Perfectly Imperfect(10)
Well, isn’t that sobering.
I don’t let my inner cringing show; I give her a smile and walk over to give her a hug. “Awesome. Let me just go wash this off,” I tell her, walking to my bathroom. I’m going to need to run myself into the ground tonight to burn off Stanzo’s.
I closed and turned the lock before walking over to my vanity to stare into the mirror. With a quick twist of the tap, I continue to look into my eyes as the water warms and the mouthwatering scents of the best Italian mom and pop restaurant around fills my nose.
My breathing speeds up, and I do everything I can to mentally talk myself back up. Every Friday night, it’s the same. We have the best time during our ‘girls’ night’ fun of beautification, but it always ends with me having to talk myself into playing the part of carefree Willow. The one who hasn’t had to give up just about all the foods I used to love and replace them with salad just to shed some pounds. It’s so easy to hide this part of myself when we’re together at work, but here … it isn’t as easy to sweep things under the rug. They notice too much.
Just get in there, eat slowly, and wait for the wine to continue to flow. You can go to the gym when they leave and work it off.
I continue to repeat those words to myself as I bring a warm, wet washcloth to my face and start rubbing off the overly dry mud from my skin.
Small bites. Move the fork around, a lot. Small bites. Make sure their glasses stay full. Then move the food around some more. Gym later.
Tonight is one of the more challenging meals. Most of my favorite meal is easy to make disappear with a few calculated shifts of my fork, but because it’s basically one lump of food, it’s harder to make it look … eaten.
But if they’ve remained clueless this long, I doubt tonight will be any different.
Keep the wine flowing. Eat slowly. Small bites. Fork shifts. More wine. You’ve got this, Willow. It’s only one night a week of pretending. Tomorrow, it’s back to salad and water.
I take a few cleansing breaths, and with a small nod, I make my way out of the bathroom toward where my two best friends are laughing around the kitchen table.
God, that food smells like heaven. But I know better. Nothing good ever comes from indulging. It might smell like heaven, but it’s a package sent straight from hell. A package that has been my greatest weakness. But I’m in charge now. I’ve worked too hard to lose the weight I have to allow old habits to bring it all back.
“I grabbed you a plate, Will,” Eddie says, looking at me a little too long for my liking.
Slow bites, Willow. Just take it slow. Keep the wine flowing. You could probably last four hours at the gym and still be able to function tomorrow at work. Who needs sleep?
“Thanks, honey.” I sit in my seat and look over at Kirby, starting the first dance of my fork against the devil's temptation sitting in front of me. “How was soccer practice?” I question, picking a small sliver of my dinner and placing it between my lips. It takes everything in me not to moan at the explosion of flavors that hit my neglected taste buds.
“Good, good. Alli is a rockstar, like always.” She brags about her eight-year-old daughter.
“When’s her next game? I missed the first couple. Work’s kicking my ass,” Eddie complains.
“Yeah, Mister Hotshot Photographer. If you would stop shooting all those gorgeous men for two seconds, then maybe we would see you more often.” Kirby laughs, taking another huge bite of her food and making my mouth water a little more.
“It’s been insane, Kirb. I’m so glad we finally finished up with that campaign. I never thought I would be happy to have half-naked women back in front of my lens. Those men are the biggest divas of all.”
They continue to talk about work while I work on moving my food around and keeping their glasses filled. Of course, as I was concentrating so hard on making sure I put the minimum number of bites between my lips, I miss Eddie’s next question.
“I hear your sister is trying to get her job back. Know anything about that, Will?”
My fork drops, flinging the piece of food I had been shifting last in the air before it lands with a wet slap on the table.
“Excuse me?” I implore, ignoring the mess I just made.
“How did you not hear about this? Jesus, you sit outside your father’s office every day, Will! Have you been living under a rock?”
“Tell me?” I whisper. God, I know my father couldn’t care less about me, but I really thought we had been turning a corner when Ivy quit. Well, that’s a lie. But it felt better to be at work when I had just one person’s hate to deal with instead of two.
Eddie’s concerned gaze rolls over my face as he assesses the damage he knows this turn in the conversation is causing me.
“Just tell her, Eddie. She deserves to know so she can be prepared.”
“Right, well … it’s all rumors, of course. But I heard from Pam, who heard it from Stacy, who heard it from Janelle when she was filling in for you last week while you were on vacation, that your sister had a meeting with your dad. Apparently, when they finished, he said he would look forward to seeing her around the office next week. Which I’m assuming means tomorrow. Shit, I’m sorry, Willow. I thought for sure he would tell you.”
“Yeah? Because we have such a close relationship,” I snap, pushing my plate away. At least they won’t question my lack of appetite now.