The Lighter Side of Large (2 page)

Riyaan, world’s best gay friend and coffee barista extraordinaire, catches my eye as the door closes behind me. “Large mocacchino?” he calls across the counter.

“Make it a double,” I reply and approach the booth where Sands sits. Why can’t she remember to get a table?

Booths are difficult to slide in and out of, not to mention the table cuts into one’s gut.

Another annoying change to the café is the tables are too close. The place is never more than a third full, yet they squeeze in the tables as if anticipating throngs of caffeine addicts. As a large woman, I am unable to walk through this minefield without bumping into something or someone.

“Excuse me, so sorry,” I mumble as I bump the arm of a patron and cause her coffee to slosh across her hand. I hope it doesn’t scald her. Another patron, chatting loudly on his cell phone, grabs his purchase at the cash register and walks toward the door, except I am blocking his path. He stops short, gives me a horrified look, then backtracks and takes the long way around the minefield. He lowers his voice and sniggers something. I know it’s about me.

I’m almost to the booth. In my haste to get there, I turn sideways to squeeze between a man with a laptop and a table where a couple, oblivious to the world, makes googly eyes at each other. “Sorry,” I say as my stomach knocks the man’s head and arm forward. His hand hits a key and the laptop screen goes blank.

“Shit,” he mutters. So much for hoping that whatever it is it is backed up or not important.

Meanwhile, my butt pushes the table behind me backward. “Hey!” the female hisses. I glance over my shoulder and see coffee spilling over the table.

“I apologise,” I say and duck my head in embarrassment. I’d get out of there but my friends are waiting.

Feeling glares bore into my back and hearing muffled scorn from the far side of the café, I slide into the booth across from Sands - short for Sandi - who gives me a sympathetic smile.

“How’s it going?” she asks.

“Never a dull moment.” I deposit my keys on the table and risk a glance around the room. A few people look away hastily, caught staring at my enormity, but I forget about them when I see someone standing at the café window: it’s Cat. I smile and wave her in because she never comes in uninvited.

“Not again.” Sands turns to see whom I’m waving at and groans. “Why do you do this every time?”

Cat leaves her rusty grocery basket parked outside and opens the shop door. Just as customers leaned away from me as I walked through the café to make room, they now lean away from Cat to avoid contact with her filth.

She slides in the booth next to Sands as Riyaan arrives with my drink. “Double mocacchino, darling,” he purrs, making the word come out
dahh-ling
, and sits next to me. Riyaan, my “knight in flamingo-pink armour” (his words), always makes the perfect coffee. His dyed blonde highlights over espresso brown hair make him look like the specialty coffee drinks he serves. Dear, sweet, lovable, aggravating Riyaan is a cliché: the handsome, slender gay guy who loves to cook and take long walks at sunset and has dozens of girl friends, all of whom would dump their no-good macho boyfriends in a heartbeat for someone as kind and sensitive as he is. He also goes from relationship to relationship, raving about his latest catch (“He’s THE one!”) one day and crying over their breakup the next.

Cat arches a brow. “Like you need a double.” Her breath reeks of cheap beer; her hair (of indeterminate color) looks like it hasn’t been washed or brushed in a week; and her frayed, faded clothes smell, but despite being a homeless alcoholic, Cat, or Catherine, looks like a scrawny stray cat and can always be counted on to criticise others.

Sands is more sensitive. “What’s wrong? Is it your dad? Is he okay?” Her big blue eyes fill with worry.

I nod. “Yes, he’s fine. It’s just…”

I’m embarrassed to tell them. It makes me feel like more of a loser than I already am. My fingers play with the bundle of keys on my keychain. There are a lot of them. I have a habit of never getting rid of old keys. It felt like getting rid of old friends when I did, so I just carry all of them around. Sometimes they’re more trouble than they’re worth, but I don’t have the heart to throw any away.

“Just what?” Sands says.

“Out with it,” barks Cat.

I sigh. “Tiresa and Mika are getting married.”

“Guess you do need a double,” Cat quips.

