Love for Scale (17 page)

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Brian. Stop screwing around and call him. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you and I won’t stand here and watch you throw it all away.”

Sheri narrowed her eyes. “Oh, um hi Rachel, I’m fine, thanks. Would you like to come in?” She stood back and swept her arm across her foyer in an exaggerated welcoming gesture.

Sunny ran up to Rachel and jumped up on his hind legs against her skirt.

“I will come in but only to make sure you call him.” Rachel scooped up the little dog and entered the apartment, kicking off her shoes onto the mat.

Sheri returned to the couch and muted the TV—what looked like an old episode of
The Bachelor
—before she turned to Rachel. “Okay, so would you like to tell me what’s got you all worked up?”

“Brian,” Rachel blurted out again. “He called me and asked me to meet up with him.” Rachel ignored Sheri’s rapidly expanding eyes and sat on the couch, settling Sunny in her lap. “So I went and he told me his side of what happened. He’s really into you, Sher. I think you screwed up, but you can still fix it.”

Sheri exhaled loudly and then it was a moment before she tilted her head and asked, “He said he’d still take me back?”

Rachel nodded.

“I don’t know. Moving in with him…” Sheri looked like she’d just eaten a bad curry. “It’s too soon, don’t you think, Rachel?”

“I can’t tell you that, but I think you owe it to him to at least explain. The poor guy: the only thing he did wrong was love you.”

Sheri’s mouth opened and then closed again, her brow lined as she thought. She looked at Rachel, blinking rapidly. “Did he say he
loved
me?”

Rachel chewed the inside of her cheek, trying not to be all jealous about it. But would someone ever love
her
? She pushed her own thoughts away—this was about Sheri. She nodded at her friend.

“Really?” Sheri seemed skeptical.

“Yes, he really did. Now will you just call him already?”

Sunny yipped his agreement.

Sheri tilted her head again. “He’s good right?”

Rachel rolled her eyes, no longer worried about her own feelings for Brian. It was obvious that he and Sheri were meant to be together. “Yes, he’s
very
good. A
mensch
, like no other guy you’ve been with.”

“I’m gonna call him, then,” Sheri announced, suddenly bouncing in her seat.
This
was the Sheri that Rachel was used to.

Sunny yipped again, always eager to get caught up in the excitement.

“You’re pretty smart, huh, Sunny?” Rachel scratched under the little dog’s chin. His eyes half closed and he let out almost inaudible grunts of pleasure.

“Hey, baby,” Sheri breathed into the phone.

That’s my cue
, Rachel thought as she picked up the dog and stood up, returning Sunny to her vacated spot on the couch. He looked up at her plaintively for a second but then made three circles and lay down with a sigh.

“I’m really sorry, baby. I just sort of freaked you know?” Sheri purred into the phone.

As far as Sheri was concerned. Rachel no longer existed. Simply standing in front of Sheri and looming over her wasn’t getting her attention so Rachel kicked her gently.
Mostly
gently.

“Hey!”

Rachel mouthed the words “I’m leaving.”

“Hold on Bri, just a sec, okay?”

“I’m leaving,” Rachel said out loud.

Sheri covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “Thanks so much, huh? You are the best friend I could ever imagine, Rach.”

Rachel nodded toward the phone in Sheri’s hand. “Just make sure you fix things. I’ll let myself out.”

Sheri smiled her thanks.

So after a pat on the head for Sunny, Rachel hauled her tired frame out of Sheri’s apartment. And not a moment too soon; as she closed the front door behind her, she distinctly hear Sheri describe in great detail the lace bra she had on under her blouse.

Chapter 23

By the time Rachel got home, it was almost nine o’clock. Other than the scalding tea (zero fat, zero calories, plenty of pain) from the café, she hadn’t put anything in her stomach since her lunch, most of which had been thrown out.

She was starving.

Standing in her kitchen, she looked in the fridge and found a couple of leftover pieces of fried chicken wrapped in plastic film wrap. Before she even realized what she was doing, she unwrapped the chicken and ate it over the sink to avoid using a plate: the dishwasher was already running and her mother abhorred dirty plates in the sink. She inhaled the chicken, skin and all and immediately felt pangs of regret over such a bad food choice. She should have planned better. Even if she’d grabbed a salad at the Wendy’s drive-through on the way home from Sheri’s she would have been much better off.

