Don't Call Me Fat (COMPLETED)

Break My Heart by Dua Lipa

So a couple of things:

1. I was going to be the first girl, first PERSON to step foot into the Morgan's Mansion. 

2. Michael Morgan was picking me up. In his car. I think I'm going to pass out.

When I told Codie and Mags at the lunch table, they weren't dying like I was. Codie, as her good-natured but slightly matter of face self would allow, she pointed out that there was no reason for me to be worked up, because this was indeed our project and I needed to get through it with a level head. She then proceeded to eat about 5 handfuls of fries.

Mags was a little more on my side. She understood the enormity of the responsibility of being seen with such a stud. She even asked if I wanted to borrow some mascara. I declined. It would be too distracting at this point. I'd be worried about it smudging, and less on what words were falling out of my mouth.

My day was a blur after that. The trucks had come in perfectly. My sponsor, Mz McGregor, had only stayed to verify that the shipment had arrived, and then had left the rest in my hands. Everything was perfect. Well almost. I was so nervous I had felt nauseous since he suggested he pick me up. If this is what crushes were like, I'm telling you, I'm not cut out for it. Maybe my dad is onto something, taking me on all these dude trips.

I was on the curb pondering that very notion, when Michael's black Challenger rolled to a stop in front of me. The tinted window rolled down, and there was Michael's handsome face, framed in by glasses that could only be Ray Ban's. A huge smile was plastered on his face, as he yelled through the window, "Hey! Are you coming with me?" 

I stood carefully, making sure that my shirt fell the way it needed to and not stick to any of my lumps or stomach bumps before making my way to the car. I gingerly opened the door and was placing my bag in first, when Michael grabbed it and threw it in the backseat for me. Thanking him, I sat as lightly as I could, aware that I could make the car shake from my weight if I wasn't careful.

This was the moment the whole of the cheer squad decided to walk by on their way back to the field. Every girl in the lineup was sizing me, judging the girl that was getting into Michael Morgan's car. I could hear their thoughts now. 

He's just being nice to her. 

Yeah, they're partners in History. Nothing to see here. 

Wow, he must be taking pity. She couldn't walk home in that enlarged state. I tried not to notice the stares, but I knew Michael was aware of them. He cleared his throat a couple of times, "People here sure are nosy. I don't know the last time I've felt more on display."

I balked, looking at him like he was crazy. "Surely you get reactions like this everywhere you go. Have you seen yourself??" Ashamed and bewildered that that last part had come out of my mouth, I hurriedly looked through my purse for my sunglasses to hide my face. 

All Michael did was laugh. "You know, Ophelia, back home, I never felt like an alien. Here, people are almost determined to remind me over and over again that I'm an outsider. It doesn't seem to matter what I do."

I mulled over his words. How lonely he sounded. As soon as I was buckled in and my sunglasses were in place, Michael turned the stereo up. One thing was for sure, we weren't leaving this lot quietly. 

"Ready to go?" His eyes twinkled. You could feel the eyes on us from every angle. The lyrics to Break My Heart by Dua Lipa blaring through the speakers. How fitting, I thought to myself. 

The ride to his house I knew wasn't going to take long, since we lived in the same neighborhood, I was estimating about 20 minutes max of drive time. I needed the time to think about all of those trips I'd had with my dad, and practice the small talk that dudes usually gravitated to. 

Well, I should have factored in that hott guys in nice cars typically like to drive fast.

We made it to his house in 10 minutes. I mean the whole trip. From the school yard lot, up the massive hill, to parking at the back of his house outside their massive 6-door garage.

He hopped out, circling the car to open my door for me. "I think my mom's inside. I'll introduce you to her first, and then we'll hang out in my room. Sound good?" I followed behind him quietly, drinking in the enormous structure. I knew my mom was going to have hundreds of questions when I got home.

Michael led me through the double front doors. They were ornate, wood carved, and at least 15 feet tall. Inside the doors, your eyes were immediately drawn to the impressive gold chandelier dangling above our heads. There was a man on a ladder, dusting the crystal pendants hanging from the gilds. A double staircase wrapped up around, mirroring each other on either side of the wall. Marble floors were reflecting light from their perfect polish everywhere your eye met them. It was like a fairy tale castle. It felt like magic and mystery everywhere you looked.

