Conversations With the Fat Girl Read Online Free PDF Page A

not making eye contact with
    anyone. ?That's three nights in a row you've been late. I don't want to
    give you The Talk. But The Talk is what you shall have if it happens
    again.?Cole has his hands on the counter, a washrag
     
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    pinned underneath as though I have caught him midclean. His voice raises
    every hair on the back of my neck. As I turn to begin my excuses, Cole
    is ready. His arms are now across his wide chest, washrag dangling,
    eyebrows raised, mouth slightly open. Cole in a nutshell. Cole Trosclair
    seemingly had it all in high school. Now he is just an ex-football-jock
    with old jerseys dotting his daily wardrobe. But I still feel I'm
    intruding on him in some sexless, work-colleague kind of way after two
    long years. If I were skinnier, he'd be nicer. If I were quicker with
    the jokes, he'd be my friend. I have visions of him defending me in the
    glow of his television late at night at one of his sports parties, a
    bunch of guys sitting around talking about titties. Cole defending me,
    saying, ?If you just got to know her,? and the other guys nodding. Do I
    have to wait until I am officially in the right to toss yet another rock
    at this Goliath? At some point, isn't that rock supposed to catch him
    between the eyes and I am free? Is there some other version of the story
    where Goliath is champion? ?Wasn't that technically The Talk??I say, my
    tiny pebble hurtling through the air. ?Yes, it was. Now, lets never have
    it happen again, young lady?Cole picks up his espresso and leans back on
    the counter, my tiny pebble landing at his feet. ?I got kicked out of my
    house,? I say, emerging from the back room as I tie my apron around my
    waist. ?You're still fifteen minutes late.?Cole yawns. ?Can you lay off
    for one second? Huh? I ... got kicked . . . out. And 1 have one week to
    find a new place.?I pause but Cole says nothing. I continue. ?Anything??
    ?Fine. Why did you get kicked out??Cole acquiesces. ?She says she's
    putting in a lap pool,?I pushing my chest out in some desperate
    knee-jerk reaction.
     
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    Conversations with the Fat Girl 23
     
    ?Do you believe her?? ?What's not to believe? There's a bulldozer in
    front of my door,?I say, diving chest-first into a pot of fresh coffee.
    ?Poor, stupid, little Maggie He called me little. ?She's trying to get
    you out with no argument,?Cole continues. I look over the coffeepot in
    time to see Domenic Brown amble into the empty coffeehouse, his black
    hair flipping just right. Little flips right by the ears. Little flips I
    just want to bite off, they're so perfect. His pale skin only
    accentuates those dark features. His pants are low-slung, and I can see
    that brown leather belt just peeking out where his thrift store,
    secondhand T-shirt is hitched up in the back. I cock my head a little to
    the right. I've found, through hours of practice in the privacy of my
    own bathroom, this makes me look skinnier. The mirror on the back
    wall-that's what makes me look fat. No practice necessary for that
    little revelation. I try to smile as offhandedly as I can. No big deal,
    just saying hi. Just being breezy, brother. ?Could I get a hot lemon
    toddy, please??A tiny blond woman stands before me. Did I miss Domenic's
    smile back? Did he even smile back? ?For here or to go??I stammer to
    this blond saboteur as I get my last glimpse of Domenic walking through
    the swinging back door. ?Here, please.? I move away from the counter and
    stare at Domenic doing his usual routine before he comes on shift. His
    real name is Domenico. I was in the office late one night and caught a
    glance at (okay, ransacked) his file, and found his W-2 form. Later, I
     
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    offhandedly asked him where his name came from. He explained that his
    grandmother is a sculptor and suggested they name him Domenico, after
    Michelangelo's teacher. I remember sighing and maybe fainting. It's all
    such a blur. I would love to call him Domenico. To be the only one