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Janet’s face said that she’d wished Waverley had reconsidered that solution before arriving here with her problem. “Well, let me go see what I can turn up in our other departments,” she said without enthusiasm.
The stinging prickle of what might be the start of tears was hitting behind Waverley’s eyes. But there was no way she was letting any of these women see how horrifying this moment was.
“Maybe you could bring whatever you do find to a dressing room,” Waverley said, knowing she needed some privacy desperately. “Would you mind opening one for me?”
It was only after the dressing room door closed behind her and she’d sunk into the chair, her purse settled on her lap, that Waverley allowed the hot tears of shame to slip down her flushed cheeks.
One thing was for sure. The end of this year couldn’t come any sooner. The pain and humiliation had been piling up for so many months, it was about time she got a break.
“Here’s that size you asked for, Evelyn,” someone said as she came into the dressing room, her voice far enough down to assure Waverley she wasn’t there for her. There was a sound of hangers touching as the clothing was exchanged through the door.
The saleswoman didn’t move on, however, and Waverley heard her speak quietly to Evelyn. “Did you see who was here a minute ago? Waverley Abbott Johnson. You know, the woman whose husband was charged with insider trading and fraud but fled the country instead.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, but I bet Janet wishes I were. She’s the one who’s stuck helping her.”
“You know, I don’t feel an iota of sympathy for that woman,” Evelyn said, and it struck Waverley that there was something familiar in the woman’s voice. A suspicion confirmed a moment later when she continued, “Did I tell you that we belong to the same club? Always so hoity-toity, never deigning to dish with the rest of us, thinking she was better than us because she’s an Abbott. No wonder that husband of hers took up with that bimbo. Sleeping with Waverley was probably like sleeping with a frigid ice queen.”
There was a giggle. “Have you seen her lately? I don’t know what she thinks she’ll find to wear outside of a burlap sack. She’s huge.”
The women laughed. “Speaking of sack, this fits me like one. Do you think you have a size zero?”
“Let me go look. I’ll be right back.”
Waverley hadn’t said a word during the women’s conversation, instead staying quiet and motionless so they wouldn’t know she was there, even as she felt every word like a blow.
There was some truth in the woman’s words. She hadn’t really gotten on with most of the women at the club. Not because she felt like they were beneath her. Quite the opposite.
Having grown up as the fat girl who lived with a quirky single mom in a no-name town in Idaho until she was fourteen, Waverley didn’t have the same natural confidence—or cattiness—of the rest of the women at the club. And even though she might have looked the part, she didn’t enjoy spending afternoons bashing those women who didn’t fit the mold or gossiping over whose husband was seen having late dinners with some young chit. Although, maybe if she had, the news of her own husband’s infidelity wouldn’t have hit her as hard.
Making friends with the women in the world she occupied after coming to live with her father had never been easy for her. The last real friendship she could remember was with Cece Greenwood, a fellow camper at the fat camp her father had sent her to. Cece had been honest, sweet, and hilarious and had been one of the few people Waverley could let her guard down around.
The other thing she’d come away with from that camp was an understanding of the fine art of starving herself. It was a power that she’d used over the next fifteen years as she molded herself into being the daughter she thought her father wanted her to be.
For all the good it did her.
Because fifteen years later, fifteen years of starving herself, twisting herself inside out to please her father, attending the right schools, and dating only the right men, Waverley found herself right back where she’d started.
Alone. Living at home once again and trying to please her father.
The only thing she had to show for it all was the glory of being a punch line for some gossiping socialites’ jokes.
And it seriously was starting to piss her off.
What had it all been for? Why had she twisted herself into a person she didn’t even like or understand?
For happiness? Well, it had been a long time since she’d felt that.
Fifteen years, to be precise. Back when it had just been her and her mom and that little house in Idaho. Where love wasn’t conditional on how she looked, the pants size she wore, or what social connections she’d made but was given freely and frequently. Hugs, kisses, and positive affirmations had been part of her daily life once. Until her mom had gotten sick and it all ended.
What she wouldn’t give to feel her mom’s arms around her right now, reminding her that she was worthy and she was loved, no matter what anyone else thought.
Why had she let herself forget that sense of acceptance and love? Why had she felt like she’d needed to change to be loved? It hadn’t brought her happiness. Just the opposite.
Well, not anymore.
She’d had enough. She wasn’t going to be anyone’s punching bag.
