“You don’t know me.”
“How can you say that?”
“Em, you’ll never understand. I’m finally someone I like. I’m sorry you don’t, but Jesus! Don’t tell me to go back.”
“Can’t you be healthy and still be sweet, Kevin? Because you were the nicest, best person I ever—”
“Yeah. I had to be, so people wouldn’t hate me.”
“No one hated you, Kevin. No one hates a person for being overweight.”
He rolled his eyes. “Right. Look. I’m sorry, okay? But I can’t be the true me while I’m with you. You’re holding me back.”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “K-K-Kevin, p-p-please.”
The stutter bolted upright, a delighted rictus grin on its face.
It was back. Kevin’s fat was disappearing, but after all these clean years, her stutter was back.
Kevin looked at her, his face gentling. “I’m going to say this for your own good, Emmaline,” he said tenderly. “You’ve gained weight this year. You might want to watch what you eat.”
* * *
AND THAT WAS THAT. The Kevin she’d loved, who’d made being picked last for teams tolerable, who’d loved her when her words were stuck, was gone, shed like a snake skin.
He moved in with Naomi.
She wrote him a letter, unable to stop herself. It was filled with phrases such as “never stop loving you” and “don’t understand” and “please give us another chance” and all those wretched, horrible, debasing phrases that your friends tell you never to say. He didn’t answer.
When it seemed truly final, she went home to Malibu to break the news to her family.
“Kevin and I broke up,” she said that night around the kitchen table with her parents (who no longer spoke directly to each other, yet still lived together) and Angela, who was visiting from Stanford, where she was getting her PhD in astrophysics.
“We figured that was coming,” her mother said smoothly. “I accept you exactly as you are.”
“And I love you unconditionally,” Dad said, not to be outdone.
“Um...thanks,” Emmaline said. “What do you mean?”
“We always knew,” her father said.
“Knew what?”
Mom patted her hand. “That you’re g*y, honey.”
Emmaline blinked. “No, I’m not.”
“You don’t need to pretend, Emmaline. Your father and I don’t care what your sexual orientation is.” She handed Em a tissue.
“Your mother and I had dinner with the Bateses the other night,” Dad said. “They told us about Kevin’s weight loss. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Good old Dad, ever clueless.
“I liked Kevin better when he was fat,” Angela said. “And I’m so very sorry about this, Emmaline.” Flawless Angela always said exactly the right thing.
Em went back to Ann Arbor, only to find that the paper was downsizing, and she was out of a job.
Nana had left Angela and Em her little house in her will. They’d planned on renting it, but now, it was a godsend.
The newspaper in Manningsport had one paid employee. Even if there was an opening, Em had her fill of covering town meetings and school concerts.
There was a job advertised for administrative assistant at the police department, which had all of one full-time cop and one part-timer. Levi Cooper, the chief, had been a year behind her in high school, a bit of a toughie, on the football team. All grown-up now, a veteran, somewhat grumpy and good at his job.
Em found that people confided in her as they called with their problems. “Oh, Emmaline, hi, honey. My husband is late coming home, and I hate to be neurotic, but you think Levi would swing by Suzette Minor’s house and see if Bill’s car is there? You know Bill. You don’t? Well, he’s not the most faithful dog on the sled team.”
One day, a woman came into the station and introduced herself. Shelayne Schanta, looking to start a book club. Could she put up a notice on the bulletin board? “My fiancé dumped me for my aunt, can you believe that?” she said. “Gotta find something to do in my free time.”
“My fiancé left me six months ago,” Em heard herself saying.
“Did he cheat on you?”
He had claimed no, but even if hadn’t slept with Naomi before he dumped her, he’d been emotionally unfaithful, putting all his trust and attention and time into that shrew. Also, People magazine’s “Half Their Size” edition had just come out, and Em (and the rest of the world) got to hear what Kevin really thought of her. That was infidelity enough.
“I think so.”
“Welcome to the club,” Shelayne said. “The bitter betrayed.”
The name stuck, and the Bitter Betrayeds became her refuge. There wasn’t much reading, but there were martinis and venting. They hung out at O’Rourke’s from time to time. Emmaline joined the town hockey league, having become a pretty good skater during high school. She kept up her grandmother’s flower garden; the smell of lilacs and irises reminded her of happy memories.
As it had been in school, her attitude became her armor. If she was a tough, mouthy jock, then she wasn’t a woman who’d been tossed over for a mean girl.
But God, she missed Kevin.
She kept a button-down shirt of his from when he’d been at his heaviest. It was massive; she could wrap it around herself twice. It reminded her of the man who would make her macaroni and cheese on the second day of her period each month. Who had cut out Dilbert cartoons for her all through high school. Who sent her the complete set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer when she had her appendix out.
Whenever she felt lonely, or whenever she felt that maybe the time had come to register on eCommitment or Match.com, she found herself staring into her closet at that old soft blue shirt. She’d take it out and sleep in it, and even though the old Kevin was no more, she couldn’t help remembering the boy who’d befriended her when she’d had no one else.CHAPTER EIGHT
THE DRIVE FROM LAX to Rancho de la Luna was not going to be long enough.