With a sigh, Rachel rolled the plastic wrap into a ball and tossed it into the garbage. Hindsight was twenty-twenty, no use beating herself up about it now.

I wish I were bulimic, she thought as the fatty chicken landed heavily in her stomach. She turned on the tap to wash her greasy hands and glanced over to her mother’s Costco-sized canister of Metamucil, a permanent fixture on the kitchen counter.

“The older you get, the more you’ll realize how important it is to be regular,” Pearl would say in defense of the gigantic package of laxative.

Digging into her memory banks, Rachel struggled to remember an article she’d read about the plight (as if!) of supermodels and how many of them took laxatives to stay slim. What kind of laxatives? Rachel wondered. Would Metamucil do it? Or would it have to be something a little more potent?

She peeked around the corner of the kitchen wall to make sure she wouldn’t be disturbed. Her parents were already planted in bed, watching TV. Rachel took a glass down and read the instructions. It said to mix one teaspoon with juice or water. She pulled open the cutlery drawer, took out a
table
spoon and proceeded to portion three heaping scoops of the grainy looking powder into her glass. Turning on the tap again—to cold this time—she slowly filled up the glass, stirring the coarse powder and water mixture as quietly as she could. Not that stirring did much to dissolve the gritty powder.

Holding her breath as she brought the glass to her lips, she guzzled the concoction in one go, not trusting herself to be able to finish it off if she stopped for air. She washed the gritty glass and spoon and dried them quickly before putting them away, afraid of being discovered. Feeling even fuller and grosser than she did before, she turned off the light and left the kitchen.

She poked her head into her parents’ bedroom. “Hi, I’m home.”

“Okay dear. I put some chicken in the fridge for you, just make sure you take the skin off before you eat it, it’s all fat.”

Too late. “Thanks, Mom. I’m off to bed. G’night.”

Entering her room, Rachel felt too full to go to bed so decided instead to do some research on her new Christmas break work project. She sat down at her computer with a pad and pen at the ready, excited to get started on a new challenge. Five pages of scribbled notes had materialized before her by the time she forced herself to go to bed at one a.m.

Exhausted, she fell asleep quickly, but the chicken and Metamucil mixture turned into an uncomfortable rock in her stomach, waking her up well before the alarm was to go off.

Glancing at the clock, she read the big red numbers. Four-thirty-eight a.m.

She tried to roll over but the only position that wasn’t uncomfortable was lying flat on her back. Sleep drifted away from her and she lay in her bed wide awake.

The light from the streetlamp shone into her room, muted by the Roman blind, but still casting enough light for her to see shapes and shadows in her room. Staring at her stucco ceiling, she began to think about Sheri and Brian and what their wedding would be like. Of course, he would give her the money to buy that Vera Wang dress that had looked so perfect on her. And Rachel would wear some sort of figure-flattering style, maybe in navy or if it was summer, a light lavender or sky blue. And she would be thin. Rail thin. The more emaciated, the better, Rachel thought. Like a greyhound, all sleek and bony. Her thin fantasy got better and better as she saw herself in a clingy (the clingier, the better) black satin sheath dress which showed off every ripple of flesh, only she wouldn’t have any ripples because she would be a size zero.

Sexy Jimmy Choo slingbacks would complement the outfit on the bottom and a dangly necklace dripping with diamonds would hang around her neck, falling perfectly over her jutting collarbones. (Rachel had not yet made acquaintances with her collarbones but was looking forward to meeting them someday soon.)

And who would she be walking down the aisle with? She closed her eyes tight to see the man who would entwine his arm in hers, walking tall and proud beside her, for she was a trophy and what man wouldn’t be proud to walk beside such a beauty? He was wearing a tux, looking stunning as most men did in formal wear, but Rachel couldn’t see his face, it was all blurry. Who would it be? Channing Tatum? Chris Evans? Adam Levine? She forced his face to become clear, eager to see who her fantasy man turned out to be.

