The Lighter Side of Large (9 page)

The words stick in my throat. It’s only been a week since our date and all the memories of the tragedy rush in like a flood. The last thing I want is for him to cause another scene, one which will be punctuated with texts to Michelle the ex-girlfriend. “Gotta go,” I blurt and dash into the nearest shop. I don’t see its name but do notice a sign on the door which says, “Grand Opening.”

I peer between two mannequins in the window display. Cat stares at me like I’ve gone mad and shuffles away in her plastic bags. I don’t feel badly deserting her like that, not after what she said. All that matters is avoiding that bastard. I scurry farther into the store, glancing over my shoulder to make sure he doesn’t come in. I don’t suppose he will: this is a ladies’ clothing store. Upon closer inspection, I see it’s an upscale clothing store. “AmandaE – The Place for You” a poster on the wall proclaims. I’d heard of AmandaE before, seen their full-page ads in glamour magazines. I pick up a price tag from a ruffled chiffon blouse, then another on a leather blazer, then another on a pair of twill trousers. Just as I suspected: there is nothing I can afford in here. I look around for the “Women’s” sign for the plus size clothing section. There is none. “AmandaE – Not for Me,” I quote under my breath. Not a knit or jersey garment in sight, either. “Definitely Tiresa’s kind of store.”

I roam through the racks of stylish clothing, not so much looking at them as much as keeping an eye on the door for Wesley to pass by so I can go back outside. My heart sinks at the next glimpse. Darn it - the jerk now stands in front of the store, still talking and laughing and gesturing. I’m trapped.

“May I help you?” a female voice breaks into my musings. I turn to find a pretty, stick-thin store clerk, looking like she just stepped off the catwalk and into a pile of poo. She can barely keep her lip from curling.

I glance around for an excuse to be in a store which is obviously not for women of my size and see a sign for shoes. “Yes, I’m looking for a pair of sandals. Do you carry any?”

The clerk actually huffs with disgust. “A few.” She spins on her heel and walks away. With a glance at Wesley’s back, I follow. The shoe department is so small that I can stand in one spot and see all the selection.

“What size?” the clerk asks none-too-nicely.

“Uh, eleven,” I reply, sitting down.

She makes another huffing noise. “We don’t carry many shoes in
that
size.”

Fear of meeting Wesley is replaced by offence at the clerk’s attitude. “Then why don’t you check for some?” I suggest through gritted teeth.

This time the lip curls and she disappears through a doorway. From this angle, I can’t see most of the store, hedged in by stands of belts, purses and other accessories. Even these carry exorbitant price tags. It is truly disgusting how greedy retailers can be. Seriously, $150 for a blingy belt? Made in China, no doubt, by oppressed employees working for a few cents a day.

The snooty store clerk returns and dumps three boxes of shoes at my feet. “These are all the sandals we have in size eleven and they don’t stretch much.” She crosses her arms as if to dare me to try them on.

“Thank you,” I reply haughtily. None of the shoes match my dress, but I won’t give her the satisfaction. I remove my shoe and bend over to slip on the first sandal. It doesn’t go past my arch.

The doorbell rings, signaling the entrance or exit of another customer. “Mr. Elliot! What a pleasant surprise,” a female voice exclaims. “To what do we owe the honour of a visit from headquarters?”

A deep, soft male voice floats over the racks, though I can’t quite make out what he is saying. “Display . . . pieces . . . missing”
It can’t be, I wonder. That voice sounds like Jae. At least I think it sounds like him. What is an adventure tourism guide doing in a women’s clothing store? Cross-promoting their clothes with his services, or perhaps looking for females to do ‘experimental recreational activities’ with? But why does the clerk think he’s from headquarters?

I shake my head to clear it. The more important thing is that he is here - and that means I can get his number again.

“Are you going to try them all on?” the clerk asks as I take off the sandal. “I don’t think they’re going to fit.”

