Determined to lose weight, Nevada Pearson participates in a twelve-week clinical trial for a new diet pill. Nevada thinks if she’s slim, her life will be so much better. She won’t have to wear dark clothes to hide her big belly and can kiss the plus sizes good-bye. Her husband will stop ogling every skinny woman in sight, and she’ll stop accusing him of cheating. She won’t have to worry that he’ll leave her the way her dad left her mom. She can stop ranting on her YouTube channel about being fat. She’ll get promoted at work. Her fifteen-year-old daughter will want to lose weight, too, instead of staying holed up in her bedroom eating junk food and surfing the Internet for a cure to her social anxiety. But Nevada isn’t prepared for what happens next and how quickly her life changes—and it has nothing to do with her amazing weight loss.
This upcoming year is the year,” Claude said. “If I don’t get promoted, I’m leaving.”
“And going where?” I asked. I had a right to know, unless he planned on going alone, and then I truly had a right to know.
“I don’t care where: wherever I can get a job. What, you want to live in Indiana forever?”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind. I mean, it’s what I know.”
He rolled his eyes dismissively at me. “Let’s dissect what you just said—”
I crossed my eyes after I turned my head to the side. No, let’s not. Sometimes, I just wanted to tell him to shut up with all of his change-your-life stuff. I had Oprah for that, and she was much better at motivating me than Claude was. Listening to her made me think I really could change my life. Listening to him made me think I’d made a mistake by marrying him in the first place, and that I’d messed up my life forever. But I’d felt the same way on our wedding day, so nothing had changed.
“I don’t want to dissect it.”
“But what you just said is how a lot of people feel. A lot of people stay with something just because it’s familiar. It’s what they know. May not even be something they want. Next year should be the year of the unknown. That could be the title for my first book; I need to write it down.” He searched the table for something to write on because once he sat down he wasn’t getting up until after he finished eating. “Do you have a pen and some paper?”
I got up and grabbed the first sheet of paper I saw and handed it to him along with a pen and then sat back down. Before he wrote on the paper, he turned it over. “Do you need this?”
“It’s just a blank sheet of paper, isn’t it?”
“It’s a shipping notice from Curl—.”
I snatched the paper out of his hand—close call; it was the shipping notice from Curl Junkie for the box of hair products UPS had delivered that day. Claude would have a fit if he saw that I’d spent over a hundred dollars on stuff for my hair. But I had to spend at least a hundred dollars to get free shipping, which made sense while I was filling my online shopping cart with more stuff, but the more I thought about it, I only wanted the Daily Fix and the Smoothing Lotion, which would’ve been forty-nine dollars, and the flat rate shipping was only seven dollars and twenty-five cents, so basically, I paid fifty-one dollars more to save seven dollars and twenty-five cents. But it made perfect sense to me at the time.
Cheryl Robinson is a native Detroiter currently residing in Central Florida. She started her literary career as an independent author, publishing two books before eventually landed a publishing deal with Penguin/NAL Trade. She published six novels with NAL Trade and two more novels as an independent author. She is currently working on her next novel. Visit her Website at cherylrobinson.com, where you can read her blog and enter her monthly blog contest.
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