Does This Beach Make Me Look Fat?: True Stories and Confessions (27 page)

Welp, too bad, let's swim back.

“Aw, can't we go real fast?” pleaded the fianc
é
.

“All right, be fast.”

The Brit beamed. “Great! Thanks, mate!”

Yes. Thanks.

The guys quickly scrambled up the ladder nailed into the side of the rock, while I struggled to grasp the slippery, algae-covered rungs.

But I couldn't wimp out now. What would they think of me? I sucked in my breath and climbed up.

My legs were so shaky, I could barely lift my leg over the top rung and onto the rock, but I did it. There were ledges of graduated heights, and, of course, the boys had to climb to the very highest one.

I followed just so I didn't have to be alone.

I decided I had to go second if I was going to go at all. The Brit went first, and the fianc
é
agreed to stay behind for moral support.

While I stood trying to screw up my courage, below me an attractive, shirtless man with an accent was beckoning me—in most circumstances, any one of those traits would do the trick, but, at the moment, I was numb. The only thing that was going to get me to jump was the knowledge that only jumping would get me off this miserable rock face with the wind whipping across my body.

If I didn't jump soon, I was likely to faint.

So I counted to three and leapt. I held my breath and my nose, but the cliff was so high, I nearly ran out of breath before I hit the water.

The impact gave me an atomic wedgie worthy of the Bikini Atoll.

Check back in nine months, I may give birth to a fish.

But I survived, my top stayed on, and I was back at sea level—I was elated. The boys congratulated me for my courage. Apparently I'm a better actress than I thought.

The cliff at its most welcoming

“Thank you, thank you,” I said. “You know, it wasn't so bad. If the lifeguard had let us, I would've gone a second time,” I lied.

“Let's ask!”

Damnit.

So I jumped off the cliff twice that day.

And I hated it both times.

As the weekend progressed, more and more of the fianc
é
's friends arrived, most of whom I had never met before. I did have my best friend there, but she was often busy playing hostess with her hubby-to-be, or I imagined they were trying to get some rare alone time, and I didn't want to seem clingy. The new people were all friendly and cool, but they were old college chums with an easy comfort. I tried to be my most “on” to win them over, but I still often felt a beat behind. I hadn't been so desperate to be liked since I switched districts in sixth grade.

What does it feel like to be the new kid when you're almost thirty?

The same.

So I continued to go with the flow, even if doing so required me to swim upstream. When we all got stir-crazy one Saturday night, someone suggested a drinking game, but the only liquor we had extra of?

Warm red wine.

And another fun fact about me? I'm not very good at drinking games.

So I got more sloshed than I have in years. While several other girls demurred, I was easily goaded into being the last woman standing.

Later, one of the guys who works for an e-cigarette company produced samples of the product. I have never smoked a regular cigarette, or anything else, in my life, not even the lone joint in college. And although I don't have the same heath aversion to e-cigarettes, they've always struck me as kind of douchey.

And yet that night, I declined only once before caving. Soon I was puffing away on an e-cig, feeling like a complete idiot, but a popular one.

But, Mom, everyone was doing it.

The next day, thanks to chugging red wine and sucking enough nicotine vapor to keep Kate Moss buzzed, I had one of the worst hangovers of my life. And somewhere between the headaches and the dizzy spells, I thought, what the hell am I doing?

They say, if I knew then what I know now …

My motto of the weekend should've been, if I knew now what I used to know then.

In high school I was actually more immune to peer pressure and truer to myself than I had been that weekend. Because back then, I was in my comfort zone. I grew up there, I knew everyone, and I went home every day to my mom. I wanted for nothing.

It's easy to jump with a safety net.

Now, I live alone in the city, and I'm performing the high-wire act of every twentysomething who's trying to balance career goals with personal ones, not to mention a checkbook. I struggle to walk the line of building the person I want to be while only being the person I am.

And after ending a two-year relationship, I had to say goodbye to the entire network of my ex-boyfriend's friends, many of whom I'd grown close to. Now I have to create a new network, from scratch.

So I admit, I wanted these people to like me. I wanted to be in their group.

And I want my novel to get published this year. And I want to meet a wonderful man. And I want to be happy.

I want everything.

But when the pounding in my temples subsided, I knew I'd have to be myself to get it.

The next day was my last in Little Compton. I thought my girlfriend would be able to drive me to the train station an hour away, but I forgot she didn't have a valid license, so the Brit gallantly offered to give me a lift.

During the drive, we got to talking on a deeper level than we had all weekend. And again, I found myself out of my comfort zone. But this time, I spoke with uncalculated honesty.

Without meaning to, I found myself telling him my life's story. My “dynamic” family history of divorce, remarriage, and divorce, my own thoughts about marriage and kids.

As far as having romantic “game” goes, this was as un-strategic as it gets. The TMI factor was giving me anxiety, but despite my better judgment, I couldn't stop my mouth.

I think, on some level, I wanted him to know me before I left.

The me who's afraid of heights, and a lightweight, and a little square, and not very well traveled. The real me.

We're getting drinks next week.

One, two, three, jump.

