“I just mean they don’t understand what it’s like to be a big girl. What it’s like living with that every day.”
Leaning back in the booth, she folds her arms and studies me. “It’s obvious this is a sore point for you, but Abbi, don’t stick me in a box. Don’t stick yourself in a box, either. We’re both big girls, and as a big girl, I think you should know that a lot of what you’re dealing with has nothing to do with your size. I bet your friends will understand it better than you think.”
“What do you mean it has nothing to do with my size?” I shake my head. I thought she was a good listener, but maybe I was wrong. “Cody straight-up said—”
“He may have told you he wasn’t attracted to you, but it was just an excuse. He was caught being a douche—a cheater and a user. And instead of owning up to his mistakes, he hit you where it hurt. He knew exactly what he was doing. All he had to do was allude to your weight, and you instantly believed the end of the relationship was your fault.”
I want to accept what she’s saying, I do, but it feels like the easy way out. “I’ve always prided myself in seeing things as they are. I don’t sugarcoat anything—not for anyone else, and definitely not for myself.”
“I’ve had guys bring up my weight before,” she says. “And you know what? It didn’t get them anywhere but straight out the door. If someone has an issue with my size, that’s about them. It’s not about me. Do I wish people didn’t make assumptions about me based on my appearance? Sure, but we all do it. You’re doing it to your friends by refusing to share your pain with them just because the number on their clothes is smaller.”
Her words hit me like a blow. I want to defend myself, to back-pedal and prove that I’m not doing that, and yet I can’t. She’s right. “I’m really sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to hurt you or—”
“You didn’t hurt me. I just want you to understand what I see. You walk around wanting everyone to believe your worth isn’t determined by the scale, but you’re the one who decided it is. You’re the one who decides that every day. You’re the one giving your size so much”—she laughs softly—“well, weight, for lack of a better word.”
“It’s hard not to.”
Her expression softens. “I know. I get it. And there are dicks out there who’ll make everything about your body, who don’t respect you just because you wear a double-digit clothing size, but they don’t get to give that kind of power every day. Most of what you’re feeling is coming from you. Especially when it comes to Dean. Has he ever given you a reason to think he’s not attracted to you?”
I rub my thumb along the rim of my martini glass. Tiny sugar crystals scatter onto the tabletop. “I know he’s attracted to me, but I just don’t see why he’d be as attracted to me as he is to someone like Amy—the woman I’m supposed to be helping him get over.”
“Your attractiveness, your appearance, they’re your issues. Don’t saddle him with that.”
I swallow hard. “I know what you’re saying, but it’s . . .”
“You know what I said the first time Brock asked me out?” she asks.
I arch a brow. “What?”
“I looked him over and really liked what I saw.” She grins. “Then I looked him in the eye and asked if he had a job to go with that pretty face.”
I laugh so suddenly that it comes out as a snort.
“It’s true. Because I’ve been with guys before who believed that since I’m a big girl, somehow that might translate to me owing them for being with me. They’d try to make me believe I had to take care of them to keep them.” She shakes her head. “But I don’t need to buy love, and I’m not interested in anyone who expects me to.”
“I love that about you.”
“You don’t need to, either. You don’t need to buy it or earn it or prove you’re worthy of it by losing weight.”
I huff out a laugh. “Well, don’t worry about that. I gave up on losing weight a long time ago.”
Layla doesn’t laugh with me. “Listen, I’m not good at sugarcoating shit, so I’m just gonna say it as I see it.”
“Why stop now?” I ask, grimacing.
“You have this part of you that’s so damn hardened.” She smiles softly, but it’s like someone saying no offense after they insult you. “That hardened part of you? She’s defensive and insecure, and she hides herself from anyone who gives a shit. Fuck, we can’t blame her. Not really. And it’s okay to have ugly parts. Personally, I have many. But instead of letting that part come along for the ride, you’re letting her drive the damn bus. You’re allowed to shield yourself. You’re allowed to be insecure, but you need to understand you’re giving all the power to that part of you when there are so many other parts that show the world who you truly are. That hardened part of you decided a long time ago that every guy after Cody felt the same way he did, and that assumption is what’s killing you. You’re breaking your own damn heart over and over again.”