Page 61 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

He laughed again. ‘You’ll get there.’

‘Not alive, I won’t.’

He laughed. ‘What’s your weight loss target?’

I hadn’t thought of that. Enough to fit into a wedding dress? Enough not to have people stare in disbelief when they saw me at Julian’s side? If anything, I didn’t want to stand out anymore. I wanted to be normal.

‘I’d need to lose 30 kilos to be anything like them.’

‘You don’t need to be anything like them. All you need is to be at your own best.Sì?’

I thought about it. It made sense. False promises were useless and harmful. ‘Sì…’

‘And of course, don’t think it’s easy. It takes a lot of sweat and tears to lose weight. You’ll have to come in for a couple of hours at least three times a week.’

Three times a week? For a couple of hours? Was he insane?

‘I’m not going to lie to you. It takes balls to do what you’re doing. Deciding to lose weight isn’t for everyone. Only the strongest can do it.’

‘Survival of the fittest?’

‘Exactly. You a fighter?’

We obviously hadn’t met. I’d survived worse than the gym. ‘I’m a fighter.’

‘Good girl. See you Monday, then.’

13

Living, Loving and Being Happy?

As the many pieces of my life were still trying to find each other in all that madness, at least my conscience and willpower were revamped, as Mr. Clean’s words had begun to sink in. Itdidtake a lot of courage to overhaul my life completely with the decision to lose weight. But I had courage to spare. With all the changes I’d brought about in my life over the years, and all that had happened to send me reeling and landing with a painful thud on my ass, what were a few squats in comparison? And dieting? Nothing I hadn’t done before.

To the point I went home, to where Rosina had made an exquisite lasagne, and fixed myself a tuna salad for dinner – no mayo, no oil, just tuna and lettuce. And no bread, of course. Maddy and Warren watched me as they chomped away on their glorious food, Paul’s portion safely tucked away in the microwave for when he got back from Chef Alberto’s. Even if I knew Paul wouldn’t have any space (or inclination) left after eating Alberto’s food. Just the thought of Alberto’s goodies made me weak in the knees and I put my fork down, overwhelmed with a craving for real food and not this joke.

‘Aren’t you hungry, Mommy?’ Maddy asked as she held out some of her lasagne for me, bless her generous little soul.

‘No, sweetheart,’ I said, caressing her pink cheek.

‘Mom’s got to lose some weight or she won’t fit into her wedding dress,’ Warren sentenced, and I flashed him a pox disguised as a smile.

‘Is your wedding dress pretty, Mommy?’ Maddy asked.

The one in the shop was, I wanted to say.But in my size, it would look like a deflated hot-air balloon.‘Very pretty, sweetheart. Almost as pretty as yours.’

Her face lit up. ‘I get a dress, too?’

‘Of course. You’re going to be my flower girl.’ Hopefully before she started dating.

She gasped in bliss. ‘Flower girl…!’

‘That’s right, honey.’

Maddy thought about it. ‘Then no pasta for you, Mommy.’

How right she was. I was on a mission now. Saturday was a non-fat day, as well, and even on Sunday I’d done myself proud with a long walk into town and back without even glancing at the eateries that dotted thecorso. And on top of that, in the privacy of my bedroom I also performed fifty squats in my pajamas for good measure.

But, as it often happens, by Sunday evening I’d chickened out. The memory of all those skinny people whizzing around like jumping jacks while I could barely stand on one foot made me feel inadequate. I’d vowed to keep up with them somehow, but how? I wasn’t so sure anymore. I needed a push of some sort. Besides my reflection in the mirror, I mean. And then the light bulb over my head lit up.

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