Conversations With the Fat Girl (28 page)

Emily's impending arrival over scones and coffee at EuroPane. We found

out about Bella over Charlie's Breakfast at Green Street. Now we've

learned: We never go to breakfast with Kate anymore unless she answers a

battery of questions about her personal life first.

The rest of the night goes off seemingly without a hitch. I catch

glimpses of Domenic and try to make myself remember I his face. I want

to know it so in case he leaves, I'll remember what he looked like.

Those details that matter. The curve of his I lips. The hooded eyes. The

flips of that black hair. That leaning-back laugh. As the night darkens

and the Girlie Meltdown watch begins, we close the party.

228

Reading Stories in

Feety Pajamas

Domenic and I say good-bye to everyone and climb into my waiting car. I

feel so relieved that I don't have to go home alone again after one of

these functions. I look at Domenic as he eases way back in his chair and

leans his head on the headrest.

"So? What did you think?" I ask.

"Your family is great. They really are," he says.

"Thank you," I say

"No, really I mean, I like my family just fine. I wouldn't change it for

anything. But yours is nice. Real, I guess." "A little too real sometimes."

"Yeah, that's true. I thought I saw a red laser dot on my forehead when

I didn't eat all the meat on my plate."

"Russell is an ex-marine. Special Forces, no less."

"There are no ex-marines."

We drive in near silence all the way back to my house. Except for the

embarrassing sign-reading thing I do every once in a while when I'm

nervous or when I don't like the deafening silence of perceived

rejection. Every three minutes the silence is broken with,

229 "Pottery Barn," I announce.

"Crate and Barrel," I say

And on and on. Domenic politely nods or smiles, but never does the sign

reading start another conversation. We pull onto my street and I see his

car in front of my courtyard. A subtle reminder: He's going home soon.

"I'm going to head on home," he says as we walk from my now parked car.

I am oddly relieved. The whole idea of having someone close to me is so

new that it's absolutely exhausting.

"Oh, okay" I say

"What are you doing for the rest of the night?"

"Cleaning. Unpacking the last bits."

"Sounds like fun."

"Thanks again for coming. It really meant a lot to me. And the gift-that

was really great."

"Not a problem."

"Okay, well, have a safe drive."

"I will," he says and begins to walk to his car.

"Can I ask you another favor?" I yell after him. I don't know if I'm

yelling after him because I need something or if I just don't want him

to go.

"Sure," Domenic says, not missing a beat.

"I'm going to Las Vegas for my best friend's shower and I was wondering

if you could stay here and watch the pup? She likes you, and she doesn't

like anyone. I'd stock the refrigerator with sugary sodas. I'd pay you."

Just having him here-standing in front of me is such a luxury. I want

this new life-I want to drive this Porsche as fast as it can go.

"You don't need to pay me, but sugary sodas, yes. That's a

quality-of-life issue."

"Okay, then. I'll give you a call and we'll go through all of her

routines and that kind of thing," I say Domenic gives me a

230

small smile, hesitates for one second longer than he should, and

then turns to leave. No hug. No hand onthe nape of my neck.

Nothing. What did I do at some pointtonight to not even get a hug?

Domenic drives off, and I get that feeling again. Right now, Mom is

cuddling up with Russell in their den. Russell is futzing with the

surround sound and Mom is reading a mystery. Kate and Vincent are

putting the girlies to bed. They are reading stories in their feety

pajamas. Emily is, chewing and twirling her hair and Bella is sucking

her thumb. Their hair is wet from their big-girl showers, but they still

smell like babies. Vincent is wearing his glasses and Kate has her

fluffy slippers on. Vincent is seeing if there is anything

sports-related on television so he can catch a glimpse before Kate turns

the channel to whatever sitcom she can find that features a large

ensemble cast.

As I open my front door, an empty house and an untrainable dog meet me.

I have my bag of presents and the Tupperware filled with cake in my

hands. Solo bounds out of my bedroom. I set my cake on the table and

rest the bag of presents on the floor. I pet Solo but I just can't stop

feeling lonely. So I'm alone now? It doesn't make me alone. I was just

around an entire family of people who adore me. Mom gave me a series of

facials with this amazing facialist in Sierra Madre. Kate bought me an

outfit I will never wear-a time-honored tradition. Bella got me a purple

felt hat and Emily got me a singing plastic watch. I have this little

doll with huge porcelain feet made by Domenic, a doll that reminds him

of me. This is not the booty of a lonely person. I tuck myself into bed

and wish Solo a good night, as usual.

I wake up the next morning to Solo itching herself at the foot of my

bed. I unwind from my bedsheets. I've added turning on my laptop to my

morning sequence. I will focus on getting my office organized today.

I've got the computer and Internet

231 Conversations with the Fat Girl225

hooked up. Now I just have to get the papers where they should be. My

house is perfect. Everything looks amazing. Everything feels amazing.

