Moore To Love Read online

  Until Alex fucked that all up.

  At my leanest, I “snagged” the it guy. Alex Cruz. God, was he hot. I still get a warm and fuzzy feeling when I think about how it felt to be near that douche. I loved everything about him. Especially the way other girls looked at me when he escorted me around campus. He’d never called me his girlfriend, but we were close, like really close friends. With benefits. He was my first kiss. First guy to cop a feel under my shirt. The first guy I ever slept with. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it, but what I didn’t fancy was the non-exclusivity of our arrangement. A few times I brought it up to him and he shut me up with a mesmerizing kiss. I didn’t know any better, so I went along with it because I liked the attention and the companionship. I was a fat girl trapped inside a body smaller than the one I was used to. Confidence was hard to come by, no matter what the mirror told me to believe. So I let him do what I would disown my own future daughter for ever doing. I allowed him to use me and I turned a blind eye to it the entire time.

  After three months of hooking up, I discovered Alex had been dared to be with me. Yup—dared. It was part of some twisted fraternity initiation that had later been banned. Later meant shit to me. Later was too late. Alex swore on everything good and holy that even though it had started out as a joke, he’d kind of fallen for me. At that point of humiliation, it didn’t matter. I’d been duped, had, done for. I felt like shit and needed to run away from everything that reminded me of that pitiful feeling.

  I dropped out of school and gained back all my weight, plus some. It was a lonely go of it for a while. I shut everyone out until something appealed to me. The mask of makeup. A few subscriptions to Glamour and a trip to Sephora in the city led me to my calling. Cosmetology school gave me a confidence I never knew—something to hide behind. Painting my face made me feel pretty, regardless of the rolls that bulged out of my jeans. Making other people happy with my hands made me feel worthy. I had a gift and no matter how big or small I was, people liked me for how I made them look.

  Win-win, right? Well, technically, I don’t feel like I’m winning today. I’ve spent the last half hour browsing through bridesmaid dresses with Ashley and I’m two seconds away from jumping in front of the subway that runs beneath the shop.

  “Ash, I love you, but I’m not even gonna pretend I want to try that on.”

  Ashley’s holding up a pale pink, strapless mermaid gown. Doesn’t she know that attempting to get my portly body into that dress would be like trying to fit someone’s big toe inside a keyhole? Ain’t happening.

  In true Ashley sweetness, my soon-to-be sister-in-law shushes me with a soft caress on my arm. “Leni, you don’t give yourself enough credit. Besides, Reynold told me how good you’ve been and I can see it myself.” Ashley holds my hand and appraises me at arm’s length. Her hazel eyes peruse my entire body with a genuine smile.

  The fact she notices the ten pounds I’ve shed puts an extra umph in my frump. “I did lose a little, but it’s still not enough to stuff myself into something that form fitting, babe. Forget a mermaid, I’ll look like a beached whale and you know it.”

  That lands me a smack in the ass. “Shut your trap. How ’bout I make you a deal?” Ashley returns the dress to its rightful rack behind her and spins around with a devilish grin.

  Oh boy. I totally don’t like the looks of this. “What are you up to, oh sneaky one? Your eyes are scaring me. They’re doing that freaky, whirly thing they do when you’re concocting a diabolical plan.”

  “Oh, please. And how many times have you been around for my so called concoctions?”

  Is she joking? “One word—” I start.

  “Shit! Vegas.” Took the words right outta my mouth. “Okay, you got me there.”

  “Yeah! So, before you get any crazy ideas, let’s not forget that shit show.” My brother’s loving girlfriend planned his entire twenty-first birthday surprise. Her intentions were forthright, and most of the trip went swimmingly. Until Reynold wound up drunk and naked in the fountains of the Bellagio—during show time. Long story short, he was arrested for indecent exposure and disorderly conduct and we almost missed our flight back home the next morning waiting around for the police to release him from custody. Insanity doesn’t come close to describing what went down during that trip. I can guarantee Reynold won’t be opting for a bachelor party in the City of Sin. I know this much is true.

