My name is Emily Pritchett. I'm married, forty-five years old, and my son recently left home for college.
In my younger years I was quite a beauty. I have dark, shoulder length hair, big blue eyes, pale skin and a busty hourglass figure. "You're so pretty," my husband once said. "It's like being married to Snow White!" Phillip hasn't said anything like that in a long time. These days, we go months at a time without sex and it's only missionary style, lights off. He barely looks in my direction when I get undressed. Sometimes I wonder if he's screwing one of the pretty young salesgirls who accompany him on business trips.
I blame myself. I've gained significant weight over the years and started to show my age in other ways. Sometimes I stand naked in front of the bathroom mirror and pick at my flaws: the slight sag to my heavy breasts, tummy pooch, muffin top hips, wide round rear end.
I've felt unsexy and unwanted for years.
***
I recently started a new job as an administrative assistant at a law firm near my home. I left the workforce after my son was born, but now that he's out of the house and my husband travels for work most of the year, there's less reason to be home.
So far the job has been great: low stress, flexible hours, and everyone is very friendly, *especially* a young lawyer named Tom. He stops by my desk several times a day to see how work is going and make sarcastic, quips, often at our coworkers' expense.
"Morning Em," he says one day, smiling. "Is the old man still working you to the bone?" One of his favorite gags is to pretend the kindly old attorney I report to, is secretly a harsh taskmaster or closet perv.
"No Tom," I tell him. "Mr. Potts has been very fair."
"Good," he says. "Let me know if the old man gets out of line and I'll take care of it."
He gives me a conspiratorial wink and wanders off. I can't help but chuckle, until I notice an older admin named Phyllis glowering in my direction. I blush bright red and return my attention to my work.
*This is how rumors get started,* I think.
There's a definite flirty tone to these exchanges, but I can't help myself. He's young and charming and undeniably good-looking, with sandy brown hair, three-day stubble and a lean cyclist's build. Most importantly, he gives me the type of attention I've been missing in my marriage.
I tell myself Tom Is just being friendly. He's closer in age to my son than me. There's a picture on his desk of his pretty young girlfriend. What could be possibly want from a chubby middle aged mom?
***
On the Friday of my first week on the job, the company holds a happy hour to welcome me and a few other newcomers to the firm. Normally I wouldn't go; big crowds make me shy. But Philip is on another one of his trips and the idea of spending the night watching TV in the big empty house isn't very appealing. Besides, Tom keeps urging me to come along.
"You have to go," he says. "You're practically the guest of honor!"
"I don't know ... I'm not much of a drinker ..."
"Just one drink, Em."
"Fine," I tell him. "Just *one* drink."
The happy hour is at a cocktail lounge not far from the office. It's casual Friday, so I'm dressed in dark blue jeans and a v-neck sweater that I haven't worn in years.Maybe twenty of my coworkers are in attendance when I arrive. I order a white wine spritzer and mingle with the other admin, who are all very nice. I spot Tom through the crowd a few times, sitting with a group of other young lawyers. I smile and wave to him but stay on my side of the room. I remember the older admin frowning at me and don't want to give people a reason to talk.
I end up having such a good time that I order a another drink and stay much later than planned. By now, most of my colleagues have left and I'm feeling a bit tipsy. I decide to drive home while it's still safe.
I settle up my tab and visit the ladies room before I go. Tom is waiting for me in the dark hallway outside the restrooms. He looks angry.
"You've been avoiding me all night," he says.
"No, Tom ... I thought I should mingle with people I haven't met yet ..."
"You said you'd join me for a drink."
"I really can't ..."
"You promised."
I'm stunned by Tom's bullying demeanor. It is so out of character for him to behave this way.
"I ... I didn't know ..." I stammer. "Okay ... I guess I can have one more ..."
Tom gives me a wide, wolfish grin, like he's been putting me on.
"Great. Let me introduce you to the boys."
***
He leads me to his table and introduces me to the group. All men, including a few faces I recognize from around the office. Like Tom, they are all in their mid-twenties and blandly handsome in the same clean cut, catalogue ready way. The table is strewn with empty beer bottles and shot glasses. There's a raucous frat house atmosphere to the group and I'm a bit uncomfortable, realizing I'm fifteen or twenty years older than anyone else at the table.
I take a seat beside a muscular, olive complexioned young lawyer and Tom pushes a glass toward me. It's an enormous goblet of Windex-blue liquid.
"I took the liberty of ordering for you," he says.
"You said one drink!"
"That is one drink." He gives me a wink.
"I can't finish this."
"Just drink what you can," he says. "Try it. You'll like it."
I playfully roll my eyes and take a sip. The drink cold and surprisingly sweet.
