Chapter Eleven
“It’s so screwed up,” Drew says. “The whole town hates her and thinks she’s this total slut, but nobody really cares that it takes two, you know?” She scoops the cookies off the tray and slides them onto a cooling rack. “Can you imagine if we made all the cheating men walk around with a red A on their chests? No one would be ashamed. They’d just wear it all proud. Probably be embarrassed if they didn’t have one. I swear. I hate the world sometimes.”
I bite back my laughter. Drew’s junior honors English class is American Literature, and she has to finish The Scarlet Letter before school starts on Monday. Just yesterday, she was groaning about having to read “this stupid old book,” and now she’s so into it she can hardly stop talking about it.
“I’ve made my last latte,” Lizzy says, pushing into the kitchen. “I’m tapping out. Drew. You’re up.”
Drew groans but otherwise doesn’t protest before going to man the front of the store.
“Thank God,” Liz says when Drew’s safely on the other side of the kitchen door. “I had to get her away from you before you started getting a complex and embroidering an A on all your clothes.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I didn’t even think of that, but thanks. Thanks a lot.”
“So did you make an appointment with the lawyer to find out about the silent partner?”
I nod. “I’m going in next week.”
“Good. Want me to go with you?”
I bite my lip and nod. “Is that pathetic?”
She rolls her eyes. “No. I’m, like, your assistant manager or some shit. What affects your business affects me.”
“Thank you so much. The lawyer’s in Indianapolis, and I’m not supposed to be driving.”
“And you’re a scaredy cat.”
“True fact.” I grab a hot pad and swat her with it before opening the oven.
The chocolate chip scones smell so delicious my mouth literally waters as I pull them out of the oven. I’ve been trying to be good about my eating. I haven’t even been home from the hospital a week, and I’ve already gained weight. Dr. Perkins doesn’t want me getting on the scale, but I don’t need a scale when it’s getting harder to button my jeans.
“Do it,” Lizzy says behind me. She grabs one off the tray and breaks a corner off to pop it in her mouth. Her eyes float closed and she moans. “Jesus Christ, Hanna. I don’t need a man. I just need your baked goods. All of your baked goods.” She grabs my forearm and squeezes. “Promise me you’ll never cut me off.”
I giggle and break a piece off her scone. The butter and flour practically melt on my tongue. “God, I’m good.”
“Are you sure you want to be eating that?” someone asks at the door.
Lizzy and I turn to find my mother walking into my kitchen with her old critical eyes on my baked goods. I’m not used to my mom looking at me with approval. She’s terrified of fat, extra weight, and clothing sizes in the double digits. My inability to keep my weight down was always a point of anxiety for her. And I always felt like a failure. Until I woke up in the hospital with my new body. Then all that disappointment was gone from her eyes.
It’s back now as she eyes the half-eaten scone in Lizzy’s hand.
“She’s sure,” Lizzy says. “It’s delicious, and she hasn’t stopped working all day to eat lunch.”
I think about it and realize she’s right. I had some plain oatmeal for breakfast around five, but I haven’t had anything since. No wonder I’m famished.
Mom lifts a brown paper bag and beams. “That’s why I brought you a healthy lunch.”
I have to bite back a groan. My old self hated the crap she used to feed me. Leafy greens without dressing, carrots, and way more chicken breast than any reasonable human would want to consume. Hell, the boob-loving men of the world should probably thank her. It was probably all those hormone-filled chicken breasts that gave me boobs by age thirteen.
“What did you bring?” Liz asks. “Some weeds and sticks for her to nibble on?”
“Elizabeth,” Mom scolds. “We can’t all have your metabolism. And that’s going to catch up with you someday.”
Lizzy glares defiantly and takes another big bite of her scone.
“Stop trying to make me out to be the bad guy here,” Mom objects. “I’m just helping Hanna with something she decided was important to her months ago.”
My size has always been important to me. Because she taught me to believe it was. But three months ago it must have become so important that I took measures I’d never stooped to before. Last night I found diet pills in the back of my cabinet. Add those to the starvation and unhealthy amounts of exercise. And so much of it cloaked in secrecy that it sickens me to think about it.
But Mom doesn’t know about Dr. Perkins. She doesn’t know I was making myself sick.
There’s no reason to make her worry, though, so I paste on a smile and say, “What’s for lunch?”
Mom smiles approvingly. “Chopped grilled chicken, greens, and a tiny sliver of avocado in a low-carb, whole-grain wrap.” She hands the bag over, and I dig out her homemade lunch. “Eat, and then we have an appointment at Cleanstein’s.”
I pause with the wrap halfway to my mouth. “At the wedding dress shop?”
“Of course. You’re getting married in five weeks. We’re going to have to buy off the rack as is. We need to start shopping last week.”
I try to swallow around the tightness in my throat. Is no one going to ask if I want to be planning my wedding? If I want to rush my engagement?
Mom sniffs, and I realize there are tears in her eyes. “After Maggie’s canceled wedding and Krystal’s disaster of a ceremony, you can imagine how excited I am about yours.” She squeezes my hand. “There’s just something so special about Max.”
“Speak of the devil,” Liz mutters as Max pushes through the door into the kitchen.
My heart stumbles in my chest at the sight of him. He’s got a light stubble going on today, and he’s still disheveled from his run.
“Oh, hello, Max!” my mom croons. God, she loves him so much.
“How are New Hope’s three most beautiful women?” he asks with a wink.
“We’re peachy,” Liz says. “How’s New Hope’s biggest suck-up?”
Max draws me into a hug and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Does your sister hate me?” he asks loud enough for her to hear.
“No. She’s just cranky that Mom didn’t bring her lunch.”
Lizzy snorts at the same moment my mom says, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Liz! I won’t forget you next time!”
“How are you?” I ask Max. We’ve barely seen each other the last few days. He almost always trains late at the club, and I get horrible headaches if I don’t get enough rest, so I’ve been going to bed early. I haven’t found the courage to ask him to sleep with me—in the literal or figurative sense of the phrase.
“I’m good,” he says. “What are you up to this afternoon? Can I steal you away for a while? I miss my girl.” He ducks his head and steals a bite of my wrap, and because there’s something very twisted and wrong with me, I actually find the movement of his jaw as he chews sexy as all hell. Then again, it’s Max, and everything he does is sexy.
“No horning in on our plans this afternoon,” Mom says. “We are going wedding dress shopping.”
Max’s eyes light up and he looks at me like I’ve just given him some amazing gift. “Yeah?”
I’m gonna burn in hell for hurting this sweet, sweet man. “Yeah,” I say, though I hadn’t even decided until that moment that I was going to let my mom talk me into it.
Max grins. “Well, I guess I can sacrifice an afternoon with you if that’s the reason behind it.”
“There are plenty of plans you can join us for,” Mom assures him. “I have appointments with three caterers lined up for next week.”
“Wow, Mom,” Liz says. “Whose wedding is this anyway?”
“This is really happening, isn’t it?” Max asks,
and there’s so much joy in his eyes that I’m reminded of the day at the gallery when he told me about my initial lack of response to his proposal. “I was beginning to think you didn’t want a future with me.”
He’s had enough limbo, hasn’t he? Can I really ask for him to endure more? And if Max is the man I want and he wants me, what’s the harm in getting married quickly?
“Oh, Max, you sweet thing,” Mom says, “of course this is happening.”