Читать книгу Not Quite A Mom - Kirsten Sawyer - Страница 14

That morning when my alarm goes off at six thirty, I am snapped out of a dream. A dream where I am dressed in a Vera Wang wedding gown I once tried on at Neiman Marcus in a fit of fantasy—a dress with a price tag close to that on my used BMW convertible—standing in line at the Wal-Mart in Victory to buy condoms. For once, I am grateful to hear the piercing beep from my Sony Dreamcube.

I quickly stop the beep, beep, beep before rolling over and looking at Dan, who is still halfway asleep. He looks so sweet and innocent in the blue poplin pajamas he keeps at my house. The night before had been a bit of a roller coaster. Dan’s announcement about his desire to move in together but not get married and definitely not have children for a while had thrown me…especially in light of the fact that much to my dismay I had just inherited a teenage child. But after that, he had been so sweet. We’d “celebrated,” and then Dan had ordered my favorite Chinese food to be delivered and we spent the night on the couch, cuddled up watching repeats of The West Wing. Around eleven thirty, he turned off the TV and kissed my forehead, which I thought was a signal that he was leaving, but instead he said, “Let’s go to bed.” I’d fallen asleep, wrapped in Dan’s arms, and hadn’t stirred until my alarm rescued me from my strange dream.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I coo at my wonderful fiancé in bed beside me.

“Five more minutes?” he begs me without opening an eye.

“I’ll take the first shower,” I tell him and slide out of bed and into my robe, hoping that his eyes are still closed and that I am covered before he sees the bony structure that is my body. I sneak a peek back at him as I walk around the bed toward the shower and am relieved that his eyes are shut and his breathing is the heavy, borderline snore that means he is asleep.

Once safely locked inside the bathroom, I neatly hang my robe on the hook behind the door. I wash off the previous day’s makeup—this is something that I normally do before going to bed, but when Dan spends the night, I always keep it on, lest he see me au naturel and go running for his life. After a shower, I carefully reapply the makeup as well as moisturize every square inch of my body and tend to my hair with a dryer and a round brush before removing the robe from the hook, putting it back on, and exiting the bathroom, which now feels about 95 degrees.

“Okay,” I say to Dan, who is now sitting up in bed checking e-mail on his BlackBerry.

He nods, gets out of bed and heads into the steam-filled bathroom without taking his eyes off the little blue device.

After I hear the water being turned on, I again remove the robe and toss it into a white wicker hamper in the corner. I stop to examine my body in the full-length mirror on the wall. I am so skinny…not good skinny, like thin and petite…I am bony and undernourished skinny. And believe me, I’m not undernourished; it’s just how I am. I have ribs that stick out, angular hips, and birdlike legs. I look okay in clothes because it can all be camouflaged, but naked it is not so flattering. I quickly dress for work in the secondhand Seven jeans I got on eBay and a shirt from Target. I once read that if you have one expensive piece of clothing on, people assume everything you wear is designer. Every day I count on this being true.

I am filling my travel mug with coffee by the time Dan emerges from the bathroom, which now resembles a sauna.

“What time do you have to be in court?” I ask, as I add raw sugar and organic milk to my drink.

“Not until the afternoon,” he says, pouring himself a cup in a ceramic mug and drinking it black.

“I’m sorry, I have to run. We’re shooting two shows today,” I explain as I kiss him good-bye and collect my bag.

I struggle out the door, careful not to spill coffee on myself, and down to my car, hoping that there wasn’t any middle-of-the-night rain, since the car’s convertible top has a tendency to leak and I have forgotten to bring a towel down with me. The car gives me plenty of trouble, but I always dreamed of driving a BMW and I absolutely adore it. I set the metal container in the center console’s cupholder and put my bag on the seat next to me. I take a deep breath before starting the engine and placing my hands on the black steering wheel. My engagement ring catches my eye and I can’t help but smile…things are still going according to plan…for the most part.