Sands’ body appears to deflate and she shakes her head, speechless.

“It’s about time,” Cat continues. “At least they won’t be living in sin any more.”

“Cat, that’s not the point,” Sands snaps.

Riyaan’s eyes widen in horror. “That’s so wrong. Oh, Bella.” He rests his hand on mine, curled around the takeaway cup. “I’m here for you. If you need to talk, you call anytime, okay?”

“Yeah,” Cat says. “If you need to talk or go shopping, it’s always convenient to have a gay friend. Especially a pretentious one who insists on mispronouncing and misspelling his name as RHEE-OHN instead of plain old RY-UN.”

“CAT!” all three of us say in unison.

Riyaan rolls his eyes at her. “So when’s the wedding?”

“In nine months.”

“Are you going?”

“Of course not,” I say. “Why would I want to see the two people who stabbed me in the back get married in some rich, extravagant ceremony and overblown reception?”

“Well, I think you should.” Riyaan plays with his multiple bracelets and cuffs. “Show them they can’t keep a good woman down. Show up on the arm of a drop-dead gorgeous guy and shove it in their faces.”

“Like where is she going to find a drop-dead gorgeous guy?” says Cat.

“Riyaan’s right, Bella.” Sands nods. “You need to stand up for yourself. Make an appearance to send the message that you’re better than them.” She giggles. “Even better - wear black, like it’s a funeral.”

I sip my mocacchino, the chocolaty-coffee-frothiness a warming comfort. “The only message I’d send is that Mika made the right choice in dumping the frumpy sister for the hot one.”

“Not if you lost weight,” says Sands. I give her a dirty look. We’ve been down this road before. She holds up her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying. I can train you. It will take a while but the effort is worth the reward. And then you can show up to the wedding in some slinky cocktail dress and make Mika regret leaving you.”

“Of course,” I say sourly. “It’s that simple. You know how successful I’ve been in the past with dieting.”

“Never mind,” Riyaan waves the idea aside. “I’ll be your date to the wedding just as you are. Forget diets. What do you say?”

“That idea sucks,” says Cat. “Gay date with the fat girl: it’ll be too obvious that she couldn’t find anyone else to go with her.”

“Then we’ll find someone for her. Do you know of anyone?” he asks Sands. “All my guy friends are gay, which is obviously not acceptable to
some
persons.” He shoots Cat a glare.

“There are lots of guys who have memberships at my gym,” Sands says.

“Are you crazy?” asks Cat.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” says Riyaan.

Cat ignores him. “Using your business to fix up your friend with a date is tantamount to an escort service.”

Riyaan sighs, exasperated. “Then we’ll find someone online. That’s how I found my last two boyfriends. Now, Bella, ignore the major dating sites because you won’t find anyone interesting on those. They all lie and are only looking for someone rich. Go right to the niche ones because that’s where you’ll find the goods.”

“Or I can go as your date,” says Cat, completely serious. “There’s no law which says you can’t take a straight woman as a dateThe silence is loud as Riyaan, Sands and I envision Cat in all her homeless, stinky glory appearing as my date to the wedding. It is not a pretty picture - except that Mika hates her and it would piss him off to have her show up.

A diplomatic excuse to not invite her as my date presents itself. “I don’t even know if I’m invited, so there’s no point figuring out who I should take as my date. Can we talk about something else? Please?”

“Sure, darling.” Riyaan pats my hand.

Sands rolls her eyes. “Don’t look for a date online. It’s dangerous and you don’t know what freaks you’ll meet. Come to the gym tomorrow and we’ll check out the men there.”

“I don’t want to check out men there because they’ll check right out the door once they see me,” I say.

Sands slams a fist on the table. “Then exercise! You
have
to go to the wedding to show them up and you
need
to look your best. Make them see that no one disrespects Bella. Ruin their wedding by looking fabulous.”

“Oh-oh-oh.” Riyaan pants. “I have the best ideas to ruin the wedding. When my cousin got married, someone ran over a possum in the road next to the place where they had their outdoor reception. The smell ruined it for everyone. Even the cake took on the stench, so what you need to do is get a carcass and place it near the cake. And then you should spike the bride’s champagne so she passes out and there’s no wedding night…”

“They’re past that point already,” I point out.

