Moore To Love (10 page)

Oh, yeah. That. “Well, we did exchange numbers, so you never know if we’ll cross paths again, but for now—I want to learn to love
me
before I share that love with someone else.”

“Wow!” Are those tears in my best friend’s eyes? Why, yes. I think they are.

“Don’t you dare cry!” I get up from the couch and undo the towel, my wet hair falling around my shoulders.

“I can’t help it,” she whines. “I’ve been telling you this for so long and to finally hear you say it yourself—I don’t know. I just feel . . . I’m so happy for you!”

“I’m happy for me, too,” I admit, honestly believing that statement to the core.

The rest of the day leaves me feeling just as hopeful and energetic. After Tatum leaves, I head over to the farmer’s market for fresh fruits and veggies so I can stick with the program. I don’t cringe at the sight of a carrot the way I used to, and broccoli is no longer a dirty word. When I’m done unpacking the groceries and tidying up my apartment, I head over to my parents’ for dinner and ready myself for more Ashley and Reynold wedding talk. Again, this was something that used to make my stomach coil until the point of agony. But now, this new outlook has me seeing things in a different light. While I’m no longer fixated on a weight loss goal, I’m one hundred percent focused on my happiness goal. As my new friend Joel would say,
if you want to be happy,
you have to be happy on purpose.

If Ashley eyes me with that look one more time, I might just smack the wily smirk off her face. I texted her on the way to Mom and Dad’s and begged her not to mention the Hudson situation. I have nothing to be ashamed of, but I also don’t need my parents or my brother knowing about my love life, or lack thereof.

She prodded with a few questions and I summed up my answer the way I did with Tatum at my apartment. With my two closest friends content and my unfuckwithable level through the roof, I decide that this is the time to back Mom up and express our concerns about the destination wedding thing.

“Guys,” I interrupt Reynold and Dad’s baseball banter. Everyone’s attention darts my way and I gulp down the fear of pissing Ashley off. After all, if anyone has a right to be pissed it should be me. Granted, the result was spectacular, but she was the one who took it upon herself to approach Hudson and get the ball rolling—without my permission.

“What’s up?” Reynold asks, clueless.

Ashley still has the smirk on her face, and Mom is waiting on bated breath because I have a feeling she knows what I’m about to do.
Please don’t let this be a shit show.
I’ve never argued with Ashley and I don’t want a reason for her to dislike me.

I shoo away the fluttering of nerves and just spit it out. “So, I’ve been doing some digging around—well, mainly some eavesdropping during my sessions with the brides—and I have a list of some really unique and trendy wedding hot spots.”

Ashley scrunches her nose and tilts her head.
Shit. I overstepped, didn’t I?
Insecurities knock my ballsy confidence back down to Smurf size. “But you know Rey and I have been thinking of Punta Cana.”

“I know, but—” I tread lightly and evaluate everyone else’s reactions. Reynold seems interested, Mom is cheering me on with a megawatt smile and big, round eyes, and Dad’s still stuffing his face. Ashley, on the other hand, is unreadable. “Ash, before you shoot it down, can I show you some of these?”

I excuse myself from the table to grab the binder I prepared just for today. I used to envision an elaborate wedding for myself one day, and seeing as that’s not on the horizon for me just yet, I’m happy to share the wedding planning wealth with Ashley.

To my surprise, when I scoot between my brother and his bride-to-be, their attention can’t be stolen away from the pages upon pages of swatches, menus, venue details, and honeymoon spots. Ashley becomes overly excited when she notices the page I’ve dedicated to the winery she and Reynold visited last year for their anniversary. “They do weddings? How did we not know this, babe?”

With the two of them enthralled in the binder, Mom creeps up behind us and whispers a sneaky little
thank you
in my ear. That afternoon—besides eating the proper, non-gargantuan portion of Mom’s baked ziti and eggplant parm—I feel a surge of accomplishment I haven’t experienced in a while. Ashley and Reynold decide to check out a few local spots and to not put all their eggs in the Punta Cana basket. Mom is over the moon excited that Nonna, Papa, and Aunt Millie might actually get to attend the festivities, and me—I have a new pep in my step that makes me feel unstoppable.

