Page 34 of Undeniable

He ordered the salmon first, and I followed up by placing my order for the lasagna.

“Very good choice, ma’am,” the young waiter bemused. “The lasagna is my favorite, too.”

With a smile, he left, and I turned back to find Derek staring at me with his eyes narrowed.

“So, your gym,” I started, suddenly unsettled by his attention. “It sounds interesting. I—”

“Fitness,” he interrupted, leaning forward in his seat and propping his elbows against the white tablecloth. “Fitness is a very important part of my lifestyle,” he continued, and I tried to tamp down my annoyance at being interrupted. “So much so that it’s something I look for in a partner. That part of our liveshasto match.”

I mean, I looked for a sense of humor, similar core values, and sexual compatibility, but to each their own.

“I understand. Taking care of your body is important, especially since it’s the only one you get,” I said, hoping he would pull himself out of the hole he was digging.

“You really think that?” His question sounded less hopeful and more stunned that I’d agreed with him.

Hesitantly, I nodded.

He rolled his lips between his teeth and sighed loudly. “Look, Ivy, I think I need to be honest about something.”

My stomach dropped because I could only guess what was about to come out of his mouth. And God, did I hope I was wrong.

“You… umm… you’re not what I expected at all. You actually look completely different from your pictures. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

I willed the blush wanting to creep across my face not to appear. I twisted my napkin in my lap, fisting the material to stave off the anger burning beneath my skin.

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard those words or something similar, and I knew it would likely not be the last. As a midsized woman, I didn’t fit the classic molds we’d been conditioned by society to believe were “ideal.” At one point, I did. Playing volleyball in high school and college meant it was easy to stay thinner and fit—although I was never considered “tiny”—but after college, my body changed.

As many women have, I went through a period of hating the body I was in. I did whatever I could—fad diets, insane workouts—to shed even a few pounds. That was until I realized I was wasting time and my life by hating my body and, in turn, myself.

My body was perfect. I had stretch marks and cellulite and my stomach was soft where many thought it should be tight. But that didn’t change my worth.

More and more, I noticed so many women looked like me. It had been a fight, a war that I was still trying to win, but I’d come to the conclusion that the size of my jeans didn’t make me less of a person.

Although people like Derek sure liked to make me feel that way.

“What exactly is it about me that looks so different from my pictures?” I smiled and responded calmly.

The question was loaded, and I didn’t have any faith he’d answer correctly, but I wanted to hear him say it.

“I—uh—” he stuttered over his words for a second but finally sighed. “Look, I think you’re really pretty, gorgeous, actually for… a bigger woman.”

Bingo.

My nod started slowly as I considered his very careful and thoughtful wording. He’d been careful to disguise the attempted insult by covering it up with what he thought would be a compliment.

A blush began to creep across his face as he realized his words did not have the intended effect.

I continued nodding as he threw out a flustered, half-assed apology. I eyed the glass of wine I’d ordered and finished it off in a few quick gulps.

“I said you’re beautiful, but I mean, come on. You can’t blame me. Most of your photos were from the chest up, which doesn’t help. But if you worked at it, I’m sure it wouldn’t take any time to get back in shape.”

My empty glass connected loudly with the table, effectively cutting off his rambling.

“I had high hopes for this date,” I said, grabbing my purse from where it hung on the back of the chair and checking that my phone, wallet, and keys were still safely tucked inside. “You seemed nice and thoughtful, but here you are, proving me wrong.”

“Hold on a second, I am nice,” he argued, but I wasn’t trying to have a conversation with him. So, I stood from my seat and nicely pushed my chair back under the table. “I’m a nice guy. And don’t make a scene. Just sit back down—we can finish this date and agree not to see each other again if that’s what you want.”

My laugh was bitter and hollow as I shook my head. “I have too much self-respect to sit here with you anymore and listen to your particular flavor of bullshit. Next time you speak to a woman, I would try not to body shame her within the first half hour, especially when you are obviously incapable of using a tape measure or counting properly. Because we both know you arenotsix foot two.”

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