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FOR ONCE, I WASN'T woken by the strident beep of my alarm clock or the sound of my phone going off, demanding I come running in to work on the weekend. I rolled onto my back and smiled up at the ceiling, stretching luxuriously. When was the last time I’d had a chance to wake up when I wanted? More than a month ago, definitely.
The plan for the day, I decided as I got in the shower, would be to eat something, and then go out and do my shopping. I could walk a little extra—not take the subway. That would be a good chance to exercise. When I got out, I smiled at myself in the mirror. It was a brand new day, and I intended to make the most of it.
First, though, breakfast. The recipe guide on the website recommended fruit and whole grain toast, or a smoothie, but I didn't have any of those things. Besides, I had to get rid of the pizza, right? I pulled it out of the fridge and ate the last of it, telling myself it would be the last I would have until I lost the weight.
After I’d eaten, I dressed, pulling on a pair of flats instead of heels. They looked cute with my jeans and tunic, I decided, regarding myself skeptically in the mirror for a moment. And the weather was nice out, so at least I wouldn't have to worry about getting rained on.
I was humming to myself when I left my apartment. Around me, other people went about their day, and I found myself wondering, as I sometimes did, where they were going. What was their Saturday like?
There was a little shop where I could get some cooking necessities just down the street, but as I turned toward it, I changed my mind. It would be better to get groceries later so I wouldn't have to carry them all over the place. So anything that needed to stay cold wouldn't be out in the warm summer sun. There were a couple other stops to make first.
I ended up getting on the subway after all. There was a bit of a walk, then there was a stupid distance on foot, and my favorite shop for purses was a good distance away. Sometimes, I went there just to look at what they had, decide whether I would have sent something like that out for sale or not. Or to see what people were buying. It was a smart idea to keep track of sales patterns.
Sometimes, though, I went to get myself a little something new. A little pick-me-up. And considering the week I’d had, one of those wouldn't go amiss.
As I walked through the door, the saleslady looked up and smiled at me. “Emilie!” she gushed. “How nice to see you again.”
I smiled in return, lifting my hand in a little wave, though I was already turning my attention to the new arrivals.
“Can I help you with anything?”
“Just looking for now, Danielle. Thank you, though.”
“If you need anything, just let me know,” Danielle said warmly, and then she was gone, off to help someone else.
The fact that all the salespeople knew me by name was probably a sign that I spent too much time in this store, I reflected as I ran my fingertips over the smooth leather of the purse in front of me. But then, was there really such a thing as spending too much time looking at what you loved? It wasn't like it was totally wasted time, either. I was doing research for work. Or at least that was the best excuse.
I laughed at myself, shaking my head. The purse was a cute one, compact and well-designed, but it wasn't exactly what I was looking for. There was already more than one black purse in my wardrobe. No. I needed something with a little more color.
My eyes moved to the next. It looked, I thought, almost like something I would’ve designed. Maybe a little bit more utilitarian. The designer and I must have had similar ideas. A sign, I thought, that my work would succeed out in the real world. Or maybe one that I needed to come up with more unique ideas.
The room smelled like new leather and a little like lavender. I breathed in the scent of it, so familiar and comforting. Here, it didn't matter what Novak was doing or that he treated me like a second-year intern instead of an experienced designer. It didn't matter what I weighed. It was just me and the purses. I drifted through the room, feeling some of the tension of the rough week ease out of my shoulders.
More than a few of the purses were well out of my price range. I looked longingly at the Chanel bags. One day, I promised myself. When I was a real designer. Then I’d have my own Chanel purse. Or several of them. But there were other options, and for the moment those would have to do.
Honestly, I could have stayed there all day. Or longer. I’d thought, once, on a particularly bad day, about applying for a job there so I could be in the store all the time, but my previous ventures into retail hadn't been pleasant, and I had worried that having to stand behind the counter and put up with customers would ruin my enjoyment. It wasn't exactly a fast track to the career I was trying to build, either.
There. I stopped suddenly, my eyes catching on a little blue bag, which sat on the display to my right. That was the one I wanted, I decided instantly. It would add just the right pop of color to a few of my nicer outfits, and I could carry it on more casual days for a bit of fun. Crossing the space between myself and it, I reached out and ran my hand over the surface, feeling the quality of the leather. A quick glance at the price tag made me wince a little, but it wasn't too bad, and I could always stay out of clothing stores for a few weeks.
The stitching looked good, and I opened it up to check that there wasn't anything shoddy about the workmanship on the inside. Not that the shop I was in would sell shoddy work, but I always looked. It was as well made as I had expected from the rest of it, and I pulled one of the bags for sale off the shelf, glancing a little regretfully at the purses I wouldn't be able to take with me, and made my way up to the register to pay.
“Find what you were looking for?” Danielle asked, smiling at me.
“I always do,” I answered.
With the new purse tucked safely into a shopping bag, I headed for the subway and my apartment. Groceries were next.
Looking for clothes or accessories was easy. I knew those. I knew how to check for quality, and what I wanted. Grocery shopping was harder.
It wasn't that I didn't know how to shop for groceries; it was just that I hadn't gone for more than a few snack items in a long time. My mother had been insistent that I learn how to calculate price per ounce so that I could get the best deal, and at least I remembered how to do that. Knowing exactly what to get was the real problem, and I was more than a little grateful for the shopping list I’d put on my phone thanks to the Sexy Lips & Curvy Lips diet plan that had been sent to me.
Still, the grocery store felt strange. Foreign. Not like the shops I usually frequented. I strolled through narrow aisles, picking up things for the recipes I would be making over the next few days. The site had recommended I shop a week in advance so that meal planning would be easier, but my fridge was small and I thought it might be better to get fresh fruit more frequently anyway.
Loaded up with purchases, I walked back to my apartment. I was panting by the time I arrived, not used to walking so far with so much to carry, but I made it up the stairs just fine and set about sorting the groceries into the fridge and the cabinets. My stomach rumbled loudly.
Now, I thought, looking over the kitchen, came the hard part.
My mother had taught me how to cook a few basics when I was younger, but unlike my sister, I had never really been that interested in learning. I had always been far more enthused about playing dress-up. I’d listened to my grandmother's sewing lessons with rapt attention. Standing in front of the counter with chicken and vegetables spread out in front of me, I wished I’d listened at least a little bit more to my mother. It couldn't be that hard, though. People made chicken and broccoli all the time. I could manage it.
The broccoli, it turned out, was a little more difficult than I’d expected it to be, and I was pretty sure I’d overcooked it at least a little, but it didn't taste terrible, even if it was a little plain. After a moment, I got up and took some Parmesan cheese out of the fridge, sprinkling it over the vegetables. It was a little bit outside the diet, but oh well. The chicken had come out better, and I found myself enjoying it more than I thought I would. Knowing that I’d made the food myself, and it had been edible, felt good. I was pretty proud of myself, actually. The diet thing was going to be a walk in the park.