Michael could sense my hesitation to follow him, and turned around to witness me studying the sculpture to the left of the entryway. I was trying to make out the inscription when I heard him sigh, "Women and sculptures," he teased. 

"What? I can appreciate this very..." I let the sentence hang. "n***d man?" 

Michael laughed. I blushed. "Honestly I was trying to see if it was a family member. Since you have it on display." 

His head swung around, a deep chuckle reverberating in his chest. "Do you seriously think we'd have my n***d grandpa on display?" 

Slightly embarrassed, I shook my head. "No, that would be crazy. Like, obviously nuts." I sucked in my breath, mentally killing myself. I didn't know how to be myself, much less a cool version of myself. But he was laughing, so I guess that was good.

Michael stopped, speaking to an middle-aged woman in the kitchen, then led the way to the back of the house, taking us out of a sitting room to the outside solarium. "My mom's out here.  She loves her gardens.  I think she would much rather spend time with plants than with people."  His long stride was easy to keep up with.  He was relaxed here, and I noticed for the first time how tense he was at school.

Walking between the rows and rows of flowers, you could sense the care that had been taken with the blooms. Even with the season change, her blossoms were vibrant. As we wound our way further into the gardens, I found myself enamored at the variety of color. It was like a painting out here, perfectly balanced. The path was graveled into swirling designs, and bushes, and trees, and roses, and all sorts of beautiful foliage leaned forward like it was trying to place the tiniest of kisses on your skin. It was intimate, soft, and simply glorious.

At last, he found her. She was out between her raised flower beds, a watering can in hand. Her movements were like a dance. She didn't even seem real, she was so beautiful, and graceful. My breath caught, afraid to look at her fully. She was dressed in loose layers of white, with a broad sunhat on her head. Her skin was perfect, her skin, eyes, and hair dark, just like Michael. 

"Mom!" He called to her.

When she saw him approaching, she dropped her small trowel and can and ran to meet him. Kissing both of his cheeks, she spoke to him softly, then moved her head in a direction that intimated she wanted to speak to me. Michael gestured that I move closer, holding his hand out to me.

As soon as I was close enough, his mother wrapped her arms around me, embracing me in the sincerest way, kisses also planted upon my cheeks. I drunk in the sight and smell of her, hoping that her wonder would somehow rub off on me. She smelled heavenly, like vanilla and lavender, and her hair had a sheen to it that bounced light through her loose waves as she moved.

Pulling back, she took her time inspecting me. "Yes, you are very beautiful, no? Such skin." Her hand moved over my cheek, her face softening as she saw the surprise in my eyes. "Forgive me, but I am excited that mon fils has brought you home. He speaks of you very highly." She chewed her full rosy lip, giving me a look in a way that made me think she was trying to let me be a part of a secret.

Overwhelmed, I simply stated the obvious, as etiquette demanded. "Your home is beautiful, Mrs Morgan. Thank you for having me over." 

Her smile staying in place, her eyes gently narrowed, "Yes, thank you, cherie. We will talk later." She waved Michael away with her hands, and then pulled me close in to hear her whisper, "Do not doubt yourself here, cherie. We see you for what you are. Have confidence." My eyes widened at her words. She patted my hand between her two gloved ones, and then shooed me away as well. I didn't have a clue what she was talking about, but I had the distinct feeling that something marvelous would be unfolding before my eyes very soon. 

 I'm telling ya, it's this magic castle that we're in. Maybe I am Belle?

                                                                ********************************

We spent most of our time in Michael's room. As soon as we stepped inside, a tray was set up with after-school snacks. Most of them were protein based, and I assumed that's because he was definitely an athlete that needed nourishment between practices. All those muscles needed to be retained, OKurr?

His room was more like a large bachelor pad, since there were so many working parts. There was his study area, which was a built in desk surrounded by books of every language. His bed was on the far wall, the bathroom and closet behind it. Where he had placed my bag for me was on the couch in front of the fireplace. It was a giant seating section, with two couches, and two chairs, centered around a long coffee table, and a large TV mounted on the wall above. If he didn't want to, he never had to leave this room. 

