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They got a chuckle out of that last part.
“He said that?”
“She.Yeah, because alcohol metabolizes as pure sugar and we can’t have that!” Gia laughed again and stepped away from the table—away from temptation. She’d never wanted a pastry as much as she did just then. What was it about marking things as forbidden that made them irresistible?
“When’s the contest?” Roxi bent one knee and leaned against the painted cinderblock wall of the Fellowship Hall’s lobby and nibbled some more. Her stance was reminiscent of a flamingo’s, but she looked nothing like a flamingo. She’d dressed up that day. No band T-shirt. No leggings. She’d worn a fitted sundress with a large pendant necklace that fell just above the neckline, and canary yellow cork-heeled wedges. If Gia didn’t know better, she’d have thought Roxi dressed for church because she was in a church. Gia knew better. Roxi was working an angle. Had to be.
“Competition. Next month. It’s not a big deal.” Gia crunched the celery, her lack of a poker face on display.
“What?”
“Nothing. I don’t like this dip.”
“Then have the fucking donut! You’re not fat—and you have plenty of muscle. What’s giving up donuts gonna do for you?”
“Shh! You can’t yell in church! Anyway, it’s not the donut. It’s the principle of the matter. Deciding to do something and sticking to it. Donuts don’t matter. I made a promise to myself.”
“You and your rules. Suit yourself.” Roxi licked her fingers one at a time. “Mmm.”
“That’s not nice!”
“I’m just joshing you. And for what it’s worth—you really don’t need to skip the donuts.”
It was early November and Gia’d been weighing herself daily for a month by then. She’d found an old dial scale at a thrift store—the kind her nonna stored by the toilet when she was a kid with little plastic markers to denote goal weights and actual weights—and stepped on it each morning before she did anything. Except pee. Peeing was important—she wanted to be as pure as possible for the weigh in. And every morning, she saw a near-identical reading when the dial settled: 136. One-hundred-thirty-six pounds, give or take half a pound. She hadn’t gained. Hadn’t lost. She’d been tracking calories and macros and skipping donuts—for what? A stable and respectable 136? Maybe the scale was broken. It was second hand, after all. Maybe its original owner donated it because it was broken, and they also weighed 136? She made a mental note to find another scale and verify the data.
“G?” Roxi said louder. They were the only group members left in the lobby—Gia should be able to hear her.
“Oh, sorry. I spaced for a minute. What were you saying?”
“I said,” Roxi stepped closer. “You look great. Skip the donut if it makes you feel better, butte ves bien.”
What did that mean? Bien was good, right? So did she mean, “good” as in, healthy? Or, “good” as in, “let’s hook up?”
“Thanks. You do, too.”
A tit for a tat.
“I miss you,chica. Wanna grab dinner tonight and catch up?”
“I can’t tonight—I have plans with a friend. Tomorrow?”
“Neighbor’s cat planning to climb the tree?”
“No, an age-appropriate, human friend,” Gia said, motioning toward the double glass doors that would lead them back into the world.
“You made a friend! Besides me?!” Roxi mimicked the kid from “Home Alone” with a gasping, surprised face. “Congratulations, G. You’re officially a local.”
“Funny. And thanks. Yeah, I’ve been lifting with this guy from the gym. He’s interesting. He’s a real estate agent, but wants to live in a van. Totally yin and yang.”
“He sounds dreamy. When are you getting married?”
“Oh, come on! It’s not like that! Can’t two gays be gym friends?” Gia pulled open the door and followed Roxi into the parking lot, expecting an orange 4x4 in its usual place. The stench of tar from the lot’s topcoat had subsided with the cool of fall, thankfully. Palm Springs was becoming more and more inhabitable by the day. “No truck today?”
“I got my own wheels!” Roxi dangled a key fob and smiled that adorable, crowded smile. With a click, a red Mini Cooper beeped to life. Its top was painted white, as were the side mirrors.
“That’s perfect for you! Spunky. Sporty. Just flashy enough. Congrats!”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ve been saving and finally found one I could afford. It only has seventy-five K on it. Lots of life left. No more borrowing Savannah’s truck. This baby’s all mine. I’ll take you for a spin sometime.”
