Chapter 1

She stood in the mirror. For the first time in three months she was wearing jeans again, and they fit. It had been tough to get back to 220. She had lost the weight carefully. No crazy diets or gimmicks, 10 pounds a month. She looked good, she told herself. Sure her boobs were a little smaller and her hips weren’t as wide or soft, but she looked good, she insisted.

She was eating less, she was walking each day and, probably most importantly, she broke up with her boyfriend three months ago. They had been together for eight months and she had put on 42 pounds in a blur. It had been a lot of fun; he was a great lover whose affection made her feel sexier at 250 than she had at 210.

Then came the pressure from her friends and family to lose weight. Her last trip to the doctor and the ensuing guilt trip finally pushed her to break things off with him. She looked at her smaller tummy with a strange pang of disappointment. She should be excited, she told herself. This was a good thing.

She walked from her mirror to her bed. She had a garbage bag filled with clothes that fit her at 250 and a few outfits that had been a little loose on her even then. Sizing up had become a normal part of her life before. Now she was sizing down. She looked through the clothes. She had cute leggings, tanktops and dresses. She also had a favorite black negligee that parted in the middle to show off her surging belly. She had a range of underwear but her favorites were a red thong that dug into her hips and purple-black plaid boy shorts where each square stretched across her fat butt. She caught herself getting turned on and shook herself out of it.

She loaded her clothes into the car and drove to the local donation box. She stood in front of it looking back and forth from the box to her bag of clothes. This is permanent, she thought. I’m not going to be 250 again, so why am I hesitating?

Her phone buzzed and she nearly jumped. It was him. Her heart raced as she read the text. He said he wanted to meet up and see her again. He said he missed her.

Well, they had split up rather suddenly, she reasoned. She hadn’t explained herself well because she was afraid of being talked out of the breakup. It really hadn’t been very fair to him. He deserved closure and she wouldn’t be tempted after three months apart.

She pulled the bag back from the lip of the donation box and stowed it in her trunk. She could drop this stuff off any day. It didn’t have to be today.

That night she showed up to Coppola’s fifteen minutes before their 8 PM reservation. She had curled her hair and wore a fitted black dress with crossed straps behind her. Was Coppola’s the best place to meet, just to talk? Probably not, it had been one of their favorite places to eat when they were together.

He walked into the restaurant on time. He was dressed in a button down with his hair was swept to the side. She loved the way that shirt fit him. His cologne wafted to her as he sat down. It was so familiar. They caught up and bantered. She had missed this, missed him.

The bread came to the table and she looked at it, conflicted.

“It’s clear you’ve been working hard to lose weight,” he said. “You deserve one night to enjoy yourself.” He broke a piece of bread and placed it and a dish of olive oil on her plate. That was all it took.

She pressed the bread into the oil, drenched it rather than dipped it. One piece, two pieces and three passed her glossy lips. Her meals had been unsatisfying since she started her diet and she just realized now how hungry she really was.

“Appetizer?” He asked. She nodded twice. When the caprese and calamari got to the table he asked for an extra cup of aioli. Eating a bunch of fried squid dunked in a lemon aioli was a no-no on a diet and eating a block of fresh mozzarella even more so. The sweetness of the roasted red pepper, acidity of the capers and the creaminess of the cheese were perfect harmony. She had eaten most of everything before she even realized.

When it was time to order entrees, he ordered for her. Her fettucine alfredo appeared enormous after a few months of salad and rice measured by the cup. But hey, it had grilled chicken strips in there too. When the waiter asked if they would like parmesan she said yes. The seconds went by as he ground the parmesan and her cheeks turned progressively redder before she finally said he could stop.

The fettucine was delicious, but it was heavy, cheesy and rich. She ate about half of the plate when she said, “I think I might need a box. I’m getting kinda full.”

“Do you need some help?” he asked. She nodded. He sat by her side and the scent of his cologne excited her. He took her fork and spoon and twirled the fettucine before bringing it slowly to her waiting lips. He moved closer to her. Her hip pressed into his. Her shoulder against his chest. Their eyes met as bite by bite she finished her plate.

“Good girl,” he praised. She swooned. “Dessert?” It was a question. She could stop now, if she really wanted.

“Well,” she began. “I can’t pick between the cheesecake or the tiramisu…”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” He ordered the tiramisu and she ordered the cheesecake. Alternating spoonfuls of both cakes came from his spoon to her mouth. Rich cheesecake, light whipped tiramisu. Grahm cracker crust and espresso dipped lady fingers. She didn’t lift a finger and with his help she ate both desserts.

She had never been so full. She looked pregnant, her stomach like a globe with her dress stretched around it. He paid the check and walked her to her car.

“I know we just agreed to meet this one time,” he said, “but do you think we could try again?”

“Yes,” she accented. “I’d really, really like that.”

“Every night won’t be like tonight,” he promised sheepishly.

“Even if they were I don’t think I’d mind,” she whispered. They kissed, long and sweet. His hands running along her body, lingering around her belly. He caressed her, making small circles with his fingers.

She was glad he texted when he did. She was going to need those clothes after all.