Read Online The Lighter Side of Large by Becky Siame - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Becky Siame
Ads: Link
so I don’t embarrass her.”
“How do you know that’s what she’s going to say?”
“Because that’s what she said the last time we talked.”
“Maybe she’s trying to build bridges or wants to ask for your forgiveness.”
I laugh. “Tiresa doesn’t want my forgiveness and she burns bridges, not builds them.”
The phone stops ringing as the answering machine picks up: You’ve reached the White residence. Leave a message and one of the crazy kids living here will return your call as soon as possible. Thanks and ta-ta. Two clicks sound and then Tiresa’s voice invades my home: “Bella, I need to know what you’re wearing to the engagement party.”
I roll my eyes. “I love how she assumes that I am attending, like I can’t wait to celebrate her…”
“Shh!” Sands hushes me.
Tiresa continues: “A lot of my business clients and Mika’s attorney friends are invited and I can’t have you dressed in some cheap knit crap from the dollar store. So let me know what you have. I’ll buy you a decent dress if you don’t have one and you don’t have to pay me back. Call me.” Click.
I glare at Sands, who shrugs. “It’s not the most diplomatic way to build a bridge, but it’s a start.” She tries to sound hopeful.
I grab the box of tampons and storm to the bathroom. “That’s not a bridge. That’s a burn.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“The unexpected brings out the real us, the person we try to keep under a polished veneer of gentility and complicity.”
FROM BELLA’S BLOG
http://www.thelightersideoflarge.com/ch7
Cheap knit crap from the dollar store’,” I mimic Tiresa’s self-righteous tone. “’I’ll buy you a decent dress’.” I scowl as I examine the black dress which had been purchased for the date with Wesley. It was more than decent - in fact, it had cost a bit more than I could reasonably afford - and would fit in with Tiresa’s and Mika’s engagement party, which was certain to be on par with a black tie affair. Now I just needed a new pair of shoes since the heel broke off my sandal.
I park my car just off Trafalgar Street and make my way down the crowded sidewalk toward Hannah’s Shoes, where I hope to purchase the same sandals I bought for the date with Wesley. There weren’t many styles in my size, let alone ones that could accommodate my fat feet, so I often bought a couple pairs of the same shoes.
At a corner I run into Cat, who is wearing plastic bags over her boots. “Cat! How are you?” I ask.
I was the first to befriend Cat, who has lived on the street for a decade. Initially, I felt sorry for her and gave her an old winter coat of mine, which progressed to spare change here and there, then invitations to have coffee. Feeling sorry for Cat didn’t do any good, however. Her mind half-gone from alcohol, Cat survives quite well on the streets, her brutal honesty put to good use and her “It could be worse” attitude keeping her afloat.
She looks me up and down. “I see you’re finally off your face,” she comments.
“Uh, yeah,” I stammer. “Thanks for checking in on me the other night. It was a pretty horrible night.”
“Try living on the streets,” Cat retorts unsympathetically.
I sigh. Typical Cat: unsympathetic at best, uncouth at worst. “Where are you headed?”
She shrugs. “Nowhere, last I checked.”
“I’m going shoe shopping. Want to come along?” I invite. She falls into step next to me, both of us shuffling along, me from my weight and her because of the plastic bags.
“What’s with the bags?” I ask.
“Keeps the water out,” she replies, stepping into a puddle created by last night’s rain.
I bite my lip, wondering how I can find out what size shoe she wears so I can buy her some rubber boots. “So are you going to give me back my sleeping pills?”
“Nope. Sold those to a drug dealer.”
“You didn’t!” I no longer feel badly about her holey shoes. If she had money from a drug dealer and blew it on liquor, well,
“How do you know that’s what she’s going to say?”
“Because that’s what she said the last time we talked.”
“Maybe she’s trying to build bridges or wants to ask for your forgiveness.”
I laugh. “Tiresa doesn’t want my forgiveness and she burns bridges, not builds them.”
The phone stops ringing as the answering machine picks up: You’ve reached the White residence. Leave a message and one of the crazy kids living here will return your call as soon as possible. Thanks and ta-ta. Two clicks sound and then Tiresa’s voice invades my home: “Bella, I need to know what you’re wearing to the engagement party.”
I roll my eyes. “I love how she assumes that I am attending, like I can’t wait to celebrate her…”
“Shh!” Sands hushes me.
Tiresa continues: “A lot of my business clients and Mika’s attorney friends are invited and I can’t have you dressed in some cheap knit crap from the dollar store. So let me know what you have. I’ll buy you a decent dress if you don’t have one and you don’t have to pay me back. Call me.” Click.
I glare at Sands, who shrugs. “It’s not the most diplomatic way to build a bridge, but it’s a start.” She tries to sound hopeful.
I grab the box of tampons and storm to the bathroom. “That’s not a bridge. That’s a burn.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“The unexpected brings out the real us, the person we try to keep under a polished veneer of gentility and complicity.”
FROM BELLA’S BLOG
http://www.thelightersideoflarge.com/ch7
Cheap knit crap from the dollar store’,” I mimic Tiresa’s self-righteous tone. “’I’ll buy you a decent dress’.” I scowl as I examine the black dress which had been purchased for the date with Wesley. It was more than decent - in fact, it had cost a bit more than I could reasonably afford - and would fit in with Tiresa’s and Mika’s engagement party, which was certain to be on par with a black tie affair. Now I just needed a new pair of shoes since the heel broke off my sandal.
I park my car just off Trafalgar Street and make my way down the crowded sidewalk toward Hannah’s Shoes, where I hope to purchase the same sandals I bought for the date with Wesley. There weren’t many styles in my size, let alone ones that could accommodate my fat feet, so I often bought a couple pairs of the same shoes.
At a corner I run into Cat, who is wearing plastic bags over her boots. “Cat! How are you?” I ask.
I was the first to befriend Cat, who has lived on the street for a decade. Initially, I felt sorry for her and gave her an old winter coat of mine, which progressed to spare change here and there, then invitations to have coffee. Feeling sorry for Cat didn’t do any good, however. Her mind half-gone from alcohol, Cat survives quite well on the streets, her brutal honesty put to good use and her “It could be worse” attitude keeping her afloat.
She looks me up and down. “I see you’re finally off your face,” she comments.
“Uh, yeah,” I stammer. “Thanks for checking in on me the other night. It was a pretty horrible night.”
“Try living on the streets,” Cat retorts unsympathetically.
I sigh. Typical Cat: unsympathetic at best, uncouth at worst. “Where are you headed?”
She shrugs. “Nowhere, last I checked.”
“I’m going shoe shopping. Want to come along?” I invite. She falls into step next to me, both of us shuffling along, me from my weight and her because of the plastic bags.
“What’s with the bags?” I ask.
“Keeps the water out,” she replies, stepping into a puddle created by last night’s rain.
I bite my lip, wondering how I can find out what size shoe she wears so I can buy her some rubber boots. “So are you going to give me back my sleeping pills?”
“Nope. Sold those to a drug dealer.”
“You didn’t!” I no longer feel badly about her holey shoes. If she had money from a drug dealer and blew it on liquor, well,
Similar Books
