Page 63 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

‘You mean Renata? Don’t mention it. She could never keep a straight face in a gym.’

I blinked. ‘You know her?’

‘Cara, everyone knows everyone in Castellino, don’t you know that by now? Plus, we used to be in the same class at school.’

‘Oh.’

‘Don’t let her put you off, Erica.’

‘Oh, it’s not Renata,’ I defended her.

‘Then what is it?’

I shifted uneasily. ‘It’s just… it’s too difficult. I feel big and slow and… awkward.’

He studied me for a minute. ‘Tell you what. Why don’t you stay behind for Pilates and a half-hour workout?’

‘Now?’ I had to go home, make dinner, supervise homework and, oh – strap on an oxygen mask pronto.

‘Just this once. See how it goes. Pilates is nice and quiet and the workout is at your own pace. What do you say?’

‘We’ll watch the kids for you,’ Paul, always a Judas in these situations, chimed in. ‘Stay. I’ll hitch a ride with Renata.’

I shrugged. ‘OK, then.’

It turned out that, with fewer people in the hall, it didn’t stink so much. The lights stayed on and the music was so soft I could actually hear him – and the others – breathing.

First, we quietly stretched and did all sorts of gentle movements that didn’t make me feel like a two-ton elephant. Even Mr. Clean’s voice had toned down. If this continued, I could actually enjoy it. I looked around, comforted by the presence of women my age and even older, some even pleasantly plump, clad in clean but no-nonsense sports gear that didn’t glow in the dark or give you a wedgie. Their hair was tied up in scrunchies and, most of all, there was a lot of smiling and deep breathing going on. Yes,this, I could do. The haka? Not so much.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I studied my reflection. Next to my similars, I didn’t stand out like a yeti. Actually, I kind of looked… normal, you know? I felt ten feet tall for fitting in.

And when Mr. Clean kneeled before me to check my position, he winked in approval.

‘How was that?’ he asked me at the end as I was putting my sneakers back on.

I looked up and smiled. ‘It was good.’

‘Excellent. And by the way, Erica, I used to weigh much more than you.’

I swear my eyes popped out of my head. This four-foot-nothing, lean Mr. Clean?

‘Really? You?’

‘Sì. So- see you on Wednesday?’

I nodded enthusiastically. ‘Wednesday.’

‘And, Erica? Bring your friend again.’

‘You know she’s married…’

He shook his head. ‘The other one…’

‘Paul? Sure.’ Well, well, well…

*

When Julian returned, he marveled at how well I’d done with the cake business.

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