If I lived here, I don't think I ever would leave this room.

I had brought all of my work with me, spelling out what I saw for the project. Michael listened attentively, only adding suggestions every once in a while. I kept in mind his movie project, and had just tried to get the ball rolling with what we could do inside those limits. He loved everything I said, fully acting like he was willing to let me take the lead.  I didn't necessarily want to, but if it was helping him out with his full schedule, I was happy to take the brunt of the workload. 

I had taken up camp on one of his couches, notes and books sprawled on the available surfaces, so I could see everything at once. Jotting some notes down, I felt Michael move from his desk to the chair next to me. 

"Hey listen, I'm sorry if my mom came on a little strong earlier. She's a true romantic, what the French call ame romantique--or a romantic soul. She can never stay surface level with people." He shrugged, as if this explanation would suffice for her reaction to me. It only served to whet my curiosity. 

"Is she French? I thought maybe she was by some of the words she was using." I had only taken Spanish and a couple of Chinese classes at school. 

Michael nodded. "She and my dad met when he was on a business trip. She was doing an exchange program, and he was only in town for two weeks. At the end of the two weeks, he had married her and had moved her in with him in Louisiana. We used to live in New Orleans."

I nodded, having heard the New Orleans bit of info a couple of weeks ago. "Do you speak French as well?" I asked. He was super smart, it wouldn't shock me if he could.

Again, he nodded, "Yeah. Mom is fluent in three languages, and has made sure that I know how to speak fluently in two of them. French and English." He let a small chuckle escape. 

Curious, I inquired, "What's the third language?" 

Laying his head back against the chair, he looked at me, "German." That made sense. Geographically they were all close to one another. 

"Have you been there? To France?" 

He didn't hesitate with his answer, "We go at least once a year. My grand-mere still lives in Provence. She runs a vineyard, and has lavender fields." His expression changed, almost nostalgic, like he was there walking the fields with her right then. I didn't know what that was like, missing a grandparent that was half a world away. I missed my dad when he was abroad, but this kind of emotion I couldn't relate to. 

"That's pretty cool. I've only been to Canada and Mexico outside the US." I lied.  I had been to so many places I couldn't remember them all. "And those were both because of golf tournaments." I grimaced. Well, there was that one time that dad had whisked me to... and then that other time that we had.. well.  Those were hard to explain. 

But Golf was not sexy. I shouldn't have added that part. And now if he wanted to know I was going to have to tell him about caddying for my dad. 

Michael's eyes took on a mischievous gleam. "You know, I could see you in France. I think you'd fit in there. So, what about these golf tournaments, huh? You holding out some serious information here Hamilton?" He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. 

"Oh em gee, no. I just...caddie for my dad. It's our 'thing'. Judge all you want." Folding up my books and papers, I checked my phone. 6:25 p.m. "Michael you're gonna late! We've got to go!" Scrambling like a crazy, I stuffed all my belongings in my satchel, ready to scoot out the door. Michael, I noticed, hadn't moved. Throwing him a questioning look, I asked, "Aren't you worried? Weren't you supposed to be back at practice at 7:00 p.m.?"

He rolled his head back and forth on the chair's fiber. "Do I care? No. Should we go? I guess. I just haven't had this much fun in a long time." 

Slowly, he picked himself up out of the chair, and came to stand beside me at the door. He reached down, hesitantly taking my hand in his, and brought it up to his lips, brushing the lightest kiss across my knuckles. "You, sweet Ophelia, are a delight." Keeping my hand in his, he swung my backpack over his shoulder, and led me through the door, and all the way back to his car.

We sat in comfortable silence, as I fought the urge not to faint the entire way home. He watched and waited for me to open my door and enter my house before zooming off. Dropping my bag to the floor, I slunk down against the door frame when the realization hit me.

I think I'm falling in love with Michael Morgan. 

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{Thanks for reading this far into Opie's Life!  Check out Billionaire Fight Club: Fight of My Life, & Nanny Affair for more writing from J. L. Smith!}