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Each woman did as instructed, and when the room glowed with eleven golden beads of light, Liz spoke again. ‘Now, stare at the flame and hold that intention in your mind, reallyfeelthe truth of it. Imagine it’s already true.’
Mylife is filled with ... um...
Take two:I am living the best...
Take three:This year is the year to...
‘Okay, on the count of three, blow out your candle. Ready?’
No!
‘One ... two ... three!’
Okay, quick! Um... I am happy and energetic, my marriage is thriving, and I’m making use of my creative talents. I’m finally becoming...me.
A soft, quick breath escaped Cara’s lungs and a swirling grey haze carried the scent of wax to her nose. She smiled as a sense of hope rose in her heart, washing away the guilt from earlier. No turning back now. Her new life had begun,theirnew lives had begun. What lay ahead in that life she didn’t know, but she couldn’t wait to start living it.
Bring it on!
TWO
Grandma Joy’s Words of Wisdom:
‘Always listen to your body, treat it with care, and it will last you a lifetime.’
Damn you, Barbie. You and your size four figure, all over tan, and legs to the moon!Miranda tried to squeeze intoher bridesmaid dress, but the side zip wouldn’t budge. The final dress fitting had only been two weeks ago and the fit was perfect then. But now – if she could manage to do up the zip – the dress might burst open right where the rosette was attached at the hip, spilling her stomach flab like water from an overflowing dam just as she walked down the aisle.
She pressed the speaker button on her ringing phone screen and yanked at the zip again.
‘What’s wrong? You sound weird,’ Trisha, her best friend and bride-to-be said on the other end of the line.
‘Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s all set.’ Miranda forced asmile. Even though her friend couldn’t see her, she hoped it would add reassurance to her voice.
‘Great, I’ll see you on Saturday!’
‘Okay, hun, bye!’ Miranda ended the call and cursed the favourite toy of her childhood again. Barbie wasn’t exactly the healthiest role model, but growing up, Miranda had idolised her. A year before she’d moved with her mother from America to Australia, her cousin had brought her new Princess Barbie over one day and let her play with it. She even had a Ken! Miranda was never allowed to get a Ken doll. After they’d playedKen Takes Barbie to The Oscars and Wins Best Director, Actor, and Producer, and Proposes in his Acceptance Speech, Miranda asked her cousin how old Barbie was...
‘Thirty, of course. Everyone gets married when they’re thirty. After that you’re just too old,’ the nine-year-old love expert had said.
That was it. Silly as it was, young Miranda had vowed to follow in Barbie’s (tiny) footsteps and marry the love of her life by age thirty. If a plastic doll could do it, so could she. And now, therewasthe issue of the wonky genes she’d inherited, which meant her biological clock was ticking away at double speed. But twenty-two years later, Miranda was no closer to meeting her ideal man and future father of her children than she was to resembling Barbie’s unnaturally beautiful physique.
Should have gone back to the gym before my membership expired, she thought, as she removed the ill-fitting dress from her body. She’d been three times, and meant to keep going, but, you know ... work, study, social life – it all got too busy. And Naomi, the personal trainer, was slightly scary. Actually,a lotscary. At least she’d been in the vicinity of the gymat the recent Life Makeover Club meeting. That was a start, right? Miranda had scooted past reception and up the escalator for fear of running into Naomi, and if by some chance any staff had remembered her, she’d mused she could always tell them she’d been in a coma for six months or something, and that’s why she hadn’t come back.
Miranda put the useless but very beautiful dress on its coat hanger, slid the protective plastic over the top, and hung it in the wardrobe. There wouldn’t be enough time to arrange another appointment with the dressmaker, and she couldn’t bear the humiliation. She had three days to somehow lose the bulge or risk yet another embarrassing ‘Miranda Moment’. Her shift at Harbourside Towers didn’t start for two hours, there was time to launch an emergency weight loss mission. She dressed quickly, sprayed her pulse points with Calvin KleinEuphoria, and shot out the door with fierce determination.
Dry heat and the smell of petrol greeted Miranda where she waited for a taxi and watched passing traffic, mentally shopping for the car she needed.White? No, too clinical. Red? Too flashy. Silver? Yes, silver; classy, stylish, and mature.It didn’t matter what make or model, only that the car was reliable, and ... looked good. Whether she could get something appropriate for the little she could afford was another matter. She’d spent a lot of her savings last week to enroll in The Life Makeover Club, as well as paying for the final semester of her beauty therapy course. Now that Trisha had moved out, she no longer had the luxury of sharing her friend’s car. Not that she needed one much, living in the city meant she could easily catch the light rail, a taxi, bus, train, or even walk, but it was good to have the freedom of being able to go for a drive on her day off, or duckingout to pick up a bulk lot of groceries without paying for yet another taxi or walking alone at night and having to carry them all.
To reduce her money problems, and also prepare for the possible cost of needing to freeze her eggs in another year, Miranda knew she would need to find a new roommate soon, or a cheaper place to live. Or, do the unthinkable – move back in with her mother. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She loved her mother of course, but Sue Sheppard was a tad overprotective, and Miranda could only handle her in small doses. Plus, she lived further away from the city which meant a longer trip to work and beauty school.
She’d start with Plan A: Search for a new roommate.
Plan B: If no suitable roommate is found, search for a new place.
Plan C: If no suitable place is found ... resume searching for a new roommate.
The fitting roomsat Target were busy at this time of day; women on their lunch break trying on clothes, and the usual assortment of noisy children dragged in by their mothers. There was plenty of ‘Does itreallysuit me?’ and ‘Charlie, stop peeking! There’s someone getting undressed in there!’ comments, and giggling teenage girls trying on Push-Up Bras before school started for the year.
After waiting five minutes for an empty cubicle, Miranda entered with five garments, two of which were grabbed off the rack purely to hide what she was carrying. Once in the privacy of the cubicle, despite a couple of peeks from little Charlie, she undressed and put on the support briefs. Well ...attemptedto put them on. The first paironly made it to her hips. The second pair fit, but only pushed the flab upwards where it overflowed out the top like a big mushroom. Third time lucky. The TrimTummy briefs with extra support panel were a godsend. Somehow, they compressed everything from just under the bust to the middle of the thighs, the label attributing this to their patented spiral technology. ‘Take that, suckers!’ Miranda patted her stomach and imagined the nasty little fat cells being squished into oblivion.
