On Thursday morning, a reply waited for me:
Tell me more. I am here for you.
In keeping with our one-sided sharing tradition, Matt's response had been succinct but it drew a huge smile across my face. He doesn't think I'm a weirdo. He supports me.
Perhaps it was the golden Queensland sun, or the knowledge of the early tendrils of love blooming again between Matt and me, I wasn't sure. All I truly knew for sure was that I was burning with anticipation for the live cross on Friday. The day passed in a happy blur as I filmed my report.
"You're in a good mood," commented Heather as we dressed for dinner later that afternoon.
"What's to not be happy about?" I said, brushing my hair out on the balcony of the gorgeous apartment. "We got everything we needed on film today, I've just had an amazing swim in the ocean, I'm about to eat an awesome meal with my friend, and I just feel good – lighter even."
"You do?" She squealed and raced to my side, palm raised for a high-five. "That's amazing! Did you weigh yourself again?"
"Not yet, it's just how I feel."
"Then don't. The scales don't tell the whole story. Forget about the number and keep focusing on how you feel. If you concentrate on health rather than weight, you'll stay happier."
"Makes sense." I'd always hated the scales – either they judged me, laughed at me, or informed me that no matter how much I'd lost, there was always more to go. The idea of ditching my morning weigh-in felt liberating as I imagined a future where every morning didn't begin with comparison and self-loathing. "Anyway, I think it must be all the swimming. I don't know why I don't swim more at home; you just feel so good afterwards."
A lesser woman would probably have suggested that the reason I never utilised the beach out the front of my house was because I'd hadn't dared to go out publicly in a swim suit until I'd been forced me to. All Heather said was, "You look fantastic, and I'm glad you feel good too. Although, I think there might be at least one more reason for your sunny disposition today..."
"So... maybe it feels good to be speaking with Matt again."
"Maybe?"
"Definitely." I'd already let Heather read both my email and his reply. I wasn't sure what I'd do without her around to over-analyse everything with me; otherwise, it would just be me staring at the screen, obsessing and misinterpreting the words.
Ping! My emails dinged again. Needing to find a hair tie in the bathroom, I passed close by my laptop on the way and scanned the screen. "Oh my God! It's Matt again!"
If Heather recognised that I sounded like an excitable fan-girl, she didn't mention it. "What does it say?" she asked, joining me by the computer.
Dear Evi,
I was trying to play it cool with my two line response, but clearly, you've got way more self-control than me when it comes to this game. Your email has been burning a hole in my brain all day, and I just have to write to you again.
First off, you're not self-indulgent; I asked you these questions, you're answering. I think you're just not used to talking about yourself. I hope I can change that, at least around me.
Second, I am so sorry for what you went through in high school and uni. I may never have had a struggle like yours, but that doesn't mean I haven't watched this industry affect so many women around me, even the ones who share the desk by my side. You're definitely not the only one struggling with body image. It's not fair that film, fashion and TV make demands on women to look a certain way – I'm just not sure how on earth we could ever change it.
Lastly, I don't believe you're the 'right kind of fat.' You're just the right kind of Evi. I know you don't believe me when I tell you, but you are beautiful. I'm still hopeful that if I just keep on telling you, maybe one day, you'll be able to see what I do.
I'm going to go now. Please send me your second answer soon. I'm wildly interested in the kinds of men who have captured your heart in the past.
Matt
After I giggled and danced for about twenty minutes, Heather finally managed to persuade me to get dressed for dinner. We headed out on the touristy Cavil Avenue, my feet barely touching the ground.
"He still thinks I'm beautiful," I sighed, twirling girlishly, the layers of my red and orange maxi-skirt fluting around me like a bell. With my tummy feeling tighter from a week of swimming and no alcohol, and my face burning with infatuation, I knew I was looking better. With Matt's belief tucked inside my heart, I almost believed that I was beautiful.
"Come on, spinning beauty," said Heather good-naturedly. She turned us into a gourmet sushi place, and we sat by the windows overlooking the dark ocean. She ordered green teas and miso soups for both of us. "So, a happy Evi?"
"A very happy Evi." I pulled out my phone, bringing up the email again, just to glory in it. "He wants to know about my romantic past. He still wants me, right?"
"I don't think he ever stopped wanting you, Evi. It's just that you're finally becoming a person who can accept that he wants you."
I fidgeted in my chair. I was wired, antsy, not even hungry. I wanted Matt. An idea formed in my head as the waitress served our tea. "I think I've got a plan. What if I head home to Sydney tomorrow night? I can send the next email from my place, then go over and see him? I'll wait for his response first of course, just in case it's not positive."
"I think that's a great idea."
My bravery fled as the idea started to seem more real. "Will you come stay with me? That way, we can fly wherever we need to on Monday and you can help me analyse his reply before I go and embarrass myself."
She tilted her head in apology. "Actually, I needed to tell you tonight; this is our last dinner together for a few days."
I sipped my tea, puzzled. "Why?"
