Page 1 of Fresh Canvas
one
AMANTHA
Icouldn’t decide what felt more embarrassing—my unusual name or the fact I was trying to squeeze my ample bottom into two sets of women’s shapewear.
“Come on, Amantha,” I wheezed in my locked bedroom.
Whytwosets? Because during my last forty-five minutes of blissful alone time—aka sitting my bare nether regions on crinkly paper at my gynecologist appointment—I made the mistake of picking up a magazine with an advertisement for high-waisted shaping shorts.
The already-toned, ultra-beautiful model had zero lumps orbumps, thanks to the shorts’ special tummy-tightening panel. And if you used two sets? Well, you’d end up twice as sexy. In retrospect, I realized the ad clearly targeted soft, thirty-four-year-old suburban housewives with crusty minivans and disinterested husbands.
It felt like a personal attack.
My yearly exam went as smoothly as could be expected. And by smooth, I mean that only one of the nurses mistook my name as Amanda and that my underwear stayed perfectly concealed in the strategic folds of my jeans this time.
After the doctor deemed everything normal, then dropped her latex gloves into the trash and closed the door behind her, I had unstuck my bottom from the crinkly paper and frowned at the indent it left. It seemed a lot larger than the last time I’d been here.
I bought two tummy-tightening sets later that day.
A bead of perspiration rolled down my lower back and into the first set I was fighting over my curvy hips. While I wasn’t overweight, per se, my pale, jiggly “mom-pooch” from my now nine-year-old son felt like the gift that kept on giving. I had never intended for Anthony to be an only child after being one myself, but, like the doctors kept telling us over the years, some aspects of fertility were out of our control.
I cursed as the shapewear band welted my stomach for the third time. Half-waddling to the floor-length mirror to inspect the damage, I gasped. My middle looked like a busted can of biscuits, sans Pillsbury wrapper.
“Tummy tightening? Yeah, right,” I muttered. The tourniquet had spliced my one stomach roll into two. I gazed longingly at the tempting pile of ratty sweatpants and t-shirts on the floor.
No.I set my jaw in the mirror, fire burning in my gray eyes. This had to happen. Hate-fire for the elastic nightmare fueled me with strength, and I yanked it up with all my might. In a miraculous feat, the band smacked into place below my push-up bra, making me yelp.
Rolling my eyes to the ceiling, I unleashed every whispered curse word I could think of. This all seemed like a clear reason for a lawsuit. Good thing my husband was a lawyer.
After fighting the second pair over my already vacuum-sealed gut, I tucked a sweaty, dishwater-blonde wave behind my ear and frowned at the last text I had sent Ryan.
AMANTHA: I miss you! It sucks you have to stay in the city for the entire weekend. I can’t wait until this case is finally over and Anthony and I will get to see you more. Call me when you can. I love you!
Ryan still hadn’t responded. Come to think of it, he hadn’t responded to a lot lately. I took a deep breath.He’s busy.Ryan’s most recent explanation echoed in my mind.“The mountain of legal paperwork in my office isn’t going to sort itself.”
Wasn’t that what his paralegal assistant, Vanessa, was for? His law firm, Harrison & Coates, was one of the most prestigious in Chicago. Of course they were busy, but couldn’t a guy get a night off every once in a while?
I regretted agreeing to buy the stupid city apartment last year. Ryan had complained that the suburbs were too far from his occasional late-night meetings and he needed somewhere to crash. But now, the amount of time Anthony got to see his dad was even sparser.
Anthony’s downcast expression flashed through my mind after Ryan missed Anthony’s soccer game.Again.That had been the last straw—a disconcerting wake up call. While my heart had broken for my son, no other emotion had accompanied it.
No twinge of sadness over missing my husband.
Nothing.
When had I become so indifferent? When was the last time I missed Ryan? Not my kid’s dad, but myhusband? Our relationship had become business-like without me noticing.
The realization sickened me. If Ryan and I had truly loved each other once, I was sure we could get there again. A surprise romantic weekend would be just the ticket. Even though he was too busy to come home to me, I had more than enough time in my boring schedule to go to him.
A loud knock on my bedroom door jolted me from my thoughts. I jumped and crossed my arms over my exposed bra, forgetting that the door was still locked.
“Mom? Are you in there? I’m starving. Can we order pizza?”
Shaking my head with a grin, I tied a bathrobe over the nude-colored straightjacket and opened the door.
“You’re always starving,” I said, smoothing Anthony’s light brown hair. His cowlick in the back refused to be settled, exactly like my father’s.
His freckled nose wrinkled up, matching his wrinkled, striped t-shirt.
