Love and Fate - Evelyn's Story

Chapter 1

"Evelyn! Over here!"

My best friends Amber and Chrissy wave to me from across the street. They're standing in front of "Camila Tequila", the bar we meet at every Friday night after work. I know they're anxious to get inside, out of the bitter fall wind. They're huddled close together, bouncing on their heels, trying to generate some kind of heat.

Me, I don't feel the cold. In fact, I'm feeling overheated in my beige capris, short sleeve blouse and lightweight autumn jacket. I'm tempted to strip off the jacket and carry it inside, but the fact that everyone else is bundled up makes that move way too embarrassing. I'm a big girl, so I already draw a lot of unwanted attention everywhere I go. Keeping my jacket on gives the illusion that I'm just like everyone else even though my face is turning 20 shades of red and my forehead is dripping with sweat. I lurch and teeter to my friends who wrap me in a friendly hug, making me feel even warmer. Being five foot nothing and weighing 250 pounds makes it difficult to do anything without becoming winded and uncomfortably hot. I'm positive my wavering body heat has warmed everyone within 10 feet of me.

We file into the bar and find our booth. It's the same one we sit at every week, the booth closest to the window for me -the draft from it feels nice- the bathroom for Amber who can't keep a drink inside her body for longer than 30 minutes, and the bar for Chrissy who can't nurse a drink for longer than 30 seconds.

Amber and Chrissy slide into the booth easily, shrugging off their coats and scarves, while I furtively glance around the room. I don't want people watching this fat girl struggling to sit! Especially nowadays with everyone recording everything, I have to worry about ending up on some asshole's fat shaming YouTube channel. It's a humiliating enough process of squeezing and manipulating my rolls to conform to the space between the table and the bench. My breasts rest on top of the table, while my stomach is smashed underneath it. It isn't comfortable, but there is no way I will admit that I possibly, may no longer fit in booths. I would rather bend and twist myself into a pretzel than take a chance on one of those flimsy table chairs. No thank you!

"What are we having to start? Beer? Wine? Rum and Coke?" Amber asks us.

"Yes please." Chrissy laughs. "I'll take all three." She waves a waitress over to order.

Amber and I look at each other meaningfully. Lately we've started worrying about Chrissy's drinking. On more than one occasion, her partying has interfered with her job as a receptionist at a prestigious law firm; her hangovers stretching into the middle of the week, forcing her to call in sick. Chrissy had pushed hard for that job, and was so proud when she got it. Managing the busy front desk for nearly 3 years had made her some good money too, enough for a decent downtown apartment. But lately, her indulgences seemed to be taking center stage and Amber and I felt uneasy about it. To hear Chrissy tell it though, those missed days were just one offs, "mental days" she called it, but Amber and I aren't convinced.

"How are things with Bruce? I turn my attention to Amber to avoid watching Chrissy down all three drinks in one go.

"It's going alright, I guess." Amber shifts in her seat, sipping her pale ale. "I met his wife today."

This makes me choke on my red wine and Amber pounds on my back. Chrissy is laughing and people are starting to stare. By sheer will alone, I force the coughing to stop, or at least quiet down.