In
the next week and a half, I did nothing to complete Doctor Albright’s assignment. Whenever the idea popped up in my head, I was on the elliptical, or in bed with Nate, or teasing him through a recipe in his kitchen. I felt good. Why did I need to be in the real world? If spending all my time with Nate was what I needed to do to get through this semester, that was what I was going to do.
Yeah, Doctor Albright had been in my position. Sort of. The difference was that her weight hadn’t been her entire identity, the one thing people thought of when they saw her. She hadn’t been dumped based solely on her body, like I was.
Not that I even cared about asshole Jake anymore.
But because of Nate, at least I spent more time in the design studio than I ever had before. Any time I told him I felt huge, or ridiculous, he reminded me that it had to be either my attitude or my clothes. He could remind me that any of my body-image freakouts were unwarranted with a few strategically placed kisses. If it was my clothes making me feel horrible, we could figure out other options.
I’d learned the basics of sewing in my freshman and sophomore years, of course. But now I really got into it, learning how to turn a seam and make interesting structures for a model’s body out of fabric.
I stood at one of the computers in Temple’s fashion design studio surrounded by bolts of fabric and mannequins. All the mannequins were size fours, bigger than the average fashion model, weirdly, but still four full sizes smaller than me.
Nate strolled around the studio, stopping to gaze out the long windowed wall that looked out over the city. “God, the architecture just kills me. Can we come here some time at night? I want to see it lit up from this window. Drexel might not have a lot of things, but it does have an incredible view.”
“Shut up,” I said, through pins stuck between my teeth. I was pinning a heavy brocade to the mannequin for a waist ruffle on a dress that had a faux-wrap top. I’d had this idea in my head for weeks, but couldn’t seem to get it right. It didn’t help that my semester portfolio project, a collection that I’d have to present on the design school’s catwalk in December, was looming.
“Very old-school,” Nate said, walking over and assessing the design. “Very film noir.”
My cell phone dinged in the pocket of my jacket, and through the pins jutting out of my mouth, I mumbled, “Can you get that? Joey might be texting me.”
“We going out?” he asked, a tone of mild interest in his voice. He pulled the phone out of my coat pocket and swiped at it to read Joey’s message.
“It’s not Joey,” he said. “E-mail from Doctor Albright? Your doctor e-mails you?”
I hadn’t told Nate about Doctor Albright, for a couple of reasons. First, I was doing just fine. Second, I didn’t want him to think his girlfriend—or whatever I was, since we hadn’t talked about it—was a nutjob.
I dove for the phone, dropping the pins and letting them join the dozens of others that students had dropped on the floor. I clicked open the e-mail, and it looked like Doctor Albright had followed through on her promise to call someone for me. The e-mail said,
ANNOUNCING THE REAL WOMAN PROJECT – Competition to create eight original, inventive designs for America’s real woman, sizes 12-16
. It went on to describe the event as a possible alternative to the end-of-semester portfolio project, and winning the highest votes from a panel of judges came with a five-thousand-dollar prize.
“This could be really great,” I said, looking up at Nate and telling him the whole thing when he seemed interested. But as I read, his face fell.
“There was one of those back when I was at USC. Those poor fashion design majors.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“What? What happened?” I quirked an eyebrow.
“Well, they just…no one really took them seriously, you could say.” He shrugged and walked away to pace in front of the huge glass windowed wall again.
“Nate? You okay?”
He still didn’t meet my eyes. “Yeah. I just hate to think of you working so hard, and someone slamming you. You know?”
Was he just trying to protect me? He probably wasn’t wrong—no one knew better than I did that my self-esteem was still pretty damn fragile. But five thousand dollars….I could pay for most of a semester with that. Especially without the extra hundreds I used to pick up walking runway shows here and there, and how much I was struggling this year, five thousand was a hell of a lot. I chewed on my lip. Something about his anxiousness was bugging me, something I couldn’t put my finger on.
“But honestly,” I placed my hands around the mannequin’s waist. “Who is even this size? She would slip through your hands, or you would break her.”
