chapter 7 - sunday pt iii

I woke up to a bloated stomach poking out from under the tank top that had ridden up my belly as I slept. Even though my tummy was still bubbling from my feast with Cheyenne, I also felt the familiar grumble of hunger rattling through the empty spaces of my now very stretched-out stomach, which had managed to digest a good portion of what was packed into it. I pushed against my belly button and let out an involuntary burp, making myself chuckle. Gassy, but squishy. It was time to start planning for dinner. I wandered into the kitchen, only to remember that I hadn't gone grocery shopping that afternoon like I'd planned to. Breakfast with Cheyenne had turned into a bigger ordeal than I ever could have imagined. The microwave clock read 6:57p. On a Sunday, that meant the store was closing in an hour, and it was a 30 minute drive to the one with the best prices. There would never be enough time. And like magic, just then, my cell phone rang. My mother's voice was on the other line, "Hey lovey! How are you doing?" Not wanting to get stuck on the phone with her, I decided against telling her about Jordan and me splitting,
"I'm fine, mom. What's up?" I continued to search around my kitchen for food to throw together into some kind of acceptable dinner.
"Well, you'll never guess who surprised us coming to town this afternoon. Your cousin, Hayley! We're all meeting at the Golden Corral on 32nd Street in an hour." I stopped in my tracks. Hayley was the cousin I'd stuffed my face with at Thanksgiving. Was I dreaming? I was going to a buffet with my literal binge buddy? This was the perfect end to my weekend of letting go and "fucking it".
"Fuck it! I'll see you there ma!" Silence on the other end.
"Excuse me?" Shit. In my excitement I'd forgotten who I was talking to.
"Um..I mean..sorry. Love you, bye!" I hung up quickly and went into my room to change. Standing in front of my mirror naked again, I rubbed my hands all over my body, squeezing and pinching at my thighs and stomach, cupping my breasts and jiggling them up and down. I was noticeably squishy, like it was December 26th and I was wearing that layer of post-thanksgiving/christmas weight that would be sweat off by Valentine's day. For some reason, I didn't mind. Maybe it would be just like the winter-- I'd sweat it off in a month or two.
I knew I couldn't wear my skimpy shorts and tank top to the buffet, so I searched through my closet for something else--something that would conceal my indulgence, but also be comfortable. That meant buttons would be a big no, but a belt would probably be okay if it had enough holes for wiggle room. I pulled a long flowing dress from my closet and a belt to fasten around the middle--without one, it looked like a potato sack. Plus, it would be fun to feel myself expanding and then have to loosen the belt to make room. Thinking about this, I started to feel a warm wetness between my legs.
I undressed, let my hair down, and stepped into my shower. I removed the shower head and allowed the water to pour down my face, breasts, shoulders, and back. Then, I moved it to my stomach, the water making small dimples in the soft flesh as it splashed against my skin. The belly massage felt good, but it felt even better as I lowered the shower head down between my legs, applying pressure exactly where I needed it until I nearly collapsed in a fit of ecstasy. Suddenly, I was starving all over again.

When I arrived at Golden Corral, my parents were standing in line to pay. "Over here, honey!" My mom called out to me.
"It's my sweet, sweets! Look! It's your cousin Hayley." My Dad punched the arm of the chubby girl standing next to my mom. I hardly recognized her at first--she must have gained at least 50 pounds. Hiding my surprise, I gave her an enthusiastic hug, feeling her new layers of soft fat beneath my arms.
"I've missed you so much! When was the last time we saw each other?" I asked as if I didn't remember how we'd eaten until we were scared we'd explode, and it looked like she hadn't stopped since then.
"How could you forget? Thanksgiving! I still can't believe you beat me." A playful grin spread from one of Hayley's chubby cheeks to the other and she squeezed one of her love handles, which hung over the side of her denim shorts. "That won't be happening again though." Knowing exactly what I was getting myself into, I devishly asked, "Are you asking for a chance at redemption?"
We were at the front of the line now and my father was paying for our entrance.
"Ladies, be nice." My mom shot us looks that said, "take it easy."
"Don't worry Auntie," Hayley reassured her, "we're just having some fun. You know we've always liked to push each other."
"Yeah mom, it's cool! This is what we do." Hayley and I playfully jabbed each other in the sides, as we fought over who would get the bench side of the table and who would get the chairs.
"Oh lord, just take the bench girls, get your gotdamn plates, and settle down!" He snapped at us, pulling out my mom's chair for her.
"Sorry Dad." "Sorry Uncle." we mumbled as we scurried off to the buffet line.

