Chapter 2

Taking the towel off her shoulder, she wiped the perspiration from her face. Everything was either ready or in the oven, and she could finally take a break. The clock ticked, making her wonder how much time she had, and she looked up—8 PM? Already? “Yikes…” she thought, and began to think about what to wear—again—as she went upstairs to shower.

She turned the shower on, taking off her messy, stained shirt and trousers, examining herself in the mirror—again. “There’s gotta be a way to be happy being fat,” she mused, turning, lifting, staring. “Surely someone has figured this out…” As she turned to open the shower door, she caught herself looking at her ass, and said, “Oh, for Pete’s sake. I can’t stop looking, and I don’t even know if I love it or hate it. Or both.”

She stepped into the shower, noticing—again—how her cushiony rolls and mounds felt as she soaped herself. The slippery softness was more than sensual, even deeply erotic. The possibility that this flesh was the cause of disgust, repulsion, rejection seemed so far away… so alien… so impossible. Perhaps hot water is inherently therapeutic; in any case, she came out of the long shower happily clean and wet and feeling quite beautiful. Towelling herself off, she smiled at the jiggling flesh, at the waves wobbling her belly up and down, at the way her body felt as it folded over on itself, caressing and touching her like a built-in lover.

Her closet doors opened to reveal many choices: from drapey dresses to flowing suits to muumuus, in an array of colours. “Not too bright,” she thought, “but not dull, either. And a fabric that moves…” She settled on a cobalt blue dress with princess seams from Love Your Peaches, pulled it over her head, shook out her hair, and went back to the mirror. “OK, not over-dressed, not overly vivid, tidy, pretty, and fit for the purpose. Done.” She stepped into a pair of navy flats and descended the stairs, carefully to proceed slowly and not to work up a sweat.

Pulling on an apron, she considered how to plate everything, got out the appropriate plates and bowls, and arranged everything. She set the table and then checked her watch, realising she had about five or ten minutes to collect herself. She drew out two of the dining chairs, put them next to each other, and sat on them, considering how to pose her question/ proposition to Tony.

As she was considering the various possible opening lines, and ‘rewriting’ them over and over in her head, the doorbell rang, and she smiled. She rocked herself up and walked thoughtfully to the door. When she opened it, she saw Tony, his arms full with a big bouquet, a box of chocolates, several bakery boxes, and a loaf of Italian bread. And a shy smile. She considered kissing him, then said, “I’ll never reach over me” pointing to her belly “and you” gesturing to his laden arms, “so come in, please!” He went straight into the kitchen, which was just off to the right as you moved into the large open plan of the house, and set everything on the countertop.

She moved into his arms and snuggled in happily. He rested his cheek atop her head and smiled. After a few minutes, he lifted her face and asked “When you phoned earlier, you sounded like you have something on your mind. Is everything ok?” Brushing her lips over his, she said “Of course. But you’re right, I do have something I want to discuss. Let’s just wait until we’re sitting down to dinner, shall we? We’re having a yoghurt and spinach soup for the first course, and to be honest, I don’t have any idea what to serve to drink with it…what can I offer you?” “Just some water, I think. I’ve never had a yoghurt soup before—you’re making me very curious,” he said, giving her a little wink.

She gestured for him to sit, which he did, and she brought over the bowls of soup, along with the bread he brought, a cutting board and bread knife, and a small plate of butter, softened to room temperature. He sliced and buttered several slices of bread for each of them, all too aware of her gaze. Finally, they each had a bowl of soup and several slices of fresh, buttered bread in front of them, and an awkward silence descended. Tony picked up his spoon, tasted the soup, and looked deeply surprised. She giggled, and he looked up at her. “…but, this, it’s … wonderful! I would never have thought to make soup with yoghurt, but it’s so good!” She smiled happily, and said “It’s literally an old family recipe, from my mother’s side. My grandmother used to make it for me when I was little, and I always loved it. There are others, including one with whole grain wheat or barley, but this is my favourite.”