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“No worries. See you soon.” He rolled up the window and pulled out of the driveway. I closed the garage door and fanned myself.
“Cool off, Zelda. You don’t need anymore manly hassle.”
The cats assaulted me, meowing and running toward the kitchen when I reached the top of the stairs.
“Oh, shit, you guys. I’m sorry! I forgot to feed you.” I opened a can of tilapia and split it between them. Lulu made the little num-num noises she always did when she liked what she was eating. “Aithan is right, you guys are stinkin’ cute. And so is he, in a ridiculously sexy and wholesome kinda way.” Unless that was an act meant to impress me and get into my pants. “Don’t be paranoid,” I muttered. “A guy who looks like that doesn’t need to lie to get laid.”
I shook my head and looked around. Not much had changed without Tristan and his crap. Except the spot on the mantel where the TV once stood. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I downed a glass of water. “Guess I need to get a new TV.” But that could wait for a sale.
I glanced at the time. Nine o’clock. Time for a run. I changed, laced up my shoes, and headed for Green Lake. Fall in Seattle was my favorite time of year. The air was crisp but not freezing and the trees morphed from green to brilliant golds, vibrant reds, and deep purples. It was a five-mile run from my townhouse on Phinney Ridge, through Woodland Park, around the Green Lake Loop, and back. I tried to get out every day, even when the weather sucked. I didn’t mind running on rainy days, however today was perfect. Cool and gray but not wet.
My phone buzzed a few times while I ran the lake’s outer, unpaved trail. I ignored it, figuring it was my parents making sure I was still alive or Tristan bitching. Sunshine and blue sky peeped through breaks in the gray clouds. A breeze made the fall leaves dance and raised small waves on the lake. Ducks glided through the shallows. Dogs barked and people jogged by. Some regulars I nodded to as we passed, people I saw daily but never spoke with. The air smelled sweet and fresh.
When I got home, I peeled off my sweaty sports bras — two of ’em to keep my tits strapped down tight so I didn’t get a concussion from boob rebound. I draped the bras and my damp shirt over the open washing machine door.
Boob sweat ranked among the top ten worst things that no one mentioned about having big tits. Sure, guys worshiped a full rack, but they didn’t know the downsides of double-Ds. The sweat, the rashes, the painful pendulum effect if those bitches weren’t tied down during exercise. Ugh.
I took a long, hot shower, then ate leftover pot roast for breakfast while playing a word game with my family — Mom was winning, Dad was barely ahead, Greer was losing. After making all my moves, I remembered the text that came in while I was running.
It was from Drew Katterman.
Hey, Brick! I’m in Seattle. Let’s get together, babe.
Brick was his nickname for me, short for Brick House. Yes, like the Commodores’ song.
“No way.”
I quickly typed a response.
Dude! I’d love to see u. I need some of your I don’t give a fuckery right now. Everything’s gone to shit with Tristan.
What? Oh, no, babe. Lunch? Where can u safely eat?
Aww. Drew always remembered that I adhered to an autoimmune diet.
Are u staying downtown?
Nope. I’m at a little hotel in Ballard. Got a book signing around here tmrrw.
Nice! There’s a great place on Market Street by the movie theater. Hippy Eats. You’ll love it & they know me. Should I pick you up?
Nah. I’ll meet u there. I’m a few blocks from Market. 12:30?
Perfect!
After we finished texting, I went upstairs to change, because leggings and an old T-shirt wouldn’t cut it for a client lunch, even if that client was a laidback friend like Drew. I opted for one of the few outfits I felt really good wearing — skinny jeans tucked into over-the-knee boots, a burgundy sweater, and my favorite leopard-print coat.
Standing before the mirror, I considered my reflection and chewed my lip. As a teen, I used to squeeze into size twelve jeans, look in the mirror, and see an obese girl staring back. In atwelve, for fuck’s sake! It was still hard not to see myself that way. The internet said I should weigh one hundred forty-nine pounds. What a joke. I think I weighed more than that at birth.
“You look fine, Zelda,” I said. “Put away your fat eyes.” That’s what my mom said back then:“Put away your fat eyes, Zelda Claudette. You’re not seeing straight.”
I nodded and turned away from the mirror. “You’re right, Mom.”
I had some time to kill, so I went down to my office and pulled up the book files from yesterday. Listening back, they didn’t sound too bad, so I ran them through editing software, cleaned them up, and uploaded them for Drew to listen to.
Just uploaded the last 2 chapters of Stars and Strippers. Gimme feedback when I see u?
Done. Thanks! See u soon.
