Chapter 1

Sunday

The text arrived on my phone just after I had checked into the hotel: “Did you arrive safe?”

The text was from Annemarie, my ex-girlfriend. We had reconnected a couple of years ago, which, in turn, had evolved into a meaningful, if platonic, friendship. Although we still flirted from time to time, she made it clear she was in a committed relationship.

I, in turn, made it clear that I thought what she described to me checked every box in the “Are You In An Abusive Relationship?” checklist found in women’s magazines, with the occasional subtle hint that I would like one more chance to improve on the scared, immature child I had been when we were dating.

Still, we lived in different cities several hundred miles apart, so we never took it further than that.

Then came the day I was asked to travel to her city for a week of training for work.

I arrived in town on Sunday afternoon, and as it turned out, Annemarie’s better half was working the 3:00 – 11:00 shift at work that day, so we agreed to meet for dinner once I arrived.

“At the hotel,” I texted back. “There’s a restaurant down the street where we can have dinner.”

30 minutes later, a vision of loveliness walked in. She wouldn’t have seen herself that way, being dressed in a pullover shirt and a pair of jeans, but to me it was like a sailor looking at his home port after months at sea. I waved her over to the chairs where I was sitting in the lobby.

She hurried over and we embraced. I kissed her on the cheek, but she didn’t return it.

Standing back, I held her at arm’s length. “You look fantastic!” I gushed.

She blushed slightly. “I look like I’ve always looked,” she shrugged. Meaning, she was overweight. I had never cared about that, and to be honest, being with her had ruined non-BBW women for me. Larger women give great hugs, and you don’t worry that you’re going to break them when you return those hugs.

The restaurant down the street was a Denny’s, which was appropriate. When we had lived together, our apartment was across the street from a Denny’s, so we ate there regularly.

I handed the waitress a $20 when we walked in, telling her we were two old friends meeting up for the first time in years, so we would be taking up her table for a couple of hours.

She ordered a chicken breast salad. I ordered a burger and fries. As we waited for the food, we caught up on all the things that can’t be conveyed in texts ... the choices we had made over the past couple of years, the regret for the choices we didn’t make, the dreams we still had.

Our food arrived, and as the waitress left, Annemarie grabbed the ketchup bottle and set it in front of me. “Here you go. Kill your fries.”

I am one of those people who spreads ketchup on my fries rather than dipping them into a pool of ketchup. It always drove her nuts when we were together, but she turned it into a joke, always telling me I was killing my fries.

After dessert and drinks – coffee for me, soda for her – we decided to call it an evening, as I had an early morning ahead of me and she had to be home before 11:00. We walked back to my hotel. Impulsively, I asked her to walk me back to my room, and she agreed. She paused outside as I opened the door and said, “I’m not going to come in.”

I nodded agreeably. “Understandable. Can I hug you goodbye?”

She spread her arms and leaned forward to embrace me. And kissed me on the cheek as she pulled away. Smiling shyly, she said, “Good night” and turned back toward the lobby.