  Ignoring the million and one reasons I am not agreeing to one of her plans, Ashley ushers me toward another section while skimming through more gowns. There’s no denying she’s afraid to tell me, but rather than play the curiosity killed the cat game, I nudge her to get on with it. “Go on. You were saying? I know you’re dying to get it out.”

  The giddy bride-to-be nearly levitates off the ground as she rubs her hands together. This is gonna be a doozy, isn’t it? “Just hear me out before you say no, okay?”

  I nod, unconvincingly, but ready to see what she’s cooked up.

  “Okay. So, my friend Jane and her wife Mandy just got their personal trainer licenses. They need clients and they’re willing to take on a few newly referred people for half the cost of what they’re set to charge. I’m already on board to start up with Jane on Monday so I can get myself in tip top shape for the wedding.”

  “Because you’re not already runway ready? Come on.” I scoff. She’s perfect from the roots of her highlighted hair to the French manicure on her toes.

  Rolling her eyes, she defends her cause. “Oh, hush. I want to tone up a little, but this isn’t about me. What if—and please don’t take this the wrong way because you know I love you just the way you are, Leni, but—what if we did this together? By the time the wedding rolls around next year we’ll both be svelte and slim and—”

  Time to burst her happy bubble. “You know how much I hate working out, don’t you? I mean, like I despise it. I’d rather chew off my left arm than do a push up.”

  “Yeah, I know. You don’t need to remind me, but—” Her expression turns serious, a glint of sadness in her colorful eyes. This girl is like a sister to me and heart-to-hearts are our thing. I’ve come to recognize when one’s about to go down and the sitting room of Always a Bridesmaid Boutique is about to become the venue for our next intimate chat.

  Ashley leans in so we’re toe to toe and grips my shoulders. Her sympathetic expression says it all. “Babe, you’re not happy and I know it. You’re doing a great job with whatever you’re doing right now, but for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve practically been dying to be thin. Let me help you. Please, Leni. Let’s get you where you wanna be for once and for all.”

  I pull in a long, shaky breath. I should be pissed or hurt or embarrassed, but I’m not. Ashley’s one hundred percent right. I have never learned to embrace my curves. I’m not happy. I’m doing what little I’ve committed to for now, but I’m one fast food temptation away from fucking it all up and binging like there’s no tomorrow. I want to be thinner for this wedding. I want to be skinnier for me. I’m ready to change and I just don’t know how, but I have every reason to get my act together right in front of me.

  In a little over a year, there will be an event which my entire gossipy family will attend. I’d love to give them something positive to talk about this time, rather than be on the receiving end of their inquisitions about why I’m still single.

  Then, there’s the problem of eternalizing the way I look now with photographs that will wind up in my brother’s wedding album. As Ashley’s maid of honor and the only sister of the groom, I’ll be in too many pictures to count. And let’s face it, no one wants to look back at pictures years from now and be filled with regret.

  And lastly—the main reason I’m considering taking Ashley up on her offer—I finally have someone willing to do this with me. Reynold’s good at coming up with a meal plan and a list of daily exercises, but he’s no gym partner. The fact Ashley is willing to join me along this journey means the world to me. The struggle is real and she totally gets it. As m
uch as I want to say no, I’m honestly not sure I can.

  But I still have to give her a hard time. It’s what I do. So before I give in—even though I’m already sold—I scrunch my face and throw my hands to my hips. “And what’s in it for you?”

  Her eyes flash with bright specks of hope as a smile creeps across her glossed lips. “When you get to where you want to be—which you so will because you’ll have me in your corner this time—you’re going to wear the dress I choose.”

  “Oh, no. Not that. Anything but that.” I told you she was diabolical.

  She crisscrosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head up, nose and chin pointing toward the ceiling. “It’s non-negotiable, Madeline Moore. You have your work cut out for you and that means I do too because I’ll be dealing with your whiny ass for the duration of this training. I want more than anything to help you be the woman you want to be, but you can bet your left tit I’m gonna want some kind of reward after this. I pick the dress. Take it or leave it.”