Anybody watching me fill my plate would never have guessed that I'd conquered more than half of a feast meant for ten people only a few hours prior. "I'm starving!" announced Hayley, "I haven't eaten since breakfast." She piled chicken wings and texas toast on one plate and lasagna and veggies on another.
"Yeah, me too!" I lied, filling my own plates with chicken wings, fettuccini alfredo with shrimp, and garlic bread. We carried our plates back to the table, balancing cups full of soda in the crook of our arms. When we sat down, My parents got up to fill their plates.
"Get ready to lose!" Hayley threw her head back and laughed a goofy evil laugh before diving head-first into her plate of lasagna. Hayley ate with a ravenous speed, shoveling bite after bite of steaming noodles, meat, and veggies into her mouth, all covered in cheese. She intently sucked the meat off of the chicken wings until they were completely clean, and by the time my parents returned with their full plates, she had cleared both of hers. She stacked her plates on top of each other and got up, calling "Loser!" over her shoulder on her way to the food line.
I raced to catch up with her, stuffing forkfuls of creamy fettuccini into my mouth, followed by the buttery garlic bread.
"Whoa, there shnookums! Don't forget to chew before you swallow." My dad teased me, and I rolled my eyes. When Hayley returned to the table she had two more plates, this time filled with crab legs, mac n' cheese, mashed potatoes, some kind of noodle casserole, and a green salad. I was cleaning off my last chicken bone and pushed her out of the way.
"Salad! Lightweight!" I picked a tomato off of Hayley's plate and popped it into my mouth.
"I'm pacing myself. There's a science to destroying you." She smiled at me and did her evil laugh again as I stomped off toward the line, more determined than ever. This time, I considered her advice and made myself a plate of salad too, drizzling ranch dressing over the entire thing with a sprinkle of parmesan. To make up for it, my second plate consisted of chili fries, broccoli in cheddar cheese sauce, and another helping of garlic bread (one can never have too much bread).
When I came back to the table, Hayley had already stacked her empty salad plate on top of her first two, and was greedily sucking the meat out of a crab leg. My parents were off
getting more food, each of their modestly filled plates now empty in their own stack in the middle of the table.
"Ha! It's 3 to 2 so far. It's about to be 4-2." Hayley smirked at me, the grease around her lips and mouth shining in the lights.
"It's about to be game over, for you Hayley. You may be ahead of me now, but I'm going to eat you under this table. Literally, I'm going to out-eat you to the point that we're trapped in this booth and have to crawl under the table to get out." Hayley's eyes got wide.
"Wow, okay. That was intense." I shook her off and attacked my plates of food full-force. We entered a monotonous cycle of filling plates, stuffing plates, and stacking plates, rotating around each other as we took turns at the buffet line, egging each other on silently, from across the room "Full yet?" I mouthed to her as she scooped more mac n' cheese onto her plate.
My parent's pile was 8 plates high when they maxed out, leaning back in their chairs. My father untucked his shirt from his pants and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, "Whew! Boy am I stuffed." My mom patted his pot belly.
"My big boy." She chuckled, rubbing his back and neck.
I counted Hayley's and my pile of plates. It was 8 to 7. She was at the line filling her 9th and 10th and I was poking away at my 8th. I ate a bite of potato salad and was reminded of the delicious, flavorful potato salad at Cheyenne's potluck, and then our breakfast this morning, and its sensual ending. These thoughts filled me with the desire for more, but I felt like I was reaching my limit. I felt along my belt, fumbling with the buckle for a few moments before finally getting it undone and sliding the latch over to the next notch. I breathed a sigh of relief. With more room in my stomach, I held my plate up to my mouth and shamelessly scraped the last bites of food into it, still chewing as I added my plate to my stack and scooched out of the booth to the buffet line. On the way, I passed Hayley who was balancing three plates on her arms--two piled with mashed potatoes and one with pork ribs, corn bread, and green beans. "Grab some gravy!" she said to me, as she made her way to the table. I filled a cup with thick, brown turkey gravy and then piled pork ribs, more garlic bread, and more mac n' cheese onto a plate, carefully carrying it all back to the table.