“No, no, no.” Sands joins in the conspiring. “Just get drunk before you get there and make yourself vomit on Tiresa’s gown.” She claps her hands and cackles. “Or when it’s time to toast, give a speech about how kind Tiresa is to take Mika off your hands because he could never get it up in bed.”

I’ve had enough. “I’ve gotta run. My dad’s expecting me, then Tiresa’s picking up the kids at 4 p.m.” I slide out of the booth, placing both hands on the table for support. It tips towards me and Cat. In a panic, I lift my hands and start to stand up, but my belly catches on the edge of the table. The table tips the other way, spilling coffee, creamer, sugar and spoons onto Sands’ and Riyaan’s laps.

“Sorry,” I say, blushing with shame. I hate booths.

“Not to worry,” says Riyaan, who leaps to his feet and mops up the mess with a towel he has tucked into his work apron. “I’ll get you another one to go.”

“Make that a double,” says Cat.

CHAPTER THREE

“How wonderful to have a magic mirror which allows you to see what you want to see, so that even with bulges, rolls and size 22 trousers, you ARE the fairest of them all.”

FROM BELLA’S BLOG
http://www.thelightersideoflarge.com/ch3

Dad lives eight kilometres from my house. It’s an easy drive, but a hard one knowing what I’ll find at the end of the journey.

Dad doesn’t use his front door so I slip around the side to the sliding glass patio door-another tormentor to remind me of how I look.

I slide open the door. “Dad? It’s me,” I call.

“Right here.” He stirs in his recliner chair.

“Did I wake you up? I’m sorry,” I say.

“I dozed off just now,” he says. There’s a crossword puzzle and a pencil on his lap. “How’s my girl?” he asks as I lean down to give him a hug and a peck on the cheek.

Dad is the most constant thing in my life, a sweet man with a fiery Scottish temper when aroused, which isn’t often. Though only fifty-four, he looks a decade older from the trauma of fighting - and beating - cancer. His body is still emaciated, though.

“What brings you by?” Dad asks with his warm smile.

“Can’t a girl visit her Dad for no reason but that she loves him?”

Dad studies my face and I know I can’t hide this most recent hurt from him. “Come on, now. Tell me what’s wrong. There’s no use holding it in, you know.”

I ease down onto the old sofa, its springs groaning in protest under my weight.

“Well? Get on with it,” he orders kindly.

I burst into tears. “Oh Dad!” I sob. “Tiresa and Mika are getting married. I found out through Mama Rose, who wants me to go to the engagement party and the wedding just because they’re family. It’s not fair. Why doesn’t anyone take my side? Mika abandons me and the kids and Tiresa stabs me in the back, but I’m expected to be nice and act like nothing’s wrong!” I bury my face in my hands and the tears flow.

Dad rises from his chair and comes over to wrap his arms around me. Thin as they are, they are the strongest arms in the world to me.

“What did I do to deserve this? I quit school to marry him. I stayed at home to take care of the house and the kids, but that still wasn’t good enough. Tiresa swoops in and steals my husband and now she’s trying to steal my kids and be their stepmum. Soon Abe and Fi won’t like me and won’t want to see me anymore. They can give them toys and games and everything while I have to scrimp and save for months to buy things. She did it on purpose. She did it because she’s a mean, spiteful
komo mai tainga!
” I didn’t know much of the Samoan language, but I did know the curse words. “Oh, Dad, why does this happen to me?”

Dad holds me, patting my back and murmuring something soothing yet unintelligible. Finally the tears subside. Dad hands me a tissue from the box on the side table. I blow my nose and wipe my eyes as he sits there, smiling.

“Bella, you are a wonderful daughter, a wonderful woman and a wonderful mother. I don’t know why Mika left you and I don’t know why your sister did what she did. She’s hurting, too, you know. Ripped from her family at such a tender age, no wonder she’s untrusting.”