chapter 2 - saturday pt i

I woke up to the sun seeping in through my bedroom window. My room was hot and my eyes felt dry from having stayed up so late, staring at my television. I had sweat through my tank top in my sleep and it was stuck to my skin, urging me to get up. Still groggy, I sat up and slowly got out of bed, feeling the cool hardwood under one foot and then the next, before fully standing upright. I peeled the sticky tank top off of my body, pulled my sweatpants down to my ankles, stepped out of them, and then caught my reflection in the full-sized mirror.
I was blessed with a naturally fit and tight body. Always active, but even if I slacked off for months at a time I looked the same. It seemed like my McDonald's binge from the night before hadn't done much damage. I was still a little bloated, but the bubbling in my lower belly told me that would be taken care of quickly. I went into the bathroom, managed my business, and then turned on the shower.
Stepping into the steam, I suddenly had a flashback of a memory with Jordan. It was a Saturday morning, just like this one. Neither of us had to work, so we woke up late and then ate breakfast in bed. Afterward, we'd playfully chased each other into the shower, laughing and kissing. I'd thought we were so in love.
A growling from deep in my stomach snapped me out of my horrid reverie.
It's always been the case, that when I wake up from a particularly indulgent night, I am absolutely ravenous. My theory is that my stomach is still stretched out from the night before, and with the absence of food after a morning shit, the result is a feeling of indescribable hunger. As I scrubbed myself with a lathered up washcloth, I thought about what I could make for breakfast...and, oh shit! Cheyenne's potluck. I knew I'd have to make something to bring there too. Cupcakes would be quick and easy.
I got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my head, and another around my body. I quickly dried myself and chose a sundress from my closet--my weekend go-to outfit. Although its skirt was flowy, I noticed my butt and thighs looked thicker than they had the last time I'd worn it.
In the kitchen I made coffee, and as it was dripping I set out ingredients for the cupcakes, thankfully finding just enough cream cheese to make a frosting. By the time the coffee was ready, I'd made up my mind to push through my hunger and make the cupcakes first. That way, the frosting wouldn't melt when I put it on. As miserable as the idea of waiting to eat breakfast made me, I was happy to find that I finished making the batter and had the cupcakes in the oven in less than thirty minutes.
There were only a few eggs left, so I used them up and threw them into a pan with some bacon and cheese, making a scramble. My stomach growled again, and I knew that wouldn't be enough. In the freezer I found hash brown patties and raspberry cheese blintzes. A few of each would do the trick.
My breakfast and the cupcakes were done at the same time, so of course I'd be eating one of those too. Even without frosting, chocolate cupcakes are best when hot. After a night of binging on fast food, a homemade breakfast was just what I needed. I savored the coffee, the grease from the bacon dripping into the eggs, and the hot chocolate cupcake. The raspberry jam seeped out of the cheese blintz and onto my cupcake, I was in breakfast bliss.
I pushed my empty plate away from me and leaned back in my chair, burping. The feeling of insatiable hunger had definitely lifted, and I was weighed down. The fabric of my dress was tight on my belly as I sat, but when I stood up it fell somewhat loosely again. A fart escaped me, and even though I was alone I felt embarrassed. I had been such a pig. I always turned to food when I was depressed. It hadn't had much of an effect on young, tight, teenage me, but if I kept this up now I'd be as big as a whale before long.
I noticed the clock on my microwave read 11:30. I must have slept in later than I'd realized. Quickly, I whipped up the cream cheese frosting and spread it on the tops of the chocolate cupcakes. Despite my previous bout of self-disgust, I caught myself licking the remaining frosting out of the bowl and off of the spatula before putting them into the sink.
Cheyenne opened the door with a drink in her hand, a pink, bubbly looking thing with berries stacked on top of each other on a toothpick sticking above the rim of the champagne glass. "Oh, sweetie! Hi! I'm so glad you came. And with cupcakes!! They look amazing. Go ahead and set them down over there." Cheyenne gestured to a long table under the window. The apartment was just like mine, but decorated in a much more prim fashion. There were little angel figurines and fake flowers on shelves, reminding me of my grandmother's house. The curtains were powder pink and opened to show off the view of the park below. But I had seen that park countless times. It was the table that blew my mind.
