Page 86 of Set on You

I must have drifted into much-needed sleep, because when my eyes fly open at the sound of keys jingling in the lock, the living room is engulfed in a depressing darkness. I rub the sleep out of my eyes with my fists as Tara looms over me like some ominous ghost out of a horror movie. When my eyes adjust, I see she’s just come from work, based on her scrubs. She smells like chickenbroth, which makes sense when I register the container of Whole Foods soup in her hand.

“Scott texted me and asked me to bring this to you”—she brings her hands up in air quotes—“for your sickness.” She levels me with a knowing look. Mel told her all about the Instagram comments. I know this because Tara sent me a million texts, in all caps, not five minutes after Mel left earlier this afternoon.

I take the soup from her hands, giving her a bored, exhausted chin dip. “Thanks. How are you?”

“I ate shit outside Whole Foods and burned a man. Thanks for asking.” She hikes up the pant leg of her scrubs to reveal a bloody gash on her knee.

I lean closer to examine it. It looks bad, but not deep enough to require medical attention, even though she’ll probably act like she needs it. “What happened? What do you mean, youburneda man?”

“I was walking out the doors with your soup and I shit you not, a guy who looked identical to the late Paul Walker—RIP, bless his beautiful soul—came out of nowhere. It was like a movie... he slammed right into me.” She claps her hands for dramatic effect. “But instead of a romantic moment of prolonged eye contact, the soup went flying.”

My eyes go wide. “No!”

She nods. “Yup. It all happened in slow motion. I dove forward... somehow under the illusion I could heroically catch the liquid with my bare hands and spare him. But I couldn’t. It splattered all over him and he screamed like he was being murdered. Not sure if it was because of the soup scorching his skin or the sight of me diving toward him... Anyway, he leaped out ofthe way and I went knee-first onto the pavement.” She grimaces at her knee again.

“Did you at least get his name?”

She shakes her head vehemently. “No. By the time all was said and done, he looked at me like I was a lunatic and ran into the store. And I awkwardly had to limp in behind him to get more soup.”

The story is objectively hilarious and quintessentially Tara. I’d usually be in stitches over it. But right now, the muscles in my mouth refuse to turn into a smile.

“You doing alright?” she asks, settling on the edge of the couch near my feet.

I shrug lazily. “I feel like shit.”

“How long will you pretend you’re sick? Scott’s not gonna buy it for much longer,” she points out.

“I know. I’m just not ready yet.” My eyes snap to a new text.

SCOTT:Did Tara bring you the soup?

CRYSTAL:She did. Thanks a lot.

SCOTT:Hope it makes you feel better. I really wish you’d let me come over. Heading into another double shift tomorrow and I miss you.

CRYSTAL:I’m fine. Please stop worrying. I miss you too.

SCOTT:Okay. Get some rest. Also, don’t ask me how I know this because it’s embarrassing, but those leggings you like at Lululemon are on sale.

CRYSTAL:Cool, thanks.

SCOTT:Ok, iRobot. I know you’re sick but would it kill you to send an exclamation mark? An emoji??? A GIF???

CRYSTAL:

SCOTT:That’s a tad aggressive, but I’ll take it.

I let the guilt of lying to Scott settle before I reread the email from BuzzFeed News. I google the reporter’s name and contact details to confirm she’s the real deal. And she is.

I seriously contemplate responding to the email, begging her not to write the story. I draft a response, which takes me the better part of an hour—most of my time spent deleting curse words and uncapitalizing full sentences so as to come across like the mature, emotionally balanced individual I am. But before I hitSend, my mind drifts back to my Size Positive campaign.Love yourself and ignore the haters.

I delete my draft email and close my laptop.

With or without my comment, this story is going viral. Tomorrow.

chapter twenty-nine

FULL-FIGURED FITNESS INSTAGRAM QUEEN BODY-SHAMED FOR DATING SIX-PACK HUNK

---