 

Does This Beach Make Me Look Old?

By Lisa

I joke about getting older, but the truth is, I don't feel old.

On the contrary, at age fifty-nine, I feel as if I'm entering my prime.

So I'm either delusional or insightful.

I'll leave the choice to you.

But let me make my case.

I'll begin not by talking about myself, but about my girlfriends, all of whom are my age. We've been friends for many years. And when I look at the things they're doing, I realize they're in their prime too. In fact they're more primy than I am.

My friend Franca runs every day and lifts weights, and she's about to run her first marathon.

I'm going with her, to cheer.

That's how I work out, by cheering.

My friend Paula is going on a trip to New Zealand with her husband and is planning on hiking twenty miles. She hikes every day here at home and has hiked the Grand Tetons in Wyoming.

They're Grand!

And my friend Nan trains horses and can ride anything with four legs.

Not bad for the Middle Ages, are they?

They aren't what I thought the fifties would look like when I was growing up, and I don't think it's just that my perception has changed because I'm in my fifties.

I think the fifties have changed. Since the way we saw them, back in the fifties.

And it's not just physical activity. In fact, we're better in many other ways. Paula travels the world, Nan rehabs houses, and Franca donates her time to help children with special needs.

We're trying new things.

Wonder why?

I think we women spend so much of our lives taking care of other people that when the kids grow up, we come to realize that it's time to truly take care of ourselves, and once we make that decision, our lives change.

More accurately, we change our lives.

I'll speak for myself, because I know I have, but it's been part of an evolution. For example, writing is my favorite thing in the world, and I think I'm getting better at it, but it's taken me twenty years of practice and twenty-odd novels to date. So I've decided to write two novels a year instead of one, in addition to these memoirs.

Fun!

And to make this happen, I've changed the way I spend my day, prioritizing writing and saying no to things that interfere with my writing time.

In the beginning, I felt guilty when I said no, aware that I was disappointing people.

But then a miracle happened.

I got used to it.

And it got easier.

I stopped giving away my time. Instead I'm giving myself permission to keep it and use it the way I want.

So I don't meet people I don't want to see for lunch.

I don't talk on the phone with anyone when I don't want to.

I don't impose obligations on myself, or allow others to impose them on me.

It's taken me almost six decades on earth to figure this out, but here I am.

And in my free time when I'm not writing, I do only the things I want to do, like see friends, read, walk the dogs, and ride bikes or Buddy The Pony.

I'm happier than I've ever been.

I've come into myself.

Every woman does.

We find out who we really are.

We grow.

And in that way, we never grow old.

 

Acknowledgments

By Lisa and Francesca

We would like to express our love and gratitude to St. Martin's Press for supporting this book and its predecessors. First, thanks to Coach Jen Enderlin, our terrific editor, as well as to the brilliant John Sargent, Sally Richardson, Jeff Dodes, Jeff Capshew, Stephanie Davis, Brian Heller, Jen Gonzalez, Paul Hochman, Jeanne-Marie Hudson, John Karle, Tracey Guest, Michael Storrings, Anne-Marie Tallberg, Nancy Trypuc, Caitlin Dareff, and all the amazing sales reps. We appreciate so much your enthusiasm for these books, and we thank you for everything you do to support us. And we will always love and remember the late Matthew Shear, whom we adored.

We'd also like to thank Mary Beth Roche, Laura Wilson, Esther Bochner, Brant Janeway, and the St. Martin's audiobook division for giving us the opportunity to record our own audiobook of this volume and the others in the series. We love to do it, and we love audiobooks! And there is simply no substitute for our Philly accents, which come free of charge!

Huge thanks and love to our amazing agents, Molly Friedrich, Lucy Carson, and Nicole Lefebvre of the Friedrich Agency. Thanks to
The Philadelphia Inquirer,
which carries our “Chick Wit” column, and to our editor, the wonderful Sandy Clark.

One of the best people in the world is Laura Leonard, and her advice, friendship, and love sustain us. Laura, thank you so much for all of your great comments and suggestions on this manuscript. We owe you, forever.

Love to our girlfriends! Lisa would like to thank Nan Daley, Paula Menghetti, Sandy Steingard, and Franca Palumbo. Francesca would like to thank Rebecca Harrington, Katy Andersen, Courtney Yip, Janie Stolar, Megan Amram, and right-hand-man, Ryder Kessler. Thank you for being there during a difficult year. We're blessed in all of you.

Family is the heart of this book, because family is the heart of everything. Special thanks and love to Brother Frank.

We miss Mother Mary and the late Frank Scottoline terribly, but they are with us always.

Finally, thank you to our readers.

Now, you're family.

 

About the Author

LISA SCOTTOLINE
is a
New York Times
bestselling and Edgar Award–winning author of twenty-four novels and coauthor of six humor memoirs in this series. She also writes a Sunday column for
The Philadelphia Inquirer
. She has 30 million copies of her books in print, and she has been published in thirty countries. She lives in the Philadelphia suburbs with an array of disobedient pets. You can visit Lisa at
scottoline.com
. Or sign up for email updates
here
.