Sharper…no, not good enough…more…a little more…And then she saw him. His white teeth beaming the widest smile because he was walking next to the beautiful, glamorous (and don’t forget: size zero) Rachel.

It was Finn.

Her eyes popped open. Shocked, her eyes darted around the room, as she tried to figure out how Finn had gotten into her fantasy. He certainly hadn’t been invited. She hadn’t even been thinking of him. Or so she thought.

Why would her subconscious forsake Channing or Adam for Finn?

Before she had a chance to solve the mystery, her stomach gave off a gurgling rumble which, in her quiet bedroom, was very loud. She had just enough time to wonder at the marvels of her own anatomy before a searing pain ripped through her abdomen, causing her body to involuntarily fold itself into the fetal position. Rachel had never encountered anything so excruciating; her mouth flooded with water and her head reeled.

She had time enough to consider the possibility that she had finally eaten herself to death and then suddenly, the pain was gone as quickly as it had come.

Rachel took several deep breaths, feeling as though she were practicing Lamaze, and uncoiled her body.
What the hell was that?

She could only begin to speculate before the pain returned. It wasn’t as intense as before, but more of a cramping ache. She rolled to her side and brought her knees up to her chest again to try to quell the pain that rumbled through her insides. Another loud gurgle jogged through her G.I. tract.

That’s when she realized what must be happening.
Oh my God, I’ve OD’d on Metamucil.
If she wasn’t doubled over in agony, her nails digging into the roaring fire that was her stomach, Rachel would have laughed at her own stupidity.
What the hell was I thinking?

Too humiliated to leave the sanctity of her own room in case a parent should be up, and thankful that the intended effects of the medication hadn’t yet set in, she suffered alone under the covers, oscillating between uncomfortable dozing and excruciating wakefulness.

Worse than the cramps was her fear of what the morning would bring once the stuff really kicked in. Damn those skinny supermodels.

Chapter 24

“I’m really sorry, Tina, it’s just…” Rachel paused, holding the phone away from her ear, concentrating on her midsection, waiting to see if she’d need to run to the bathroom again. False alarm. She brought the phone back to her face. “I can’t stay away from the bathroom for more than ten minutes.”

“Ugh, sounds like a nasty virus,” Tina said, her voice full of sympathy.

In all the time Rachel had worked for Tina, she’d never taken her yearly allotment of sick or personal days so thankfully, no one would doubt she was legitimately sick.

“Yeah, I guess it’s that bug that’s going around.” Rachel was not about to tell her boss about her unfortunate Metamucil incident. That story she’d be taking to her grave with her; not even Sheri would ever be the wiser. “I’ll e-mail you what I’ve started for the Christmas program.”

“Don’t worry about it, just get better. I know you’ll do it when you get back. Just give me a call if you’re not going to be in again tomorrow.”

“Okay, thanks Tina. Uh oh, gotta run.” Rachel said, not waiting for a goodbye before she dropped the phone and jogged the short hall toward the bathroom. It was already her fifth trip.

* * *

Thankfully, Pearl also had a shift scheduled at her own branch of the library. She left shortly after Rachel called in sick, but not before she combed through her medicine cabinet, looking for something that might clear up her daughter’s sudden mysterious case of ‘exploding bowel.

Knowing that time would heal her and she didn’t need the aid of Pearl’s various chalky and disgusting concoctions, Rachel refused them.

Finally, when she thought she could not handle one more word out of Pearl’s, she shooed her mother out the front door, assuring her she’d be fine and would take something if she got worse. Planting herself in front of the television, Rachel turned to
Ellen
and allowed herself to zone out, turning into a full-fledged couch potato.

By the time Pearl returned home at dinnertime, Rachel’s G.I. tract had mostly returned to normal. Her stomach had begun to grumble from hunger, but she still didn’t trust her body enough to put anything in it just yet. Not in the mood to assist her mother in preparing dinner (food was tough to look at in her present condition since she was sure she had evacuated food eaten years before in that one short day), she moved from the living room into her bedroom, back to her computer to do some more work on her Christmas program.

She was only at her desk a few moments before her phone rang. Figuring it was Sheri, she didn’t bother to look at the number.

“’lo?”