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Henrietta’s jaw fell, and I stepped forward, holding my hand on the door so Janessa couldn’t open it. She needed to hear this—and Henrietta did too.
“You want to know why I chose Henrietta when you were so clearly interested? I chose her because I could have a conversation with her without feeling like a piece of meat. Henrietta is intelligent and kind and clearly cares about the people who live here and making them feel safe and comfortable. And I don’t know if you’ve seen her curves, but they’re sexy as hell. So I will not be having any more negative talk about her from a desperate, jealous woman like you. Especially not in my own damn home.”
Janessa grit her teeth before ripping open the door and leaving the apartment. “You’ll regret this,” she said in the hallway. “I’ll make sure of it.”
I shut the door in her face.
I turned toward Henrietta, gripping her shoulders in my hands. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry about what she said.”
Henrietta lifted her chin and kissed me. “Thank you for standing up for me like that.”
“Of course.”
“But are you freaking crazy?” she asked, hitting my shoulder. “Janessa is a powerful woman, and she’s clearly not above lying. What if she gets the CEO to fire Crenshaw?”
“She can’t. We have a contract in place saying we finish the project unless there are legitimate safety or quality concerns. We do everything by the book on site. She’s all talk.” I wrapped my arms around Henrietta’s waist. “Now, can you go put that shirt back on?” I bit the shell of her ear. “I want to see you bent over the couch with nothing underneath.”
Her voice was rough as she said, “Whatever you tell me to do, it’s done.”
52
Henrietta
Confession: I’m still trying to remind myself that I’m not too big for certain things—they are just too small for me.
Most of thetime I could forget my size. But there were certain things that made me hate the way fat people were treated in this world. Clothes shopping was number one—most people relegated you to one tiny corner of the store, and it was even harder when you tried to thrift most of your clothes.
And then there was basically anything that included chairs. Being forced to stand in waiting rooms because you knew you couldn’t squeeze your butt between the arms of the chair. Forget amusement parks—the shame of having to exit the ride because you can’t fit and then hearing people whisper, or even talk loudly about you as you walk away. It’s a form of torture no one deserves.
But then, there’s getting on an airplane. Walking down the rows and every person looking away because they don’t want you in their row. People skipping by you because they don’t want to sit next to you.
This time, though, I had Tyler with me. We’d sit side by side, and he’d already offered to take the middle seat so I could see Texas from the air. I hadn’t traveled much, but he said when you flew over the Midwest, you could see little squares of farm ground below. I couldn’t wait.
I walked ahead, since he insisted on carrying my bags, and found us a seat a few rows behind the wings. I scooted into the seat and reached for my belt, and then it hit me.
No matter how much I sucked, squeezed, or adjusted myself, my seat belt would not reach all the way around my waist. My eyes stung as I let loose of the clip and looked out the window. I felt Tyler’s shoulder brush against me, but I kept my eyes away.
I was so embarrassed. He knew I was a big girl, had seen me naked and told me I was sexy, but this felt way too much like reality compared to the blissful fantasy we’d been living in. This was part of dating a big girl, and I didn’t want to find out that he actually couldn’t handle it.
He leaned over, resting his chin on my shoulder. “It’s kinda nice that the seats are small so we can cuddle the whole way.”
“Yeah,” I said, but my voice cracked. I really freaking wish it hadn’t cracked.
“Hen, are you okay?”
I tried to blink back tears. “I’m fine.” Was there a way to fold my belly over the belt so the flight attendant couldn’t see if it was buckled?
“Baby, look at me. What’s going on?”
I closed my eyes, wishing for a moment that I could be smaller. That this wouldn’t be an issue I had to worry about.
“Do you not want to meet my family anymore?” he asked.
The worry in his voice gutted me. And I hated to make him worry when it wasn’t his problem; it’s mine.
“The belt doesn’t fit,” I whispered, blinking back hot tears. One slid down my cheek, and I wiped it away.
“Oh, that’s no big deal,” he said. He turned away from me, and when he spotted a flight attendant walking by, he said, “Excuse me, sir, can I get a belt extender for my girlfriend?”