The Lighter Side of Large (49 page)

I laugh. “That’s the Samoan Way. She’ll have her traditional celebration no matter what.”

I hear him chuckle. “Yes, she’s to call me Saturday morning to let me know whether I need to show up to escort Tiresa down the aisle.”

“Wearing a lava lava, no doubt.”

His chuckle turns to full blown laughter. “I think this is one event in which Mama Rose will appreciate me
not
wearing Samoan attire. Listen, I have to run. Good luck with your surgery and call me if you need anything.”

“Dad, I should be saying the same to you. You’re the one going through chemo, after all.”

“You take care of me just fine,” he declares. “I love you, IssyB.”

“Oh, Dad,” I say, my voice trembling, after hearing his favorite childhood name for me. “I love you, too.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“When life gives you lemons, add vodka and throw a party.”

FROM BELLA’S BLOG
http://www.thelightersideoflarge.com/ch28

I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Sands grumbles. We’re sitting in the reception area at the daystay surgery centre. With my car towed to the repair shop the day before, Sands grudgingly agreed to drive me to my surgery.

“That’s what best friends are for,” I nudge her. “I really appreciate the favour.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “I’m going to find something to snack on. I thought I saw a convenience store down the block.”

“Okay,” I say. “If I’m not here when you get back, I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Good luck,” Sands pats my head and walks out the front door as my phone rings. The caller ID says Mama Rose.

“Hello,” I answer it.

“I’m so glad I reached you in time,” Mama Rose says breathlessly. “The wedding is still on.”

“Thanks for letting me know, but you know I’m still having surgery.”

“Can’t you reschedule it for another day? This is your sister’s wedding. The whole family will be there.”

“Along with my ex as the groom. No, Mama Rose, I’m not rescheduling my surgery.”

She sighs. “Well, no one can say I didn’t do my part to get you to change your mind. So be it. I hope your surgery goes well and you don’t almost die again. Should I stop by tomorrow to check on you?”

“I don’t think I’m going to almost die this time around, but thanks for your concern,” I laugh. “I’ll be fine. Sands is going to stop by tomorrow.”

“All right, all right. I must run. Fi can’t find her shoes and one of the bridesmaids got sick and might not come. I hope nothing else goes wrong. I was up most of the night cooking the - oops! Gotta go now. When it rains, it pours.” She hangs up with a goodbye.

I put my phone back in my purse and cross and uncross my legs and fidget, trying to find a comfortable position in a chair which seems designed as a medieval torture device.
No, I decide, it is designed to encourage people to not get lipo, because you need all the extra padding in order to sit here for more than two minutes.

I give up tying to find a comfortable position and pick up a magazine to distract me while waiting for the nurse to call my name, but I can’t concentrate on the words and pictures. I put it down and search through the pile of other periodicals for something better. Instead I find a copy of the
Gab. The
copy. Blushing with shame, I turn to the page I’m on and carefully, quietly tear it out and stuff it into my purse so no one else can read it.

Your editorial and articles and blog have made him a laughing stock among all his friends and associates. I am surprised he stayed with you for as long as he did.
Amanda’s words ring in my ears. I cringe at the thought of Jae reading the exposé. I wonder whether it or the sight of Mika kissing me is the main deterrent to him returning my calls. Maybe he just flat-out hates me now and has washed his hands of me. I don’t blame him.

But I can’t help wanting him to know that I did nothing to spite him. No, I can’t even say that. I did spitefully use the waterbed tsunami anecdote. I sigh. Though it’s over between us, I can’t help but want it to be over with the air cleared, to let him know that I’m not some terrible person after all. It will make it easier for me to move on, knowing that maybe he doesn’t think so ill of me.

I pick up my cell phone and dial him. No surprise, it goes straight to voice mail. “Hi Jae, it’s me,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m just calling to

. . . to say goodbye. I understand why you don’t want to talk to me. But I just wanted to let you know that I am not getting back together with Mika. He forced a kiss on me, which is what I assume you saw. And if you saw it, that means you were at my house, and if you were at my house, I assume you wanted to talk then, if not now. Anyway, I’m sorry for embarrassing you with my writing and for causing your company so much trouble. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, then thank you. I just wanted to let you know that you mean a lot to me and you’ve helped me to become a better person.” I pause, reluctant to hang up but not having anything else to say. “I’m just sitting here at the Sunrise Day Surgery Centre waiting for my turn, so, um, well, I’ll let you go. Bye.”

I sigh and look around. I can’t believe I am here. Despite the opposition of the love of my life, despite the incident a few months ago, which almost killed me, despite the misgivings of friends and family, here I sit along with several other women who look model-perfect.

A twinge of guilt nags at me, but I stubbornly push it aside. I want this. I need this. I can’t afford it, but I’m doing it anyway.

I look down at my hips, fitting snugly between the arm rests of the chair. I have spent most of my life not fitting into chairs, taking up even two at a time. I have looked forward to sitting in a booth without the table cutting into my midsection and to grocery shopping without knocking cans off the shelf by a big butt with a mind of its own. I have bornthe muttered insults and disdainful glances of strangers who hate me because of my size in silent misery. I lost the weight, but now I need something more. So here I am, waiting
.

“What work are you getting done?” a voice interrupts my reverie. I look up at a bust bursting out of a tight hot-pink tube dress. Only after that do I see the skinny blonde behind the boobs. She looks like she stepped from the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue.

She shrugs. “They’re fake. My boyfriend gave me his credit card and said to get whatever work done that I want. He’s used to being with really beautiful girls. His ex-wives are all actresses and models. So I figure I need to get rid of my imperfections so that he’ll stay with me.””Pardon me for saying so,” I say “but I think you’re beautiful and perfect as is. Maybe he needs glasses.”