Something snaps inside me. I’d been treated rudely before by store clerks, but the combination of the horror of almost knocking my friend under a bus, the fear of facing Wesley again and the fact that Jae is standing just a few feet away reduces me to the core. Enough is enough. I will not be beaten down.

Slowly, deliberately, I pick up the next sandal and shove it on my foot, pulling the sling back around the back of my foot. It’s a tight squeeze and very uncomfortable. I stand up and walk a few paces away and back, hearing Jae chatting with the other store employee. “I really don’t care what you think,” I smile and sit down again. “Actually, I’d like to see your entire selection of pumps and flats. Can you remember what the number eleven looks like? And I have several outfits I need to buy, so can you be quick about it?”

My plan is to ditch this girl as soon as she returns to the storeroom and go talk to Jae. In my mind I picture her juggling several boxes of shoes and dropping them all, only to find her customer gone.

Instead of following my carefully planned fantasy, she places her hands on her hips.
“Ma’am,”
she says loudly, “
We
don’t carry clothes in
your
size. We only stock up to size twelve in dresses and trousers. What size do you wear?”

A couple of customers shopping nearby glance in our direction and hurriedly move off. Jae and the other woman lower their voices, as if they are listening. “I can’t imagine…” the employee murmurs. Jae says something unintelligible.

I’m not about to announce to the world and Jae what double-digit size fits me, so I sit there, stunned.

The clerk continues. “And I know our largest blouses are way too small for you, as are all the shoes.”

“. . . the wrong store, it sounds like . . .” the woman with Jae stifles a giggle. A third clerk walks by carrying a stack of dresses. She smirks and gives my clerk a look as if to say,
Glad it’s you and not me.

“We carry only real leather footwear which we don’t want stretched. So maybe you should go somewhere else to buy your outfits, like Taking Shape or Big City Chick,” she sneers, naming the two popular plus size clothing retailers in town.

Jae says something else and the woman replies loudly for the entire store to hear, “Sometimes we do get bigger women who wander in, but what can you do since we don’t cater to that demographic?”

The skinny clerk continues. “And because part of my wages are based on commission, I can’t waste any more time with you because I’m not going to make any money, so please just leave the store. You’ve already made other customers uncomfortable.”

By now my face is burning with shame and anger. My only goal is to get out of there quickly and pray Jae doesn’t see me. I thrust my feet into my shoes and stand. The wooden chair sticks to me for a few seconds before falling off my hips. The clerk snorts. As I rush through the store, I almost stop dead in my tracks: Tiresa is standing near the door. The look on her face tells me she’s heard and seen it all.

And didn’t lift a finger to help or defend me.

I brush past the other supposedly uncomfortable customers and burst through the door.

“. . . hope she doesn’t come back,” I hear the woman with Jae say loudly. I know it is for my benefit.

“Don’t worry: I won’t,” I gasp - and run smack into Wesley.

“Not you again,” he sneers and starts to text.

•

Mika is waiting with the kids at my house when I pull into the driveway.
Can this day get any worse?
I moan inwardly.

“Mummy!” Abe and Fi shriek and run to give me a hug. After an afternoon of rejection, at least they are happy to see me.

Mika retrieves their luggage from the trunk of his BMW. I reach out to take it but he shakes his head. “No, I’ve got it,” he says in a surprisingly friendly tone and falls in step behind me as I walk to the front door.

As I fumble with the keys to unlock the door, Mika says, “Kids, I need to talk to your mum, so stay outside and play awhile, okay?”

“Aw, I want to play with my video game,” Abe complains.

Mika points his finger at him. “Stay in the yard.”

I don’t want to talk to Mika or let him see my messy house, but he waltzes through the door and straight to the kids’ room to deposit their luggage there. I set my purse on the kitchen counter and wait for him to return.

“How you been, Bella?” Mika says smoothly as he emerges from the hallway and looks around. “I’ve said it before, but I can pay you alimony so you can live somewhere nicer. The kids deserve better than a box to live in.”