EVER GET THIS FEELING WHEN
you first pop your eyes open in the morning that your day is destined to be brilliant?

Well, I’ve had that uplifting positivity infused through my veins all week. And the destiny gods have most certainly delivered with good juju. Call it a fluke, or just a streak of good fortune, but I’m calling it
it’s about damn time Leni sees the light.

On Monday, I got the call that our team at the studio was requested on a photo shoot for an up and coming swimsuit line. To say I was thrilled is an understatement. Something like this is a huge deal in the makeup world. It means my name is getting out there—somehow. And
my
name on anyone’s lips means great things in this industry. Doors could open, opportunities might arise, shit could get real. All pluses in my book.

Then came Tuesday, when two of my regular clients gave me rather large, unexpected tips. One loved the risk I took with her eyebrow shaping (she’d been sporting the Brooke Shields 80’s look a little too long). The other was simply in a good mood and felt like paying it forward. Thank you very much, have a nice day.

When Wednesday rolled around, I hopped on the scale for weigh-in day and found I’d lost another two pounds. There were weeks I’d lost more, less, and even zilch. But I hadn’t gained since I started and to me that’s winning. And I’m not talking about the Charlie Sheen type of winning. The continuous dropping of pounds means I’ve not only stuck to a plan but finally figured out how to change my lifestyle. Any health nut will tell you
it’s not a diet, it’s a lifestyle
and I’ve become a firm believer in that philosophy. Like I said, I’ve seen the light.

Yesterday my luck continued when Hudson texted me. It’s becoming a normal thing and quite honestly, I enjoy the attention, but I’ve yet to accept his offer for another “date.” One, because he’s made it clear that his definition of date is more like a booty call, and two, because, well, like I told Tatum, I’m learning to love
me
and it ain’t happening overnight.

I’ve definitely become more comfortable in my own skin, and part of that is because of what I see in the mirror, but the rest of it can only be explained as a come to Jesus moment. For once in my life, I get it. Looks aren’t everything. Happiness comes in other shapes and forms, and I’m not talking about that apple or pear shape analysis of the body that society makes you obsess over. I’m a cool chick and people dig me.
That’s
happiness; the only kind I should’ve ever cared about. So, I’m rolling with it and stringing Hudson along until he either moves on to the next curvy chica or accepts that the only thing I can offer him right now is a discounted eyebrow threading or my friendship.

Today feels no different as I step out onto my favorite path and turn up the volume to a Milky Chance tune that I adore.
Stolen Dance
echoes through my ears and gets my heart pumping and my arms swinging in time to the catchy beat. I always find myself mouthing the words to my favorites, and wonder if people see me and think I’m cuckoo. I honestly don’t care because I’m in my zone and as Starship would say, nothing’s gonna stop me now.

The air is crisp and the leaves have started to fall, Mother Nature’s way of readying herself to welcome the season I love best. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of dewy, fresh-cut grass and damp, musty tree bark. And then it hits me—
BAM!
Literally.

Holy shit that hurt!
The unexpected impact causes me to fall flat on my ass. The initial pain overwhelms my skull.
The world is spinning.
I cover my eyes to rub the throbbing sensation away.
Where did that tree come from?
My vision is blurry so I blink to clear it, but it remains unfocused, further confusing me. “Mother fu—” I start to whine, but I’m stopped by a helping hand at my shoulder.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?”

I can’t make out the person or the voice because my eyes are busy scrambling around in my head. I try to look up, but something wet is dripping down my face and over one of my already clouded eyes. “Shit! Is that blood?”

“Yes, you’re bleeding. We need to get you to the hospital. Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”

No! I can’t even tell who the hell I’m talking to!
“Um,” I squint and try to make his fingers out, but no dice. “No,” I wince, suddenly feeling queasy. Before I can control it, I’m yacking all over this helpful strangers running shoes. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry.” I don’t even know if he can make it out through all the puking, but guess what I do make out. His shoes. As in
his.
Yup! My valiant knight in shining Under Armor is none other than
the
Mr. Fancy Pants.

“Holy shit!” I slap my hand against my forehead and with that little bit of pressure against my already bruised head, I feel myself falling, falling,
falling
. . .