  Just as I’m about to spit out “leave it” and run out of the store, a gaggle of young girls enters through the front door with a ringing of a bell. There has to be twelve of them, all giggly and excited, and rail fucking thin, of course. I instantly spot the bride—the center of the clan, a thick wedding organizer in her hands. Her bridesmaids gather around her, smiling while they look over her shoulder at the swatches she’s arranged neatly in her planner. I can only imagine how easy this process will be for them. They can pick any dress off any of these racks and have not a single concern about which piece of flesh will hang out, bulge out, or pop out.

  My heart aches to be able to go through life with that kind of ease. I think about Ashley and how she has to settle for a frumpy maid of honor rather than be accompanied down the aisle on the happiest day of her life with one of the beautiful bombshells in this other wedding party. I hate the idea of what’s ahead. I shudder at the mere thought of what this personal trainer will put me through. And I’m not comfortable in the least with having no say in a dress that has to go on my body. But I love Ashley and I want to do this for her. Hell, I want to do this for me and every plump bridesmaid that ever felt inferior to the chicks who can slide right into a Size 2, off-the-rack sample.

  I steal my attention from the group of girls happily sifting through gowns and turn back to Ashley. My decision is easy. It’s everything else I’m afraid of. “I’ll do it,” I say, and feel as if a heavy weight—pun totally intended—has been lifted off my shoulders.

  Ashley jumps up and down and claps her hands together. “Yay! Thank you! I promise I won’t let you down and you’ll love the dress I choose. You won’t be sorry, Leni!”

  I shake my head, shooing away all the negative thoughts. Deep down, underneath all the blubber, the cellulite, and the extra baggage, I know this is the right thing to do and surprisingly enough, I’m up for the challenge. I think.

  ASHLEY NEVER MENTIONED THAT JANE was the G.I. Jane. Holy Mother of God, I’ve never seen a woman with so many muscles. It’s scary, and crazy, and kind of freaking hot. “Ash, I want to look like her when this is all over.”

  Ashley giggles, no words necessary. Her thoughts mirror mine—fat chance in hell. “You never know, babe. Crazier things have happened.”

  “Yeah, like me being carried out on a stretcher after three minutes with this chick. You do know I won’t last a whole hour with her, right?”

  “Leave your negativity at the door,” she smarts and points at the plaque right beside the entrance to the gym. Sure enough, it says the exact same thing. Clever. However, if I had a choice it would say something like welcome to hell. But that’s considered negative so I’m already losing this battle.

  “Hey, girls!” Mandy bypasses Jane who’s been on a call at the front desk for the last few minutes. If I thought Jane’s physique was flawless then this woman’s body was carved out of stone. It can’t be natural. She’s got to be an alien, or a robot. No human I know is this naturally proportioned and athletically enhanced.

  Ashley is first to greet the Gym Goddess with a warm smile and a hug. “So nice to finally meet you! Jane can’t stop talking about you. She’s head over heels for you, girl.”

  “She better be,” Mandy quips, winking my way. The whole interaction totally intimidates me. I am by no means uncomfortable with same sex marriage, dating, you name it, but the “she better be” throws me off. Is she implying that she’ll nunchuck her chick into submission? Who am I kidding? She’ll use her bare hands.

  “You must be Madeline,” Mandy extends a strong hand to me and I shyly reciprocate.

  “Leni, please. And it’s nice to meet you, too.”

  “Then why do you look like you just crapped yourself? I won’t bite, Leni, I promise.”

  Ashley and Mandy share a laugh as my stomach inverts into my abdomen and nearly falls out my rectum. Am I that transparent? The mixture of embarrassment and fear must be written all over my face.

  “Leni here is a gym hater.”

  Mandy gasps and every occupant of the gym turns their head to see what’s going on. Way to ease away the discomfort, girls. Real good.