“Mika,” I say, “I’m in no mood for a lecture on how badly I’m doing as a parent and provider, so just skip to what you want to say and get out.”

Mika held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, easy there, I’m not here to lecture or argue.”

“Then what are you here for? I doubt there’s anything here which will catch or keep your interest,” I snap.

“Bella,” he croons in the tone he uses when he wants something but is trying to hide it. “Cut me some slack, please? I know you hate me and I don’t blame you. What I did was selfish. But for the sake of our children -
our
children - I do want to remain friends. Is that possible, because it means a lot to me.”

“Excuse me while I barf,” I turn away and grab the kettle and fill it with water. I want a cup of tea to help settle my nerves, though I’m not going to offer him one. “It meant a lot to me to keep you in my bed but that didn’t happen, so why should you get what you want? Oh, that’s right, because you always get what you want.”

Mika looks affronted but makes an effort to compose himself. “I understand.”

“Like hell you do,” I fight to keep from shouting. Here is his opportunity to apologise and he doesn’t. The nerve.

He folds his hands as if in supplication or trying to find the right words to say. But nothing he says will be right. “So what did you come here for?” I ask, wanting to get this ordeal over with. I plug in the kettle and turn it on.

Mika slowly approaches. “I came here because of all the fuss that’s being made about the engagement party. Bella,” he places a hand over his heart, “I am mortified that your family expects you to be there. When I learned of it, all I could think was how selfish they were being. I know you and that you wouldn’t want to come and I’ve tried to talk Tiresa and Mama Rose out of it, but they won’t listen. Then I overheard Tiresa when she said she’d buy you a dress for the engagement party.”

He stops one pace in front of me; I’m back up against the stove. I can smell his cologne - Obsession. He wore it back when we first dated. His unshaven scruff now boasts a few grey hairs, which only makes him sexier. Yes, Mika definitely gets better-looking with age. Then he smiles and I hope he can’t hear my heart beat faster. We haven’t been this close in years. He must realise that, too, because as I look up, something hot and sensual shimmers within the depths of his eyes. An unwelcome tingle spreads through my body.

“I knew you’d laugh at the offer.” He shakes his head. “Sometimes Tiresa can be so arrogant. She’s not like you.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “She doesn’t yet know where true beauty comes from.”

“Oh, please,” I scowl and bat his hand away. “I don’t need a sugar-coated reminder that I’m fat and ugly.”

Mika’s face fell. “Bella, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

I laugh. “You meant it the day you said you were leaving me for my
sister
. Now are you going tell me the real reason you’re here?”

Mika put his hands together again. “I just - I miss you, Bella. When the kids are with me, I feel like half a parent. You’re missing from our lives. You’re missing from my life.”

“Whose fault is that?” I spit and turn my back on him, wishing the kettle would hurry up and boil.

He moves closer. I can feel his body heat. “You’re missing from my
work
. I haven’t given a decent speech in years. Everyone at the firm hates it when I stand up to give a speech at a dinner. They all pull out their iPhones and start texting and playing games.” He chuckles at the memory, but I know it bruises his ego.

It becomes harder to think with him standing this close. This is not supposed to happen. He should not be able to arouse this kind of sexual response in me anymore.

I shake my head. “So that’s what this is really all about? You need me to write a speech for you? Here’s a news flash, Mika: you fired me from that job. Ask Tiresa to put words in your mouth to make you look good. I’m sure she’s good for something, though I haven’t figured out what.”

Unbelievably, he begins to massage my shoulders. “I don’t need a speech. Forget the speeches. I came here to tell you to ignore Tiresa. She has no business telling you what to wear.” He bends down and speaks softly in my ear, raising the hairs on my neck. “And I do miss you.”

“Right,” I say dryly, but I also close my eyes, savoring the sensation, the remembrance of how it used to be. My mind takes a nosedive into oblivion. He continues massaging and kisses behind my ear, my neck, my shoulders. “Mmm, Bella. You’re such a woman.”