Conversations With the Fat Girl (26 page)

unnoticed because it was during the summer. Mom, Kate, and I would go to

Ernie Jr's Taco House, where I'd order my favorite bean-and-cheese

burrito. Mom would tell the waiter to put a candle in an order of flan

and we'd share the dessert. Kate's birthday is in late July Russell's is

one clay before Kate's, and 'mine follows in the first week of August.

Olivia fit right into the

214 208Liza Palmer

mix because her birthday landed just a few days after mine. Mom brought

up the rear by celebrating her birthday in late August. As the years

passed, the tradition continued, and my family began to celebrate all

our birthdays at one big bash in Mom and Russell's backyard. The summer

birthday season has always been like a second Christmas for our clan.

But now with the big bash looming, I can feel my unfulfilled fantasies

regurgitating in my throat.

"What are you up to tonight?" Christina asks, leaning over the sink. At

least she didn't introduce herself to me again.

"Family dinner." Is Peregrine going to come back here and kick my ass?

Why am I so angry?

"What's tonight?" Christina hitches her pants up and turns to face me.

"Our family all has their birthdays within days of each other. My

stepdad's is July twenty-third, my sister's is the twenty-fourth, and

I'm on the first of August. We choose a night that falls a little before

all that hubbub and celebrate all three." Why is it that talking to

Christina is completely calming me down after my fight with Peregrine?

"You don't celebrate on your birthday?" she asks.

"We do that, too. Just cake, though. Tonight is about a big dinner and

presents. Russell, my stepdad, barbecues. We just really make a party

out of it," I say from the bathroom, grabbing my purse and long black

sweater.

Domenic comes back into the back room. He and I are both off shift at

the same time. Peregrine's words are ringing in my ears: You get off on

being everyone's project. You get off on other people's pity. So don't

come to me and say that I'm the one treating you a certain way-it starts

with you, honey. Am I angry with the wrong person? Am I shooting the

messenger? I try to think about something else.

215 The birthday party I'll think about the birthday party. You get off

on being everyone's project. The birthday party, Maggie. Focus. I

realize I have been looking forward to tonight more than I have admitted

even to myself-even though I don't have someone to bring with me. Why

does everything hinge on having a man?

"Sounds nice," Christina says, turning back to the sink. Fuck it, I'll

think about that hinge later.

"Domenic?" I ask. My voice is too loud. I hardly recognize it. Christina

turns around.

"Maggie?" Domenic does this faux accent that's reminiscent of an

inspector in some old-timey English mystery. Now that was moderately

interesting-endearing.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Nothing. The order went in yesterday, and I've finished all my

sculptures for the Silverlake thing, so I'm footloose and fancy-free,"

Domenic says. Footloose and fancy-free? Old-timey accents? Eyes on the

prize, here. Golden. Keep him golden.

"Would you like to come to my family's birthday party?" A little waver

in my voice somehow feminizes me.

"Your family was all born on the same day?" Christina laughs, as if we

haven't just finished talking about this. She is now the third person in

this conversation.

"No. My sister, stepdad, and I have birthdays within days of each other,

so we throw a big dinner to celebrate," I say, patiently, yet with

building urgency. I have to prove to Peregrine and myself that I'm

capable of taking the initiative.

"What time?" he asks.

"It starts at five thirty. There are little girlies involved, so we have

to start early to allow for the inevitable meltdowns," I say

"It's four o'clock now, so do you want to meet at your house around

five-ish?" he asks.

216 210Liza Palmer

"Sure. Sure. That sounds super." Once again with the super

"Okay, then. I'll see you around five," he says. Domenic puts his time

card in the basket and gives me a little wave as he goes through the

back door to the coffeehouse. I can't help but stare at his ass.

I look past him for one second and get a shot of Peregrine. She is

staring right at me. The door swings closed. I look away. Open. There's

Peregrine. Closed. How do you apologize to someone for telling you the

truth? Open. She is still staring at me. I've got seconds before this

becomes something I'm not going to be able to fix. Closed. Seconds

before Peregrine and I just stop talking and the silence becomes the

norm. How can I go back in there and say Sorry? How can I go back in

there and make her understand that I know that she was right but I still

don't want to be her project? How can I convince myself of that? I fill

out my time card and head home.

Once home, I hop in the shower and wash my hair. I even exfoliate my

skin with some stuff Kate put in my stocking this past Christmas. It

smells like pineapple, and my skin feels really soft afterward. I try on

every outfit I own. Domenic has already seen me in the leather skirt and

the linen pants. But do men really look at what women wear? I mean,

couldn't I wear the linen pants again and a different top? I bet he

wouldn't notice. I put on the linen pants and my tightening panties. A

little better. I find a lightweight black sweater in the back of my

closet. I try it on. It used to fit small. It doesn't look horrible. In

fact, it fits me just fine now. My Area is a little exposed, but the

black works its magic. Isn't it too soon for anything Gabriel is doing

to be working-maybe I am just feeling better about myself?

Domenic knocks on the door at exactly 5 p.m. Solo goes crazy. I open the

door while pushing Cujo back with my leg. Domenic reaches out to her,

and she flinches. He Frankensteins

217 Conversations with the Fat Girl211

his way across the room, and Solo skitters away from The Creature.