“You’re right,” he said, sounding more like his normal self. “Is there anything we can do to get a mannequin in here who’s the size of an actual person? That a guy would actually want to sleep with?”
I rolled my eyes at him and picked up a new handful of pins. They slid cleanly through the fabric one by one as I smiled at the sheer satisfaction of being back in the studio again. At Nate being there with me. “According to the fashion magazines, you’re one of the dumbest guys on the planet for wanting to sleep with a girl who looks like me. Not that I wouldn’t want to be thinner.”
“Seriously, though, what size are you?”
“I keep telling you,” I laughed. “Twelve. Sometimes fourteen.”
“And is that considered plus-sized, or whatever?”
I tilted my head and gazed at the mannequin. “It’s a plus for you, because you’re the only guy who wants to sleep with me.”
“Nuh-uh,” he leaned down and murmured in my ear. “Everyone wants to sleep with you. I see the way guys look at you.”
“Oh,” I said, turning in his arms and kissing him softly. “Then why am I bothering with you?”
A cocky grin spread across his face. “Because I take care of you. In more ways than one. And I’m sexy.”
I giggled as my head fell back. “You do. And you are. But cut it out, because we don’t know who else is going to walk in in the middle of the day.”
“Oh, just give me a minute with your shoulder. You know how I love your shoulder.”
A sigh escaped my throat as I brought my head forward again, exposing the area for him. “Remember when you told me that that was like a frame?”
“I never forget. I think of it every time I see you.”
Which was a lot. He “saw” me almost every day. I was staying over at his place more than I was staying in the sorority house.
He kissed my shoulder, biting it softly, and pulled away. “Okay, I seriously do need to stop.” He winced and grunted as he took a seat on one of the studio stools, adjusting the crotch of his jeans, and I grinned in satisfaction.
“That’s what happens when you fool around in the studio.”
“All right, well, I’ll just have to help you out so that we can get home sooner.”
His use of the word
home
with regard to the space we shared so often felt so good, so familiar, that I had to scold myself before I felt
too
good about it. Nate and I had been together only four weeks. We said a lot of things when we were in the middle of sex, and I’d almost screamed that I loved him in the middle of an orgasm, which he had become masterful at delivering to me.
But I always bit it back. For one thing, because it had only been four weeks, and for another, because I knew Nate, I respected his story, and I knew that “I love you” had to be based on something other than his incredible in-bed abilities and in-bed equipment.
Although I thought “I love you” to his chest every time he pulled off his shirt, I wouldn’t tell him that.
“So, can you tell me about that design? The wrap top and cinching at the waist, what’s that for?”
I stood back and cocked my head again. “I think it’s just that those are the two parts of my body I really love. So I want to emphasize them.”
“Yeah, but if you really look at what you’re doing, it’s a really sound architectural design. It’s all about balance, you know? It’s a matter of proportions. One thing balances out another. Damn, Cat. You know, we really are in the same career.”
I beamed at him. “Okay, so can you tell me where the trouble is with this design, then? I can’t figure it out.”
He stepped back even further. “The bottom of the skirt.”
“What’s wrong with it?” I’d designed an A-line that skimmed over my saddlebags and ended just past my knees, so those thighs I hated so much would be completely covered.
“First of all, it’s too long.”
“You know I hate my thighs.”
“And you know I’m obsessed with them,” he said, his eye sweeping down over the yoga pants I’d taken to wearing with everything, probably in no small part because he said they looked good, and noticed how the seams lay kind of like riding pants. “But that’s not the point,” he said. “The balance is all off. You’re tall enough that if you showed enough leg, it would put the legs that are exposed in a near perfect two-thirds balance with the rest of the dress. Even if you’re not wearing heels....”
“Oh, I’m wearing this?”
“You can make it for yourself, right?”
“If I am, I will be wearing heels.”
“You won’t. It kills your shin, and when I rub your legs I want it to be sexy, not because you’re in pain. There’s no reason for you ever to be in pain.”
“Except when you’re kicking my ass at the rock wall, you mean.”
“Yeah, but that’s the good kind of pain. And at the rate we’re going, you’ll be kicking my ass by Christmas.
