machine." There is an explosion

of laughter in the background. "Hannah? Hannah? What the fuck are you

doing? Gwen! You get that girl under control. Shit, Maggie, I've got to

go." I hear Olivia swigging her champagne.

"Oh, okay" Should I have gone out to DC?

"Call back and leave your new number, kay, and can you make those

reservations? Congratulations on the move. Talk to you later." Olivia

hangs up. She might as well have said, Dismissed. I sit there among my

thirty-six boxes, wringing my hands. Paralyzed by confusion.

I stop staring off into space and find my sheets in a box marked KITCHEN

UTENSILS. I make my bed and set out all of my

149 sundries in the bathroom, the brush and the toothbrush trying to

create some kind of homey feeling. I look in the mirror of the medicine

cabinet and smooth on my moisturizer. I stare some more. I shut the

light off and hear Solo jumping on the bed. She's ready for bed and is

finally calming down. I'll make the reservations for the bridal shower

tomorrow.

150

Texas Steven

T he alarm has been going off for twenty-two minutes. It's amazing the

math you can do on such depleted brain capacity. It is now 9:47 a.m. I

have to be at work by 10 a.m. I should have left two minutes ago. I

brush my teeth and throw my hair, once again, into a ponytail. I'll

stick with the glasses today and forgo the extra mile with my contact

lenses. Some days you're Superman and some days you're Clark Kent.

"Hey there, Maggie." Cole's voice is soft.

"Hey" I rush past him and scoot to the back room for an apron and a peek

at the schedule so I can plan my invitation to dinner with Domenic.

Christina is bending over the sink washing her newest batch of dirty dishes.

"What happened to you the other night? At Peregrine's party, you know?

On Thursday?" Christina asks.

"Yeah, I know which night and which event. I went home." "You were taken

home . . . what's, like, up with you?" Christina inches up her pants.

"Nothing. What's up with you?" A little reverse psychology and she'll be

talking about herself in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . .

151 "I met this guy over at this frozen yogurt place in Old Town the

other night, well, it was like Thursday night. Funny, huh? We left the

party pretty much right after you did. It was pretty fun, but then it

wasn't, so we decided to leave, you know?"

"You guys left right after me?" I ask.

"Erin stayed, but me and Cheyenne left. That's where we met up with

these guys at the yogurt place. It was perfect because there were like

two of them and like two of us. It totally worked out."

"Erin stayed?"

"Her and Domenic totally hit it off. Which is cool, but I think Cheyenne

might have liked him first. I'm not sure Erin really should have gone

for him, you know? Anyways, she, like, waited around for him, and . . .

well, you know, he never came back."

"Cheyenne liked him first?" I ask.

"Oh, yeah. She met him the other day out in front. You know, of the

coffeehouse?" Christina points toward the front of the coffeehouse. She

waits for me to acknowledge. I nod. She continues, "She thought he was

cool. He's not all that hot, so I don't know." Christina still uses the

word hot. She tends to drag the o out like a Canadian adolescent.

"Yeah, he's not that . . . hot."

"I guess Domenic and Erin went out again last night." "Last night?"

"Yeah, Erin called me first thing. She couldn't call Cheyenne, could she?"

"No. No, she sure couldn't. I'd better get out there, you know Cole." My

stomach lurches.

The rest of the day is a blur of downward spiraling and knocking my head

against any hard surface. How could I have thought for one instant that

Domenic would actually be inter-

152 146Liza Palmer

ested in me? This is classic Maggie-falling so hard and falling so fast

and never asking any serious questions. It's me on the monkey bars

again. I jump from an offhand glance in my direction to marriage and

babies. I had convinced myself that Domenic had a "nervous energy"

around me. Then I ran with the "nervous energy" idea and concocted whole

scenarios about him liking me and the fantasy was born. In reality, he's

dating this Erin girl and we're just friends . . . again.

I should be spending my time finding someone more suitable for me.

Someone more mature and ready to be in an adult relationship. Someone

who is not already dating shredded-wheat-haired girls named Erin.

Texas Steven.

I could be spontaneous and call him right now, out of the blue. I'll

show Olivia and her fantasy theory and Domenic and his misleading

nervous energy. It's been months since we spoke, and Steven called me

last. Why didn't I think of this before? I don't care what Kate says

about Steven being a loser; I just don't want to be waiting around when

Domenic and Erin send out their wedding invitations.

On the way home from work, I dig my cell phone out of the bottom of my

purse. The battery is dead as usual. Why do I even have one of these

things? I find the charger, plug the lifeless phone into the power

outlet, and scroll through the saved phone numbers to find Texas

Steven's. Ahh, that's why. A cell phone really is just an expensive

address book.

What's the worst that can happen? I'll have a harmless dinner or a

meaningless drink with an old friend. No, the worst that can happen is I

call this number and leave a funny, heartwarming message and never, ever

get a call back. He would just never get around to it. Okay, back to the

best that can happen. Sparks. Fireworks. Exploration. Slow dancing with

my head on

153 Conversations with the Fat Girl147

his chest in the city hall gardens under strands and strands of Italian

cafe lights.

"Hello?" Steven answers quickly

"Steven? It's Maggie." I hold the cell phone to my ear with my shoulder

as I park in my assigned space.

"Heeeeeeyyyyy." His voice is warm and happy. That twang makes my knees

weak every time.

"What have you been doing with yourself these days?" Just being breezy

"I started another internship. This one is at a production office over

in LA. Nothing big. What about you?"

"1 just moved into a fabulous little cottage," I say, fumbling with the

key to the front door.

"What are you doing right now?" Besides being in my fabulous little cottage?

"Nothing." I need to stop saying the things that come naturally to me. I

need to rethink every single word that comes out

of my mouth. Nothing? You can't say nothing. You're burning CDs with

hidden tracks and calling them albums. You're in the

middle of your book club and it's your turn to discuss theme and

symbolism. You've hired a stripper for the evening on a whim and he's

standing naked and aroused before you.

"I was about to head out to a late movie. You up for something like that?"

"What time?"

"The movie starts at ten fifty. Can you get there in time?" "I'll meet

you out front."

We work out the details and as usual he signs off by saying, "Late."

"Okay, bye!" I beep my cell phone off and look at the shambles of my

house, dishes and everything still in boxes.

The only art I've hung up are my three favorite pieces over the

154 148Liza Palmer

fireplace. Everything else is blank. I think of Domenic moving all my

furniture into this tiny space. He looked so right in this house. He

played Rock, Paper, Scissors with Bella and never threw Scissors. What

am I doing here? Why am I not calling Domenic and asking him to go to a

movie? Why aren't I lying to Domenic about strippers and book clubs?

Because, I remind myself, he's probably out with Erin again.

I try to put together some kind of outfit. Have I gained or lost weight

since I've last seen Steven? Who can really tell anymore? Have I gotten

to the point where I'm so far from my Goal Weight that I'm now making

deals with myself that I just won't get any bigger? I put on a pair of