"Well, we're off to Darwin on Monday-"
"Darwin!"
"-But I really need to head home tomorrow afternoon for the weekend." She looked a little meek. "Andie is missing me."
"Oh." I tried not to feel pissed at Heather's girlfriend, but part of me was screaming, stop being so bloody needy! But I knew Andie wasn't really the clingy one. Something occurred to me. "You're not in trouble for being away, are you?"
Heather raised a soup spoon to her heart-shaped lips. "No. Not really. A little."
"Why? You have to work - she knows that, right?"
"Well... It's not really that simple..."
I reached for a plate of sushi from the slowly passing conveyor belt. "Talk to me."
"Me taking this job is a bit of a sore point with Andie, that's all. I had a few job opportunities at the time, but this was the one that interested me the most, even though it meant five weeks away from home. Andie thought I should have accepted a different appointment, so she's frustrated."
Andie's surly attitude towards me made a little more sense. "What were the other jobs?"
"Just some different clients I could have worked with. I'm a life coach," said Heather, beaming. "I help people become the best versions of themselves."
"You sound a little like Dr Blake now, you know that?" I spoke through a mouthful of white rice.
"He and I have a lot in common. I'm really proud of everything I've done during my career; it's amazing being the person to support others while they grow."
I'd heard of the whole 'life coach' fad before. A more judgemental version of myself might have felt disdain for Heather and the other people who bore the sappy title. Most of the life coaches I'd met were unsuccessful, hippy types, preaching to car salesmen and unemployed job-seekers about the power of positive thought. Life coaching didn't seem like a real career – more like a part-time diversion for people who loved handing out advice and didn't have any actual direction themselves.
But in only a few weeks, I'd become a much more open-minded individual. Although I was fairly certain that the government-employed Andie was the major source of income in their household, Heather obviously loved her work. Who cared if it didn't make a regular wage? "That's cool, lovely. But I have to say, I'm really glad you could take a few weeks away from coaching to come on this adventure with me."
"I'm glad too." She split a pair of chopsticks in two and swiped a plate of salmon rolls. "So, will you be okay facing Matt without me?"
"I'll manage. I can't promise you won't get a couple of manic phone calls this weekend though."
She lifted her tea cup towards me. "You won't need me. You'll be too busy shagging Matt's brains out."
I shivered helplessly. "God, I hope so..."
***
"And, we're heading to the Gold Coast now, to check in with the much missed Evianna Moore." Matt's beautiful face appeared on the screen next to the camera during the live cross. It had felt like far more than a week since I'd seen him last, perhaps because then I'd been so upset, I'd barely glanced at him.
But now, I stared freely, observing his glorious grey eyes, calm and happy, and the one stray hair sticking up out of his eyebrow line. As if I'd been placed under a heater, my skin grew hotter, burning in response to seeing him. My entire being wanted to leap through the screen and wrap my arms around him, and I felt myself subtly shift my posture, thrusting my chest forward and sucking my stomach in.
"So, Evi, how are you enjoying your holiday?" asked Taylor, wearing a pale pink mini-dress that could have passed as a negligee.
"This may be the holiday state, guys," I replied fluidly, "but I haven't had time for any theme park visits. I've spent the week at the Radiance Beauty Centre, where people from every walk of life flock in pursuit of their dreams."
My report played. I was proud of the finished product, a balanced dissection of the cosmetic surgery industry and the varied reasons people turned to doctors like Blake for help. I'd interviewed Dr Blake and Grace the previous day. Even Haley had consented to appear on camera, with her face blurred, discussing why she'd gone down the surgery path, and how she felt after it all went wrong.
It was unbiased, factual and non-judgemental. Matt was beaming in pride as the report ended, and even Taylor had to concede quietly, "That was... really good, Evi."
"Thanks, Taylor. It's a fascinating topic, with cosmetic surgery becoming even more readily available in recent years, and places like Thailand offering "cosmetic holidays" – it's certainly going to be a subject of interest for a while to come. Anyone who would like to join the discussion should head to the Jump Start Twitter page and use the hashtag #nojudgement."
As I stared at the screen, I noticed how pale and drawn Taylor looked all of a sudden. Matt, always perceptive, saw it too. He placed a hand on hers, saying, "Really powerful stuff, Evi. Let's hope everyone around Australia will support the people who choose to seek cosmetic help for the right reasons, and that we all do our part to show the people around us enough love that they won't recklessly go under the knife."
Even watching Taylor's slender fingers close around Matt's couldn't bother me; I knew in only a few hours, those hands would be wrapped around mine again.
***
Matt,
This email is even weirder to write than the last. Let's just jump in, shall we?
Why am I single? It would be self-pitying of me to simply say, "because I'm fat," when the truth is so much more nuanced than that.
I didn't date in high school. It was a pretty conservative Christian college that frowned on teenage relationships anyway, but still, no one sent me cute cards on Valentine's Day or hung around my locker in the hope of seeing me. My lovely friend Ian took me to my year 12 formal as my platonic date and we had a great time. Ian is in a relationship with a handsome actor he met in LA now. Anyway...