“Good kind of pain, indeed. It’s the reason my arms will still look good in this dress.”
“They’ll look better out of it.” He winked. “And the whole damn thing will look better if you bring the bottom of that skirt in.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No way.” He bent down and pulled the skirt tight from the back. “See? Wide, gorgeous shoulders. Tucked-in waist. Round, incredible hips, shapely knees. They’re all parts of a balanced whole. When two things are wide in a row, it doesn’t look quite right.”
Damned if he wasn’t right. I smirked, raised my eyebrows, held the skirt right where his hands were, and slipped in a thick pin. We both stood back, assessing it. He let out a low wolf whistle, crossing his arms. “Great. Now just get a mannequin that’s approaching your level of hotness and we’ll have something to look at.”
I spun around, grabbed his shirt, and kissed him hard on the mouth. “I’ll give you something to look at,” I said. “Your place or mine?”
“Your place,” he said, “But not for what you’re thinking. We’re going out with Joey and a bunch of your friends. I asked her. I want us to do something you used to do. I want to get to know your friends. And you haven’t been going out like you used to, you know?”
Great. Exactly the same thing Doctor Albright had said. It didn’t matter whether he was suggesting it, or she was—I still didn’t feel ready.
I pouted, but tried to make it look sexy. From the look on his face, it wasn’t working.
He pulled me to him again. “You okay?”
I didn’t quite feel okay, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. “Perfect. Help me come up with something to wear?”
***
Two hours later, I stood in front of the mirror at my place, staring at every last one of my curves poured into a sequined black shift dress with a low neck and a mid-thigh skirt. “Your arms are fucking incredible, Cat. And that ass.” He grabbed it, then spread his hands out over my stomach, bending in to kiss my neck.
“Okay, okay,” I smiled. “Hands off, if we’re going to make it out.”
The club was not anything I would have chosen to go to—at least, not since my accident. My entire perception of college life had changed since then. Before, it had been about pushing my body to the limit—how little could I eat that day to look good in that dress, how crazily could I dance, how much could I party? Now, it was...well, I didn’t know exactly what it was. But I knew I liked eating like a normal person, and I liked being with Nate. I liked tasting my food, and I liked savoring my time with him. I definitely loved how he made me feel. When it came down to it, I just really wanted to spend all my free time with him.
The very thing Doctor Albright was against.
I had pretty much stopped drinking since I met him, too. One, because he didn’t party, and two, because I wanted to be fully conscious for every moment with him. Because of the abs, and also the incredible way he took his time with me, like I was just as important as school or family or anything else.
We caught a cab and had it take us to the edge of Old City Philadelphia. “Hayley said they’d been dying to try out this place since you guys got back. Awesome atmosphere, good dance music while still being relaxed. A place to rest your leg. There’s no reason you should miss out on the Philly fun just because you have a stupid rod in there. ”
I had texted with Joey, who had promised she was going to be there too, with anyone she could drag along. She was into indie music, and Robot Clive, a new techno group whose stuff had been making the rounds online, would be there. She was dying to hear them and so I believed she’d drag as many of our sisters as possible along with her.
When we pulled up to the bar, Joey and four of our sisters were waiting outside, fidgeting in the cold. “Oh, thank God,” Joey gasped, tripping up to the cab and grabbing my arm to drag me closer to the girls. “It looks crazy weird in there and I didn’t want to go in without you. Also, group discount.”
Even though she was tiny next to me—I swore it felt like half my size tonight—Joey linked her arm in mine and tugged me inside. I wanted to wait for Nate, but the girls were already halfway through the door. Joey threw a glance over her shoulder. “Hey, Nate,” she said. “You coming?”
Nate flicked his chin up, in a gesture that told me to go on ahead. It felt weird, but also natural, to be doing things with these girls again.
Inside, Fluid was one of the craziest and most eclectic places I had ever been. Short sets of stairs wound their way from the lower to upper levels and back again. One wall was covered in luxurious pillowed fabric, and the rest were given a mottled stone treatment. Arches sat at the top of every doorway, and curved metal banisters decorated the stairs. And the whole thing was bathed in a light, yet rich, blue light.