Meet the Mitchells

I didn’t know it at the time, but my life changed the day I met Clay Mitchell.

Clay ran the finance department at Sinclair Land Rover in Fairview. I recalled hovering just outside his office, eavesdropping as he pitted four finance companies against one another, switching between the four blinking lines on his desk phone as if negotiating a deal for a star second baseman. A master hustler of the highest order, he schmoozed and charmed his counterparts, pouring on equal measures of promise and threat, and turned each new concession against the others until one finally cried uncle and gave up the two-point-something rate he’d demanded.

As I sat with him inside his office later, repeatedly scribbling signatures on an endless conveyor of paperwork to complete the sale, I asked about the framed photo of his family sitting on the edge of his desk.

“That sexy lady right there is my wife, Erin, and those are our two girls,” he said. He pointed to a blonde girl who looked like a younger version of his wife. “Chelsea’s starting her ... wow, I guess second year of college now.”

The photo must have been a few years old, because Clay looked fitter, with a smaller gut and a little more sandy-colored hair on his head. Erin, an attractive woman in her mid-forties with a voluptuous form, had a head of thick, luxurious honey-blonde hair, and their eldest daughter, Chelsea, had inherited her mother’s wavy golden locks, curvy physique, and overall good looks.

Their younger daughter, on the other hand. Well, let’s just say she must have dropped from a different side of the family tree and struck a few branches on the way down. A homely, gangly, dark-haired girl with prominent buck teeth and dark-rimmed glasses, she stood awkwardly off to the side in a cringe-inducing superhero pose.

“And who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s Ashley,” he said, but elaborated no further.

Easy going and personable, Clay and I got along like old pals during the hours-long process of purchasing the SUV, and by the time he handed over the keys, it felt like we’d known each other for years. Clay mentioned that he owned the same model Range Rover I’d just bought, which he and his wife took to the river most weekends.

“You should join us,” he suggested, and I could tell it hadn’t been an empty offer. He seemed a genuine kind of guy. I agreed that it sounded like a good idea, without making any specific commitments, and forgot about it almost as soon as I drove off the lot.

A few days later, I received a text message from Clay asking if I had plans that weekend. They were going to float the river with a few friends. I recalled the picture of Erin I’d seen on his desk, and I had to admit that the prospect of seeing her in something form fitting intrigued me, so I agreed to go.

We met mid-morning on a cool, clear day at a small, dirt parking lot adjacent to a narrow dirt road. When we exited our vehicles, the Mitchells greeted me like we were old friends. Despite my excitement to finally lay eyes on Erin, however, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She’d put on a lot of weight since the photo, and it really showed on her short frame. Her hourglass figure and narrow waist had been replaced by bulging love handles and a pronounced belly. Her face had changed as well. Fuller cheeks, almost jowly, and puffy bags under her eyes. Her impressive bustline, however, had swelled with her weight gain and stood out, even under a loose t-shirt.

The parking lot would be our end point. We left two cars behind for the return trip and loaded everyone into the two Rovers to drive upriver. As we unloaded our gear and prepared for a day on the water, Erin removed her shorts and t-shirt to reveal a daring two piece bathing suit. She may have been overweight, but she didn’t appear to be self-conscious about it, nor shy about showing off her plump body.

I removed my shirt and threw it into the back of the SUV, taking a moment to apply sunblock to my face and torso. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Erin checking me out from behind her dark sunglasses. When I turned my head, she pulled her glasses down and lifted her lips in a playful smile. I kept myself in decent shape, lifting and running several times a week and, as a result, looked and felt better than men half my age, and Erin seemed to appreciate the effort.

I got to know the Mitchells and their friends as we drifted down the lazy twists and turns of the slow-moving river in a small flotilla of innertubes and coolers. Along the way, we swapped stories and shared beers and a variety of potent edibles. Clay proved to be a mellow, fun-loving alcoholic who sported the broken blood vessels and pregnant gut one earns from a lifetime of binge drinking, and in no time he’d polished off a six pack and a small hip flask of Fireball. Erin, on the other hand, was a flirtatious and uninhibited blonde with a fondness for illicit drugs, who became louder and more gregarious the more fucked up she got.