Paul didn’t.
Was that when he started treating me differently?Comments he claimed were made to encourage me filtered into our daily conversations.
“I read something about thyroid disease and weight gain…”
“I heard weightlifting is good for increasing your metabolism…”
“Walking is the best exercise for losing weight…”
“Are you sure you should wear that?It seems a little snug…”
I worked at a resort and regularly clocked twenty thousand steps a day.On top of that, I swam three times a week.
It wasn’t enough.
I began cooking more at home.Organic ingredients.Beans.Low carbs.More vegetables.Lots more vegetables.Protein powders.Supplements.
I couldn’t stray more than twenty feet from a toilet.
My bowels gurgled under the pressure all day long.
I needed a fucking piece of bread or a potato to soak up some of the fiber running through my system like it was the Indy 500.
I lost three pounds.
The diet was unsustainable.When I went back to my regular diet, which was healthy enough, I gained ten.And stayed there.
I had a choice.Accept where I was and be happy I wasn’t like some of the other patients at the thyroid clinic who fared much worse than I did or lament the loss of my twenty-something body for the rest of my life.
I chose acceptance.
But another six months of those comments made that decision nearly impossible to maintain.
I started working more hours.Avoiding him.Wearing pajamas to bed and refusing to remove them when we made love.
Work took up more and more of my free time.At work, I was valued and appreciated.At work, my efforts paid off.At work, people validated me.
And I had nothing else.
After Hunter died, Hawkley withdrew, Noelle moved away, and then I lost Christine, Noelle’s mom.The one person who had been there for me after Hunter passed.
The one person who knew what happened that day.
She carried my secret to the grave.
And so would I.
If I was independent, it was because when the shit hit the fan I had to be.No shade on my parents, or Hawk, or Noelle, or even Max, everybody dealt with the tragedy as best they could.It’s just the way it was.
If Paul couldn’t understand I’d let him in as best I could, that was on him.Not me.
I cringed at the remembrance of the times I showed him pictures of engagement rings I liked.My next thought had me squeezing my eyes shut.The wedding dresses I tried on at All Your Tomorrows.What was I thinking, doing that in Sage Ridge?
“Oh, God,” I groaned, mortified.The Christmas before last when I dragged him into the jewelry store in Mistlevale, a town designed after every kid’s dream of the North Pole, hoping that would be the year.
The disappointment I hid when I got the habitual bottle of perfume.
Perfume I didn’t wear.
