Kissing Fire(2)

“So, what exactly will you do Little Dickie?”

“Anything.”

Melissa looked at me and I shrugged. I just wanted the creep out of here so I decided to handle this. “Tell you what Mike. Get out of here and don’t ever come back. If I ever hear that you even so much as breathed a word to anyone that you know me, these pics will be posted everywhere. You got it?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” he promised.

Little Dickie scrambled out of there, wet britches and all, as fast as his feet could carry him. He didn’t even bother to stuff his little dickie in his pants, not that anyone would’ve noticed.

Melissa and I had a good laugh over it but I ended up with some serious bruises from his man handling. She wasn’t too pleased with that so she took it upon herself to start my sumo wrestling training. My program consisted of trips to the gym for some power lifting sessions and a daily consumption of large quantities of Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream, specifically, Chunky Monkey and Phish Food. Melissa wasn’t very impressed with my ability to pump iron. I could bench press twenty five pounds to her two hundred. I’d grit and gnash my teeth but the most I could do was thirty pounds and maybe eke out four reps.

“We’re gonna have to get those arms in better shape. If you’d have had a little strength in them, Little Dickie wouldn’t have had a chance with you.”

I groaned and said, “I know. Don’t remind me. I’m trying to forget. Everything in my life has gone to hell Melissa.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My social life. My sex life. Heck, I don’t even know what sex is any more. If Little Dickie hadn’t been such an asshole, who knows? Maybe I would’ve done it with him. I just couldn’t stand him though.”

“Listen, we’re gonna get you through this so you can get your confidence back. You just need a little weight on you. You’re nothing but a bag of bones. And maybe you should get yourself one of those vibrators. Don’t bother with the kind that need batteries. Go for the electrical ones. They’re much better.”

Oh good lord, those were the last things I needed. An electric vibrator and more weight. I jiggled enough as it was. I probably was my own personal vibrator. I could barely squeeze my rear end into any of my clothes. Everything was tight. I was busting out of my “fat” clothes and had gone out and bought new things and those were already getting tight. Sumo wrestling, though I didn’t want to hurt Melissa’s feelings, was not going to solve my problems. It was adding to them. I was starting to resemble a duck when I walked. Even my brother had mentioned something the other day and he was such a kind hearted person. He wanted to know if I was having foot issues. I wasn’t following.

“Ava, you’re walking a bit funny. I was wondering if your feet are bothering you.”

“Oh good lord Pearce. I’m fat and I’m waddling. That’s what’s wrong with me. My feet are fine. They’re just not used to toting around all this excess baggage.”

He had the decency to blush and apologize. He patted my hand and asked, “Is everything okay? Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

“No. I’m fine,” I said glumly. He hugged me and we parted ways. He didn’t have time for me. He was busy with his life now. His wife Lexi had just announced she was three months pregnant and they were redoing their house. They wanted to transform one of the guest rooms into a nursery and they were also interviewing nannies. Lexi still wanted to work so they wanted to hire a live in nanny.

I pulled myself back to my issue at hand...my mom. There was no getting around it. She would have to be told about my new job and the sooner the better. Maybe I could take her out to dinner and tell her in a public place where she couldn’t make a scene. Nope, that wouldn’t work, I decided. She would still make a scene. I was so screwed.

Oh, to hell with it. Biting the bullet, I grabbed my purse and headed over to my parents. They didn’t live but a few blocks from me so I just walked like I always did. When I got there, I was glad to see both of their cars at home. Might as well get it over with, I thought.

Now I’m not trying to brag or anything, but my parents lived in a grand house on the battery in Charleston, South Carolina. I was fortunate to have been born into a family of means.

Betty, my parents’ cook, was in the kitchen when I walked in and she immediately tried to shove food into my mouth.

“I know you love to do this, but I’m trying to shed some of this weight I’ve gained. I need to get back into my clothes,” I protested.

“Ack! You girls like to be too skinny these days.” She sounded like Melissa.