The food Cheyenne's friends had brought was incredible. There was an international spread of mini BBQ pulled pork sliders, several kinds of sushi and sashimi, lumpia, squares of pizza topped with mushrooms and crumbled feta cheese (it looked very fancy), tamales lined up and laying in a red sauce covered with cheese, green salads, fruit salads, potato salads, fried chicken, green beans, a charcuterie spread with meats and cheeses I never learned the names of, and then there were the desserts. Chocolate covered fruits--strawberries, raspberries, and apples, a platter piled with an assortment of cookies, petit fours arranged on a tiered display, a pan of cheesecake, apple pie, and a glorious looking trifle. Next to all of that, my cupcakes looked like I thought I was going to a PTA fundraiser, not a weekend luncheon.
A woman with dark hair and green eyes came up beside me with a plate in her hand. "Doesn't this all look amazing?" She smiled at me, "Ooh, I love your dress!"
"Thanks, and yeah. It really does look amazing. People brought this stuff?" I must have looked worried because she quickly responded with, "Those cupcakes look delicious. I'd love to try one!" I extended the platter toward her and she took one. I watched her lift it up to her rosy lips. She took a bite and then licked them, making sure not to leave any of the sweet cream cheese behind. "Mmmm, these are so good! We're all in Cheyenne's culinary program. Jeff is big on cupcakes, I'm going to go find him so he can try these!" The woman ran off, and I felt a little lighter knowing that there was a good reason for why this food all looked so fancy. It had been made by literal professionals. I could relax now.
I didn't know anybody, but that never bothered me much in social situations. I could always entertain myself, as long as there was alcohol. I found the table with champagne glasses and different pitchers filled with different colored drinks-- the pink bubbly one that Cheyenne must have been drinking, a dark red with sliced fruit floating in the top, probably a sangria, and a peachy-colored drink bubbling like a bellini. I decided to start with the sangria, and poured myself a full glass. My first sip told me it was strong, my second told me I didn't care, my third made me forget how full I'd been after my breakfast barely an hour before.
I wandered over to the food table and began to make myself a plate. I knew I didn't want to indulge. I could get carried away with nobody to talk to and a lot on my mind, but I had to be good. I decided to just try one of everything-- one piece of each type of sushi, one slider, one piece of pizza, one tamale, one scoop of green beans and each salad, the smallest piece of chicken I could find, and only a handful of crackers with cheese and meats from the charcuterie spread. It turned out, I needed two plates.
There were people mingling and sitting in chairs or on couches all over the apartment, but I was able to find myself a space on the deck outside. There was an ashtray on the table with the roach of a joint in it and cigarette butt that looked like it had been put there recently, but nobody else was there except for me. I dug into my food, and was immediately overwhelmed by how good everything tasted. It was clear that these culinary students had been studying for a while. The chicken was crisp on the outside and juicy on the inside, perfect without any sauce or dressing. The international foods tasted even better than the plates and plates of cosmopolitan delicacies I'd consumed at the Bellagio Buffet in Las Vegas with Jordan the summer prior. Before I knew it, I was in a trance again, stuffing my face.
"Hey! You're the cupcake girl. Rachel told me the girl in the cute yellow dress made these." A tall man with dusk blue eyes and curly brown hair was standing beside me, holding one of my cupcakes in my face. I swallowed the mouthful of food I was in the process of chewing and smiled bashfully. "Um, yeah. I made those."
"These are fucking amazing! Hey--" He eyed my glass, which was just ice cubes and wine-red fruit now. "I'm going to grab you another drink." He eyed my plates of food "And it looks like you're almost ready for dessert." He winked at me, and then went back inside.I looked down at my plates. One was empty with the exception of chicken bones. The other had just a slice of pizza and two pieces of sushi. I popped the sushis into my mouth whole, enjoying the feeling of being gluttonous again. It felt good to be naughty, to break my own rules.
I finished off the pizza and stacked the plates. As I leaned forward to push them aside, I felt my dress tight on my stomach again.
The curly-haired man returned with a bubbling peach drink in his hand and a plate piled high with sweets.
We cheers-ed our glasses and each took a sip. I let out an involuntary hiccup and immediately blushed. The man laughed, "Ha! Don't worry about it. I think it's cute. I'm Jeff, by the way" we shook hands and my stomach filled with butterflies.