She laughs at my jest. “Well you know how rich, older men are. I don’t think there’s any harm in getting plastic surgery in order to keep a man, do you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Uh,” I hesitate, “that’s a long story.”

“Are you here for him?”

“Definitely no,” I shake my head.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

Why am I here?
I repeat the question to myself. There are lots of whys which led me here. “It all started nine months ago when I found out my ex-husband and my sister were getting married. My friends encouraged me to show up at the wedding with a hot date, but no one wants to date a fat chick. And then my Dad almost died and I realised that I needed to lose weight so I could live a long time and see my children grow up. So I lost weight, found a boyfriend, and started a new career. But I’m still not happy with my body, so I’m getting some nips and tucks.”

“Is your boyfriend happy about it?” she asks.

“Actually, no,” I admit. “He’s against plastic surgery. We broke up over it and some other issues.”

“Wow,” she stares at me wide-eyed, “so he doesn’t want you to change anything?” The concept is evidently a new one to her. “I’m afraid my boyfriend will break up with me if I don’t get a nose job. He also said my hips are too big, so I’m getting those reduced. And my ears stick out too far, so those are getting pinned back. He calls me Dumbo.” She brushes back her long, silky blonde hair to reveal her ears.

I stare at this beautiful woman, wondering how in the world her boyfriend can find fault with her. Her nose is Roman and elegant; her hips are not too big; and her ears, well, they do stick out a bit, but with cascades of gorgeous hair covering them, they are hard to see. As a matter of fact, I think the way they stick out is endearing. They make her look less like a perfect doll and more real, more human.

As I examine her, I realise that the more work she gets done, the more she’s going to look like everyone else. With enough surgery, she will completely change herself into a new person. And for what, a man who may dump her? A man who doesn’t accept her as she is? Someone with her looks probably never had a Friday night without a date. Why is she stooping to make herself into someone she’s not?

I look around the room. Each woman is unique in height, weight, and hair colour. Noses, facial structures, ears, lips, jawbones are all different. Some legs are long; others are short. Some arms are stick thin; others show flab. And yet they are beautiful in their own ways. Why do any of them want to change?

Why do I want to change? Jae accepted me before I lost weight. He accepted me when I didn’t accept me. So why do I want to change myself even more to impress the likes of Simon? Never once did I ever hear the most important people in my life complain about my flabby arms and pouching tummy. Sands is right: it will take a long time, but I can tone up my arms, which are going to become flabby again as I age.

And then it hits me: Jae loved me because I wasn’t like everyone else. He wasn’t looking for a clone; he wanted an original.

And I want Jae.

I turn my attention back to the woman. “He may call you Dumbo, but I think he’s a dumb ass.” Her mouth makes a perfect ‘O’. “If he can’t see what a beautiful person you are
as is
, then maybe he’s not worth having as a boyfriend. Believe me, if I can get a boyfriend when I weighed over one hundred kilos, you most definitely can get a boyfriend. You can get a boyfriend for each day of the week.”

I stand up, inadvertently dumping my purse and its contents all over the floor. The woman bends down to help me pick up my stuff. “Don’t sell yourself short,” I admonish her. “You can do better than this guy.”

“I don’t know,” she says as we straighten up. “He takes care of me really well.”

“But at what cost?” I ask. “Isn’t it better to stand on your own two feet? Isn’t having a good self-esteem better than constant surgeries to find that self-esteem?” I pat her shoulder. “The choice is yours. I have to go now. It’s been enlightening talking to you.”

“But aren’t you having surgery?” she calls after me as I walk away.

I look back to her with a grin. “I don’t need to anymore.”

On the way out, I run into Sands. “I need a lift to Jae’s.”

“Huh?” Sands says, looking comical as she stands there with a bottle of diet soda in one hand and a granola bar in the other. “What about your surgery?”

“Not getting it,” I announce and feel a weight lift from my soul. “But I am getting my boyfriend back. Let’s go!”

On the way to Jae’s, Sands peppers me with questions about my change of heart. “Good for you,” she cheers when I tell her why. “So you finally love yourself.”

“Yeah. I guess I do.”

When we reach Jae’s loft, I can’t find my keys. “How can I not find that jumble?” I mutter, digging through my purse. I take everything out of it but the keys are gone.

“Let’s retrace your steps. We’ll find them. Let’s go back to your house and look around the driveway.”

It hits me where they’re at. “The daystay. I dropped my purse and everything spilled out when I stood up to leave. The lady I was talking to helped me gather everything but we both missed my keys.”

“Well, come on; let’s go.”

We rush back across town - rather, we try to rush. We hit every red light there is to hit. Sands pulls into the surgery centre carpark with squealing tires and comes to a jerking stop at the front door. I hop out of her car and dash inside. The waiting room is the same, minus the lady I spoke with. I wonder if she is going ahead with the surgery or changed her mind. I hoped the latter.

And then I see Jae. He’s standing there holding my keys, looking at them.

“Jae,” I call.

He looks up, blinking in astonishment. And then a huge smile spreads across his face. “Bella,” he says, striding over to me with those long legs. He stops right in front of me, as if he’s unsure what to do or say. “I thought you were having surgery.”

I shake my head. “No, I changed my mind. I was just at your loft looking for you when I realised I dropped my keys.” I twist my purse handle nervously and my heart pounds so loudly, I’m sure he can hear it. “What are you doing here?”

Jae holds onto the keys. “I got your message - I got all your messages - and I just wanted to be here to support you.”

“You do?” I ask, incredulous.