During this display I notice that Domenic is wearing a new pair of light

brown work pants and a striped, short-sleeved collared shirt with a

white T-shirt underneath. His black hair is wet, and I can smell the

shampoo again. The smell brings me back to the night after Peregrine's

party. I'm beginning to know these smells. The shampoo. The cologne. The

aftershave. It's this combination of his smells that awakens every

tingle in my body, because the combination could be nobody but Domenic.

Solo finally calms down and allows Domenic to pet her on the crown of

her head. Then she backs up and stands behind me. Domenic has a present

in his hand. I am stunned. "Who is that for?" I ask.

"The birthday girl, of course." Domenic hands me the gift. "Should I

open it now?" I ask.

"Whenever you want," he says, still trying to go after Solo. She is

smelling and licking his hand. What a conniving little

"I want to open it now" Partly because I can't wait to see what he has

gotten me and partly because I am too embarrassed to open a gift from a

man in front of my family

I sit with the gift in my lap. It is wrapped in today's Calendar section

of the LA Times. I read about movie openings and celebrity sightings. No

tape is used and it looks like origami. Why isn't the wrapping falling off?

"How was the interview? I didn't ask earlier because I figured you

didn't necessarily want Peregrine to know." He is watching me fiddle

with the present.

"Nice paper," I say

"They sell it every day"

"Classy"

"The interview?" Domenic raises a single eyebrow.

218 212Liza Palmer

"Oh, yeah. It went great. I just really . . . really want the

internship. I just don't want to . . . you know . . .

"Get your hopes up?"

"Yeah, something like that." My heart breaks as I realize my

hopes are up without me even realizing.

I'm nervous and embarrassed. Anything to get the focus off

me. Domenic is lying on the floor now with Solo. That's fine with me

because his attention is split between the gift opening and the dog, and

the dog has to be watched like a hawk or else who knows when she'll

snap. I "unwrap" my gift and find a tiny doll in a box that a cell phone

came in. The doll is a brown-haired girl in overalls. She is barefoot

and holds a small paintbrush in her hand.

"It's an original," he says.

"How did you do this?"

"Gram did a series on artists a few years back, and this was

one of the practice ones. I was just learning and she let me do the

feet. They're a little big, but I thought you'd like it. She reminds me

of you." Domenic is concentrating on petting Solo.

"Big-footed?" I am nervously giggling and I know my face is

beet red.

"No, you know .....Domenic looks to the floor.

"I love it," I interrupt. He doesn't need to finish. He shouldn't have

to. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever given me. I don't even

freak out that he apparently thinks my feet are

huge.

"I wasn't sure if you would." Solo has her paw on his arm.

"No, of course I do. Thank you so much, you really didn't

have to."

"It's your birthday. You get presents on your birthday," he

says, disentangling himself from Solo. He begins wiping off the

thousands of auburn-gold dog hairs that are now glued to him.

219 Conversations with the Fat Girl213

"Thank you, again. It's absolutely beautiful."

I put the doll on the green table, crumple up the wrapping paper, and

begin to take it to the kitchen to throw it away. Instead I turn around

and approach Domenic. The whole world quiets and I just see him. I want

to stare at his face until I remember every single little detail. When

he's not around, I can't quite remember what he looks like. What would

it be like to be able to know every inch of that face? What would it be

like to see that face whenever I wanted?

There's a moment where you look at someone and it clicks that there is a

real person in front of you, along with an intangible something that

connects you. You get lost in him. The world goes on around you, but you

don't care about anything else except this person. I want to pull him

close and begin something I can't control.

Domenic stands still-or maybe time has just stopped and in that second

his body is still. How long have I been walking toward him? I stand face

to face with him and step that couple of inches closer than just friends

do. Something in the closeness gives me courage because he's not pulling

away or reaching for the door handle. I reach for the side of his face

and feel his wet hair through my fingers. He eases toward me and allows

himself to be pulled. I lean to the left a few inches and kiss the side

of his face right at the cheekbone. My pink lip gloss swipes his skin as

I pull away. Domenic reaches up at the nape of my neck and holds me

there. I'm unable to pull away any farther. He is just a little taller

than I am, and there is something so male about him right now. I am a

woman and right now in the arms of Domenic, I finally feel like one.

"You're welcome." Domenic hesitates and then lets his hand drop from my

neck as he fusses with the collar of my sweater. I stare at him trying

to find a reason. Something I can pinpoint as

220 214Liza Palmer

to why he has stopped. But I can't mind anything. He says we'd better

get going. Where? Nowhere, List? Check. And Check.

Domenic and I drive to Mom's house in silence. The radio is on and some

inane song is playing. I am replaying those moments over and over again

in my head. I begin to grow frustrated. Why doesn't he make some kind of

move? Why is this a love he can control? How can he just let his hand

drop from my neck and walk out of the house? What does it take for a man

to finally admit that he wants me? We pull into the Gelsons' Supermarket

off Green Street in Old Town Pasadena. I buy drinks and head to Mom's

house. On the short drive from the store to Mom and Russell's, I try to

make some kind of small talk.

"So, are you ready for this?" I say

"Is this something I have to be ready for?" he says.

"You've basically met everyone. Same people from the move, but now you