Four of a Kind Read Online Free PDF Page B

offended, too. Weight and body issues were Robin’s core insecurities, had been since she was put on her first diet at age eight. She could talk casually about sex and money all day long. But when the subject of weight came up, Robin was instantly on guard.
    She said (neutral tone), “You killed my appetite.”
    Small red circles formed on Stan’s cheeks. He was embarrassed. Too bad, she thought. He’d asked for it.
    “Where did the Twin Towers used to be?” he next asked, gesturing toward the lower Manhattan skyline, in full view on the Promenade.
    They leaned on the railing and Robin pointed to a blank black space in the sky. She’d been pushing Stephanie in her baby stroller to a pediatrician’s visit soon after the planes hit the towers. The doctor gave Stephanie a cursory once-over, and then said he was closing the office and walking across the Brooklyn Bridge to see if he could help the injured. By the time Robin and Stephanie were back outside, the debris blizzard of dust, crushed mortar, and (probably) organic matter had swept across the East River. It was almost too thick to walk through. She was sure they inhaled some of it. Once home, Robin got into the tub with Stephanie. Then she put the baby down for a nap, and opened the first of several bottles of wine. She watched CNN. Although, as it turned out, Robin didn’t know anyone who died that day, she felt the sadness and misery as if she’d known them all. She was alone on 9/11, alone now. Just like Ground Zero—which, after all these years remained an empty hole; talk about a shovel-ready infrastructure project—Robin hadn’t started rebuilding either. She looked at Stan—a forty-five-year-old, divorced marketing exec from Murray Hill—and wanted to feel a glimmer of attraction or hope. But she felt nothing.
    Stan said, “Most people take at least one solid bite when they go out to dinner.”
    “Are you the food police?” she asked.
    “If you weren’t hungry, why order anything?”
    She should have split the bill. Clearly, he was put out to have paid for a bowl of pasta that she hadn’t eaten. If he was going to push it, then she’d tell him the truth.
    “I had gastric bypass surgery nine years ago,” she said. “I can’t eat more than an ounce or two at a sitting.”
    “Oh,” he said, genuinely surprised, as most people were when they heard the news. Surprised—and disgusted. “But you’re so thin. I can’t believe you were ever big.”
    The next question was on the tip of his tongue, she knew. Wait for it … five, four, three, two …
    “So how fat were you?” he asked.
    That was when Robin knew she’d never see or hear from Stan again. Fat terrified men, no matter how long gone it was. The fact that Robin had once been obese would turn him off forever. Her current size was irrelevant. Robin’s defenses kicked in.
    “I was
so fat
,” she said, “I couldn’t fit in an airplane seat or a movie seat. I had to order custom-made shoes to fit around my fat feet. I had skin ulcerations, under my boobs and between my belly rolls, that never healed, no matter how much cream I put on them, not that I did such a good job of it, since I couldn’t see what I was doing under all that blubber.” When she finished, Robin heard her short breath, realized she must’ve sounded a little bit hysterical.
    Stan said, “The ulcers have since healed, I assume.”
    “All better now,” she agreed, impatient for him to leave already.
    He didn’t, though. Stan stared at the illuminated skyline. They were silent for a minute. Robin’s impatience grew. Then Stan said, “It’s kind of insulting, how you assume I’ll react like an asshole. If you don’t feel
—think
—things are going well between us, just say so.”
    Robin sighed. Why did Stan have to be the one in a hundred who could intelligently process information? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
    “But you did intend to get rid of me.”
    “Okay, yes. I gave you