This house is everything I would have dreamed. There's something so

wonderful about seeing it all put together like this. I pad over to my

laptop and check my e-mail. The first one is from the M&M maven herself,

Shawna Moss. It reads:

Dear Maggie:

It is v. great to finally hear from the one and only Maggie Taylor! Am I

being repetitive? Sorry! Anyway, it is great to finally hear from you! I

can't wait to meet you because Olivia talks about you all the time. I

feel like I already know you. I'm sure this shower is going to be so v.

fun and if I can help in anyway please let me know. I hear I'm an

amazing party planner! :o) By the by, us gals are trying to get in touch

with the bride herself. She said she would call me with her mom's phone

number in Pasadena, but you know that bitch hasn't! JK (just kidding-hee

hee). She is probably so busy she forgot and she refuses to come into my

office for some stupid reason, that girl! Do you have her mother's

number, by any chance? We are trying to find a hotel for the wedding

where Olivia said there might be some extra rooms. Again, it's great to

finally talk to you. See you in Vegas, baby! Maybe we can all go grab

drinks, I'd love to hear your side of all of Olivia's crazy escapades.

Can't wait to meet you, Shawna Moss

Taylor, huh? Ms. Shawna Moss can't even get my last name right. I feel

my IQ drop ten points and have this urgent need to end all of my

sentences in exclamation marks! More importantly, I bough-no one gets

calls back from Olivia? Even her new

232 226Liza Palmer

friends who are trying to book a hotel for her wedding aren't a priority

with Olivia these days. I am also confused that Olivia is talking about

our "crazy escapades." Olivia will have to debrief me so we can be on

the same page about what exactly she's said to these women. The "crazy

escapades" I remember certainly aren't the ones Olivia is talking about

to her new friends. I remember one in particular. It featured Olivia and

me in my little red piece-of-shit Chevy Chevette sitting under a street

lamp eating Nachos BellGrande together on prom night. I know for a fact

that Olivia hasn't told that story to any of her new friends. Olivia

hasn't told any of these women she ever had a problem with anything. As

long as they've known her, she's had Adam. The perfect little couple who

summer in Nantucket and know what kind of wine to order with fish. My

curiosity is definitely piqued about what escapades this Shawna girl may

have been hearing. V. Piqued! V Piqued, indeed!

I want the shower weekend to be about rediscovering my friendship with

Olivia. I want to put aside all the chores and other distractions of the

wedding. Read: Gwen. I imagine we'll drive around Las Vegas and laugh

and talk like we used to. Recalling those memories and making new ones

are what I want this weekend to be about.

I realize I haven't spoken to Peregrine since our little run-in. How can

I apologize now? How can I make her understand I already have a mother

and what I need from her is to be a friend? I can't think about it now.

I just don't feel strong enough. Not to mention I haven't heard a peep

from Ms. Beverly Urban since our interview. Is that good or bad?

I am at work when Mom calls around ten thirty to confirm our shopping

day from hell tomorrow. I hang up and dread it immediately. Once again,

I will be in the Mother of the Bride section yelling out to anyone in

earshot that my boobs don't fit.

233

Let the Games Begin

When I was in college, I started hanging out with a girl from one of my

art classes named Karen Thomas. It seemed like Karen was a lot like me:

studious, funny, and not internationally beautiful. Nothing set her

apart, yet she was unnervingly confident. She always had a boyfriend and

a line of men clamoring to go out with her. What was her recipe for

success? Karen had this crooked, pigeon-toed walk, and she told me early

on that she could only hear out of one ear. I believed these things were

the key to her success, so I devised an elaborate scheme in which I

tried to convince people that I, too, could hear out of only one ear.

The pigeon-toed walk was easy, but it was hard on the knees. To this

day, some people still speak only into my right ear out of respect.

"Who was that?" Cole asks.

"My mom," I say

"What'd she want?"

"Why do you care?"

"I care because it took her ten minutes to tell you about it." "Were you

able to handle all one of the customers who shoved their way in?"

234 228Liza Palmer

"Cut the shit, Maggie." Cole almost spits, he's so pissed off.

Cole has gotten worse over the last few weeks. Ever since our incident

with the bouncer at Peregrine's party, our conversations have been

strained. I know he and Peregrine have talked about our big blowout.

They've worked together for longer than we have. He's mentioned it a few

times and tried to engage me before this. I haven't taken the bait. I

don't know why I do today

"Dial it back, partner," I say

"Partner?" Cole asks.

"Yeah, you've been after me for weeks now. Is there a problem?"

"Problem? Me? Let's see, you ask for too much time off, you're pretty

much always late, you fucking went off on Peregrine, who actually works

for a living." Cole moves closer to me.

"You're right," I say. Thwack.

Finally, the rock hits right between Goliath's beady, little eyes. What

comes after this job has always been the ultimate blue bucket. Conceding

that Cole is right is just the first step toward passing it.

Why am I here? I have a master's in museum studies. I hemmed the skirt

of a fucking Degas and I'm letting a playground bully who makes me

constantly walk on eggshells take over my days. I had an interview at

the Getty-an interview I nailed, by the way. I just don't need this

anymore. First Peregrine-now Cole. I'm sick of fighting. I'm sick of

being bullied. But I'm also sick of being controlled by the what-if

game. What if he doesn't accept me? What if I get left behind? What if

I'm not his favorite? It's never worked for me. Not fighting back has

never worked. No one has ever loved me more because I allowed them to

abandon or mistreat me. I can't put up with this fear anymore.

"What?" Cole says. Even he is thrown.

"You're right." I am calm.

235 Cole is silent. He doesn't know what to do with himself. Life is

like a football field to him. He doesn't know how to deal with it any

other way. I just moved out of the way and cleared his path to the

goalpost. He thinks it's some kind of trick.

"I quit. I've had it." I untie my apron and burst through the back door.

Cole is right behind me. My breathing is steady, but the flutters are