  “There’ll be none of that. By the time you’re done with us you’ll hate the gym so much you’ll fucking love it.” Mandy’s face is painted with pleasure as she says the meaningful phrase. I get it. I’ve heard this before—people learn to crave the pain, love the burn, and embrace the after-workout-soreness. I want more than anything to be that type of person, but I’ve been here before and I just can’t get comfortable with having to ask for help to sit on the toilet after leg day. That ain’t cool, no matter how much my rocking ass with thank me for it later.

  I take a deep breath and decide to go with it. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, and I am obviously ill equipped to give these two any kind of beating. “I’m ready. You’ve got my word. I might whine and bitch, but it’ll all be worth it in the end, right?”

  “Exactly!” Mandy shouts.

  “Yay, Leni! I’m so proud of you!” Ashley beams.

  I wish I could be that excited about the torment ahead.

  An hour later, I swear to Jesus Christ and every saint, martyr, and Apostle that I’m going to die. Death by lunges wasn’t what I imagined in my obituary, but they better call the morgue because I’m done for.

  “Fuck!” I scream, keeling over and collapsing on the rubber mat.

  “Let it out, babe. Yell all you want, but you did it and lived to tell about it.” Jane kneels beside me on the floor, handing me a sweat rag and my water bottle.

  “Barely,” I manage to breathe, realizing that I did in fact live to tell the tale of the Lunge Monster and her evil queen, Squat Beast. “But—would you look at that? I still have a pulse.”

  “That you do. I’m proud of you, Leni. I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”

  “I was,” Ashley’s quick to interrupt Mandy at my defense. “You got this. I told you! And the first day is always the hardest, but tomorrow you’ll get back on the horse and—”

  “Tomorrow?” I nearly cry. Like full on, sobbing, weeping, throwing a tantrum cry.

  The three mocking bitches laugh, clearly ignoring the seriousness of this ludicrous situation.

  “Yes, tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that, babes. After you’re done down there on the floor, you’re going to come into our office and we’re setting you up with a weekly diet and exercise plan. This won’t be easy, Leni, but nothing worth it ever is. You game?”

  Can I say no? I want to say no. I really, really want to fucking say no. But I can’t. She’s right. It’s time to grab life by the balls—if I had any, I would have squatted them off today—and do this shit wholeheartedly. “Yeah, I’m game,” I whisper.

  “Say what?” Jane barks. “I didn’t hear you.” She cups her ear and leans down, waiting for my response.

  “Yes! I’m game! You happy?”

  “Yes!” they all shout in unison.

  “And you should be, to
o,” Ashley reminds me.

  And I am. I truly am so proud of myself for getting through this without giving up. It’s an accomplishment and while I’m certain this’ll be an uphill battle . . . I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.

  Okay, so screw the gym, this is the hardest part of the whole shebang. Willpower. I have none. And while I emptied my fridge and cabinets of anything unhealthy and fattening, I have no problem getting in the elevator in the hallway, taking it down to the lobby, and walking (exercise!!!) the three blocks to McDonald’s to feed my late night craving. But I digress.

  When I watch TV I like to snack, and I don’t care who you are but carrots and hummus are not considered an acceptable Late Nate with Jimmy Fallon accompaniment. I want chips, dip, popcorn, something with crunch that isn’t a raw vegetable! But I refuse to undo what I did today with Ashley, Jane, and Mandy. Forget about disappointing myself—I’ve learned to live with self inflicted guilt—I can’t let them down. They put their faith in me and I want to deliver. So, instead of laughing it up with my man Jimmy, I decide to call it a night before the temptation of food, alcohol or anything with a caloric intake over five comes knocking on my door.

  Tomorrow is a new day. I’ll be in pain, I’ll want to eat things I shouldn’t, I have to start my daily walking regimen under Jane’s instruction, and I’m not looking forward to any of it, but if I learned anything today, it’s that Ashley was right in that dress store the other day. I don’t give myself enough credit. I can do this. I will do this. G.I. Jane and Mandy, beware—you’ll make a gym lover outta me yet.