Page 13 of The Husband Diet
For the first time, Marcy volunteered to come over at least once a week and spend time poring over brochures and websites, making appointments for me with doctors of all kinds, psychologists, psychiatrists, as if I’d suddenly become this big case, or someone very important to her. She’d take care of it all and all I had to do was just show up. Like some star on the red carpet.
It felt kind of nice, to have her there, encouraging me, telling me I was doing the right thing for once, and that I wouldn’t be sorry, and that I should just wait and see how my life would change. If only she’d been there for me like this when I was a kid and really needed my mother’s guidance and not a stand-in crew of relatives. It would have been nice.
So with her support, I was going under the knife to lose weight. And, let’s face it, to save my marriage. Now, things were about to change for good. The next day, I was going to have one of those operations that you can never be too fat for and that was supposedly going to change my life.
Who was I doing this for, anyway? For a husband who wouldn’t sleep with me, as a form of punishment, until I got down to a size ten? Yeah, like that was happening. Was it even worth it? It wasn’t like the final prize was a night with Aidan Turner or something – that sort of fun was still restricted to my dreams.
I picked up the phone and dialed Paul’s number.
‘Yellowh,’ came his beloved voice, and I cracked.
‘I can’t do it,’ I whispered, my voice hoarse.
Silence. A long one.
‘Paul? Did you not hear what I just said?’
‘I’m thinking, I’m thinking. Just tell me why.’
I swallowed the knot in my throat. ‘I’m afraid. What if I die, Paul? Who’s going to take care of Warren and Maddy? Can you see Ira raising them? Can you? Because I sure as hell can’t!’
‘Calm down, Erica. Relax. You know your aunts and I would never leave the kids alone at Ira’s mercy. Is there any other reason?’
‘Of course not,’ I lied. ‘What other reason could there be?’
‘Oh, just fear of regaining the weight and having to admit defeat and realizing you just missed your last boat to happiness. Or, paradoxically, fear of losing all your protective padding and having to face the world a much slenderer thus, according to your devious mind, more vulnerable woman.’
Good old Paulie had me down pat.
‘So? What if?’ I sniffed. ‘What do I do? The op is tomorrow.’
‘Honey, I can’t tell you what to do. Is there a distinct possibility you could die? That’s why they make you sign a waiver. Are you never going to pack it back on again? Who knows? And probably, if you start eating again, you’ll blow the whole operation, pun intended.’
I sniffed and dashed a hand across my eyes. He was right.
‘Sweetie, what Idoknow is that if you don’t go through with it, tomorrow morning you’re going to groan again because tying your shoes requires just about the same effort as lassoing crazy cows – no pun intended this time.’
I nodded into the phone and let out a loud laugh, followed by a howl of pain, humiliation and frustration. Why was being a woman so difficult?
‘What does Ira have to say about it?’ he asked, and I snorted.
‘He’s beside himself, of course, as if being thin were a solution to all our problems.’
‘Well, Erica, maybe not to yours as a couple, but to yours health-wise, along with other things… Ever think of that?’
Being thin. It wouldn’t just be about fitting on Ira’s lap or into nicer clothes, of course, or even Marcy’s approval. It would mean not worrying that airplane seats are too narrow for my butt, or that the seat belt won’t stretch across my belly, leaving me the only person in the craft bouncing around like a rubber ball from wall to wall and, ultimately, to my death (and that of other people’s) in case of turbulence or a crash. I could already see the headlines:
Flight 2378: Obese woman bounces passengers to death, then finally slams head-on into the cabin door and dies of severe concussion. Cabin crew safe.
No matter what other things you had going for you, no matter how pretty you were or how good your hair and teeth were, if you were fat, people still looked at you with pity. I hated that. At work, no one looked at me with pity. At work, my size was of no consequence because there, I became a goddess. But once I got back in my car and homeward…
‘Idowant to be slim,’ I sobbed finally.
‘Sunshine, if you drop – and you will – at least six dress sizes, you’ll be able to go cycling with your kids and play tag and everything else without giving yourself a minor stroke every time.’
Again, I nodded, and it was as if Paul saw me over the phone.
‘Good. Now, get some sleep. I’ll be there tomorrow morning to drive you to the hospital.’