Emmaline’s plan was to get to the resort, check in as quickly as possible, then hide in her room, kill half a bottle of wine and fall asleep watching TV.
Jack fell asleep within seconds of getting into the passenger seat of the rental car, though he did run a hand over the hood as they got in. Because, yes, she’d rented a tricked-out Mustang convertible. She wasn’t going to pull up at Rancho de la Luna in an economy car.
She pulled onto the 405, flipped off the driver who laid on his horn behind her and tried to unclench.
Jack didn’t stir. His head was tipped back, blond hair shining in the sun. His sunglasses were on, and he looked like he belonged here in the land of the beautiful people. Faith had been right about her brother; he was a fantastic date. So far, anyway. Cheerful, reassuring, gorgeous. This wasn’t a surprise as much as a concern, because Emmaline could definitely see herself becoming a slutty cliché and sleeping with her wedding date to prove she wasn’t a dried-up, rejected hag.
Inglewood. Culver City. Santa Monica. The familiar names flashed past alongside the speeding cars. It was a bit of culture shock, driving on L.A. highways again, the sunlight glaring and the smell of exhaust all around her.
Yesterday, the five-year-old Cabrera triplets had come up to her in the park to play with Sarge, and they’d all ended up rolling around in the fresh snow and pretending to be snakes (Lucia’s idea). Then all three kids climbed on Em and told her to be a pony, and she crawled around in the snow, whinnying, much to their delight (and Sarge’s).
Twenty minutes in SoCal, and she was already homesick.
Relentless golden sunshine beat down. It was in the mid-sixties, maybe hotter here on the highway. She took the Santa Monica Freeway and headed for the Pacific Coast Highway.
Mom had told her a while ago that Kevin and Naomi had moved back to Malibu. That was before her parents had moved to Stanford to be closer to Angela.
Weird, picturing Kevin back here. In her mind, she saw the chubby, pale boy she’d first met, and a bittersweet ache swelled in her chest.
There was the ocean, glittering blue and calm. The scruffy hills of Southern California formed a wall on the eastern side of the road, the Pacific on the other.
“This is beautiful,” Jack said, sitting up and taking off his sunglasses.
Not to her, it wasn’t. Em had forgotten how dry it could get. Sure, the ocean was gorgeous, a shimmering, sparkling expanse today. But the landscape was scrubby and sandy, unless it had been gardened into an unnaturally lush oasis. Hotels and houses were plopped gracelessly along the highway—anything for a water view.
If she’d had better memories, it probably would’ve looked prettier. After all, Malibu was considered one of the most beautiful places in America.
As they came into the city proper, Em’s heart rate kicked up. Okay, it was beautiful, perfectly kept houses dotting the hills, the yards bursting with gardens. Palm trees and flowering bushes grew in lush clumps.
“Lots of celebrities live out here?” Jack said.
“Oh, yeah. Bruce Willis, Courteney Cox, Leonardo DiCaprio.”
“You ever see anyone famous in town?”
Em smiled at the question. “Sure. A lot of actors stay here if they have an event in Hollywood. Morgan Freeman held the door for me once.”
“Cool.”
She turned off the PCH and headed up toward the ranch. The sun was starting to set, and her stomach grumbled. Despite being fed in first class, she was starving.
“What’s the plan for tonight?” Jack asked.
“I’m hoping to hide in my room and order dinner and drink wine,” she said. “You can do whatever you want.” Then, realizing how rude that sounded, she added, “I mean, see the sights. It’s a beautiful ranch. Used to be a rehab place for the wealthy.”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.
Don’t tempt me, Jack. She turned onto White Horse Canyon Road. Her heart was twanging with nervousness now. There was the sign—“Welcome to Rancho de la Luna, America’s #1 Luxury Boot Camp.”
“Luxury Boot Camp?” Jack said. “Kind of an oxymoron.”
“It’s like the place on The Biggest Loser,” Em said. “Naomi is a fitness guru.”
“How fun for the rest of us.”
Without warning, Em pulled over onto the side of the road, getting an enraged honk and some curse words from the car behind her. She flipped them off—it was the California way, after all—and looked at Jack. “Okay, here’s the deal. He was fat, she made him her project, they fell in love. My parents think I’m g*y. And did I mention I have a very perfect and beautiful sister?”
“You did.”
“Also, my parents are divorced but still live together and don’t speak directly to each other. They may analyze you. They’re psychologists.”
“Ah. And anything else?”
“I’m probably forgetting something, but for now, no.”
He smiled. “You want to stop and change first?”
She twitched. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged. “Three sisters. I figured you wouldn’t want to face your ex looking like—”
“Like what, Jack?”
“Like you’ve just flown across the country and forgot your miracle drug for hair.”
“I didn’t bring you along for snark.” She threw the car back in gear. “I’m not one of those people who’s fixated on looks.”
“I can tell.”
“Jack, if you don’t want me to stab you in the neck, shut it. Your publicity team said you were the perfect date. Act like it.”
He grinned. Ah. He was joking. She felt the tug of a small smile. “Sorry,” she said.