In the first few years of uni, I was so desperate to meet a guy and lose my virginity, I made some God-awful choices, one of which was named Nicolas.
If I was the funny, fat girl, he was the funny, fat guy. We connected at an improv competition night, where we both scored an equal amount of points and were jointly awarded the first place. He took me out for a drink afterwards, and we argued about comedy and the idiocy of skinny people until the wee hours of the morning.
At the end of the night, he walked me back to my place. "I'm not really attracted to you, you know," he told me.
"Good, because I'm not attracted to you either," I responded hotly. I really wasn't; he was a big guy, shaped like a melted candle, with a spotty complexion.
"So I guess it's lucky that you and I are smart enough to know that there's more to life than primal, animal attraction, right?"
"Right..."
We kissed, and the only good thing about it was that it wasn't my first – that honour went to Hamish McKenzie, a guy I met at theatre camp when I was twelve, just before the fat kicked in. What Nicolas and I did couldn't even be termed as kissing, which implies some form of emotional attachment; we just mashed our lips together for a while, trying to chase what society termed as normal behaviour for people our age.
We fell into a relationship for about a year. Sex was always in the dark, and every time afterwards, we'd just lie there panting while I wondered what the hell all the fuss was about, then we'd eat a pizza in bed. Romantic, right?
I broke up with Nicolas when I started my crash diet. He couldn't stop trying to cajole me into eating crap with him, and I was bitchy all the time from food deprivation. I'm not sure who called it off, but we were both glad it was over.
My rebound's name was Evan, one of the hot tortured artists studying music. I was at my skinniest, and I caught him on a particularly drunk night after a gig at the uni bar. We slept together at my place, he was gone by dawn, and never even left his number.
And contestant number three was a writer from the show I lost the lead role in. After the last performance, we hooked up. I'd put on a bit of weight from all the binge eating I was doing, trying to make up for lost time, but it was fine. It was more about connection than the sex for me, which can probably be said for almost every woman who jumps into bed with a random.
That's it. Jesus. Written down, it's even more mortifying than I want to admit. But I want to be honest with you, Matt. That's so important for me. You need to know exactly where I'm coming from.
There's a few reasons why I haven't seen anyone since my uni days. Partly, it's about my weight, I'll cop to that. My theory: the fat guy wasn't attracted to me and I didn't like him, the hot douche-bag didn't like me enough to get my number even when I looked my best, and the normal looking dude didn't push any of my buttons.
I decided to not give up, exactly, but to wait. Against all odds, despite my weight, I wanted love, burning, consuming, insane, ridiculous love, and if I couldn't have that, what was the point? After a few years, I didn't even feel too disappointed by being alone.
About a year ago, I met this outrageously gorgeous guy, and all logic flew out the window. I started falling for the man with the ever-changing eyes and the brilliant smile, who was smart and funny and also happened to be a genuinely amazing person on the inside too.
The problem was, the entire country fell in love with him too, and I knew how hopeless my crush was.
Then, one night, he called me beautiful and played my body like a harp. So, I did what any normal woman would do: I freaked out, pushed him away, and went on a national road-trip.
We should talk – would you please give me a call after you read this?
Evi
***
I sat in my car on a dark Sydney street, staring at my phone, willing it to ring. It's been eight minutes, he hasn't called. Did I send it right? Is he ignoring me? Why hasn't he rung? I've freaked him out, haven't I? Way to go, White Whale, you sent him running and screaming with your TMI stories about sex with fat men and drunken hook ups. Maybe I should move to Tonga, I hear they hold overweight people in high regard...
Ring, ring. I was so startled, I dropped the phone. "Crapballsdammit!" I squealed, chasing it around on the floor with shaking fingers. "Hello?"
"Evi."
"Matt." I opened my car door and started walking up a short driveway to a pretty white house.
"I just finished reading."
"Can I see you?"
"Of course. When are you home? Pick a time."
"How about now?" I knocked on Matt's door, a trembling smile stretched over my glossy lips.
"What?" A shadow crossed behind the glass panels of the door as he opened it wide.
"Hi," I said shyly.
"Hi," said Matt, his face stunned, the phone still pressed to his ear.
"Hi," said Taylor from her cosy spot on Matt's couch. "We were just talking about you, Evi."
Cliff hanger time! Evi is at the half-way mark of her Aussie-wide trip, and that means the book is almost half-way complete. I'm so grateful to everyone who has shared their stories in the comments, or reached out to me by PM. When I'm invoking responses in my readers, I know I'm doing something right - thanks for letting me know :)
So, for this chapter, riddle me this: have you heard of life coaching before? Do you know where Darwin is? What do you think might be going on with Taylor? And how will Evi react?
Please remember to vote if you liked it by hitting the little star, and if you haven't already, it would be awesome if you could add Curves to your reading list. Much love, Kate