The Morning After the Wedding Before. Laura Ziepe
Emma couldn’t believe this was the week she was getting married. She was actually going to be Charlie’s wife. She still felt far too young to be doing something so grown up, despite being thirty-three. It was strange how her body just kept getting older, even though her brain still didn’t feel any different from when she was twenty-one. It was scary and she really wished that time would just slow down.
It had been Emma’s decision to marry in Vegas and as she glanced out of her balcony at the lively strip and the vibrant colours from the hotels, she felt it was the right choice. There was so much to do and see and she knew that all her guests were going to have fun. Everyone had made such a big effort to get all the way there; it was important to Emma that they enjoyed it. It was bright and sunny too, with temperatures in the high thirties; there definitely wasn’t going to be any worry about it raining on her wedding day. Despite being so hot outside, it was never far to escape the heat and cool down in the air-conditioned hotels; it went from one extreme to another.
Emma had never wanted a huge white wedding. She hardly spoke to her parents who had retired and moved to Gran Canaria. She wasn’t particularly surprised when her mother told her on the phone there was no way they could travel all that way due to her father’s arthritis, even for their only daughter. As soon as Emma had got herself a job and been able to afford to rent an apartment, it had seemed like they couldn’t wait to get away and move abroad.
‘The sun will do your father’s joints the world of good,’ Emma recalled her mother saying. ‘You can come visit whenever you want.’
Emma would only see them if she made the effort though; her parents hadn’t once been back to the UK since they moved and Emma couldn’t deny that it hurt. How could they care so little about their only child?
Emma didn’t have a large family that wanted to see her get married. Not that she would have wanted anything fancy anyway. Despite what people thought of her due to her career posting pictures of herself, she actually hated all the attention. When she went to university, she had purposely picked courses where she wouldn’t have to do presentations; the thought of everyone staring at her was enough to make her palms go clammy and her stomach knot with nerves. A quick, low-key wedding was much more her style. Less pressure. She’d only been with Charlie for two years and hadn’t wanted the hassle of planning her big day for months and months on end. Truth be told, the plan was to just get the wedding over with and start trying for a baby. All Emma really longed for was a family of her own. It was strange – she always thought she’d be married with a few children by now. She wasn’t so bothered about the marriage part, but not having children was unthinkable for Emma. Emma adored children and imagined there was no way in the world she would ever leave them and move country, even when they had grown up. Her own mother had left it late in life, having a baby at forty-three, having had a successful career as a solicitor. Her parents were always so serious and strict. Holidays were no fun, she had nobody to swap clothes with and she could never join in when her friends complained about being bossed around by their elder siblings. She would have loved to have been bossed around. She wouldn’t have cared if her sister took her shoes and never gave them back. It would have beat being alone all the time.
Emma wanted to have at least two children and as much as she hated to say it, she did worry slightly that she might have issues getting pregnant if she left it any later. A woman’s fertility was supposed to halve by thirty-five, and that was only a couple of years away. Her friend, Kirsty, had recently had to go through IVF, the reason she wasn’t able to make the wedding, and Emma’s cousin’s wife, Lisa, had also just announced she’d had a second failed round of fertility treatment; it seemed to be coming more and more common for women to get struggle to pregnant. She really hoped it would happen easily for her, although she’d already decided that if it didn’t, she’d love to adopt. There was nothing wrong with it, but she really didn’t want to be a first-time mother in her forties like her mother. She’d always wanted to be a fun, energetic mother. She imagined going cycling in the park with her children. She didn’t want to be one of those mothers who didn’t understand the latest app her children were using. She didn’t want her kids to snigger when she asked them how to do something online. Emma wanted to be young enough to still be a fairly cool parent.
Emma applied some lip gloss and slipped on a sparkly, strappy silver dress. She ran her fingers across the textured fabric of the dress, which moulded perfectly to her slender figure. She was down to a size eight now. If someone had told her three years ago when she was struggling to get into a size eighteen she would be buying a size eight wedding dress, she would have laughed at them. She wasn’t one of those women who pretended she was were happier being larger; she would always have preferred to be slimmer, but the truth was, Emma had just been happy enjoying life and her weight crept up over the years. She loved food. She adored all things bad for her, laden with calories and sugar, and often found herself polishing off a bottle of wine or two after work several times a week. If she wanted to drink a litre bottle of coke, if that was what she’d fancied, she didn’t think twice about it. A couple of chocolate doughnuts after lunch? No problem. She hadn’t been hurting anyone, had she? She couldn’t deny that she’d had low self-esteem and the problem was, when she felt down about herself, she ate to make herself feel better. It had been a vicious cycle. She certainly hadn’t loved her wobbly thighs and flabby tummy, but she always managed to cover herself in loose black trousers for work (she had worked for an accountancy firm in London) and she’d always felt that if she just ignored her size, then it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t as though she had trouble dating; men often said what a lovely face she had, but looking back she realized they rarely mentioned her body. One day, Emma’s trouser button had popped off at work and she had to ask for a safety pin. As she saw her colleague’s Sue’s pitying glance as she handed one over, something came over her. Emma had had enough. She was fed up of constantly being out of breath just walking up the stairs at work. She suddenly felt embarrassed by the fact she seemed to sweat when she’d so much as lifted a finger. She wanted to feel confident in her skin. She went home that night and did a bit of research after Sue insisted she try a weight-loss group that she’d heard about.
‘Barbara Seeley lost three stone on it,’ she’d told her enthusiastically. Emma was also keen to lose a bit of weight for health reasons. You couldn’t listen to the radio or sit in a waiting room without the risks constantly being shoved in your face. Emma didn’t want diabetes, high blood pressure or a stroke. ‘I think it’s a great idea to try it. They do meetings,’ Sue had encouraged. ‘I could lose a bit too, why don’t we try it together?’
Emma had gasped when their scales revealed she was thirteen stone three pounds.
It had taken two years to lose five stone with the help of her weight-loss group and Emma was proud of herself. Everyone was. She was no longer bigger than the women she walked past in the street. She was no longer embarrassed to be seen treating herself to a cake. Losing weight had been the start of a new career, not that she’d known that at the time. After her first month at the weight-loss group, Emma had lost ten pounds and was spurred on further when her name was called out as being achiever of the month. She’d felt a sense of satisfaction. Then after several months she stopped losing as much weight and couldn’t hide her frustration when she’d been eating so well. That was when a red-haired lady, Paula, who also attended the group, had pulled her to one side. Emma had noticed her earlier on, as she was probably the slimmest woman in the group and she’d found herself wondering whether Paula really needed to be there.
‘You’re still going in the right direction, don’t be disheartened,’ she’d beamed encouragingly. ‘Not to put a downer on things, but it does get harder to lose as much weight as when you first started, the longer you diet,’ Paula told her sagely. ‘If you want to really change shape and drop even more dress sizes, join a gym. The gym I go to has a special offer on at the moment. Here, let me give you the number if you’re interested. I have a personal trainer, his name’s Charlie. He’s fantastic.’
Emma hadn’t been too sure about the gym at first. She had assumed it would be full of vain, muscular men looking in the mirrors as they lifted weights and petite women in tiny crop tops. She was more keen on continuing to focus on what she ate. It was all about eating