A Year to Remember Read online

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  EPILOGUE

  A YEAR TO REMEMBER

  SHELLY BELL

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  A YEAR TO REMEMBER

  Copyright©2012

  SHELLY BELL

  Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the priority written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-075-5

  ISBN-10: 1-61935-075-0

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  To compulsive overeaters and

  food addicts still suffering, there is another way.

  May you find it now.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to Deborah Gilbert for taking a chance on my book and to Rae Monet for the beautiful cover. Thanks to Melanie, Miriam, and Mom for providing encouragement. Special thanks to Romance Writers of America, especially the Greater Detroit Chapter for all your advice and inspiration. To Angela and my Ferndale friends, thank you for listening and sharing. And last but never least, thank you to my soul mate, Jason, for supporting my dream and keeping our children distracted.

  PROLOGUE

  FEBRUARY 25, 2013

  NEW YORK, NEW YORK

  The cameras’ brilliant lights blinded me, while the roar of my racing pulse hindered my ability to identify any of the voices barking instructions from all around me. As the stylist rushed to complete the last minute touches to my hair and makeup, a reassuring voice reminded me to breathe. I held out my hand to her, but they ordered me not to move, and I felt compelled to listen.

  This past year, fate mocked me, leading me down a winding and confusing path, instead of the envisioned yellow brick road. I challenged my destiny every step of the way, until the day I learned to completely let go.

  The music began playing, my cue to get ready. I took comfort in the knowledge somewhere nearby, he waited for me.

  It’s hard to believe how much can change in one year.

  It’s hard to believe how much did change in one year.

  The day I waited for had finally arrived.

  CHAPTER 1

  FEBRUARY 25, 2012

  DETROIT, MICHIGAN

  WEIGHT: 185 LBS.

  STATUS: SINGLE

  “Do you think your brother intentionally chose to get married on your birthday?” Missy asked as we dressed for the wedding.

  I shook my head, careful not to mess my hair. “Seth said this was the only day he and Emily could get the Rabbi they wanted.”

  Once upon a time, I fantasized about walking down the aisle to marry a handsome prince. He would whisk me away to his castle and pamper me for the rest of my life, grateful to have won me at last. In the dream, I resembled Snow White, with a twenty-two inch waist and perfect black hair that never frizzed. My name would change from Sara Friedman to Princess Sara of Dorchester, although I’d be addressed as “Your Highness.”

  As I grew older, I fantasized about walking down the aisle to marry a Jewish attorney, who would whisk me away to his mansion and pamper me for the rest of my life, grateful to have won me at last. In this dream, he didn’t care that I didn’t have a twenty-two inch waist or perfect hair. My name would change from Sara Friedman to Sara Greenberg of Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, and Boca Raton, Florida.

  Now, on my twenty-ninth birthday, I’d settle for eloping in Vegas at a twenty-four hour drive-thru chapel to a heterosexual, monogamous man who would shack up with me in my two-bedroom condo, grateful to have a woman to support him.

  To say I lost hope of finding “Mr. Right” and living “happily ever after” would be an understatement. Out in the dating world for fifteen long years, I haven’t gotten close to meeting a man I’d consider sharing my life and bank account with on a permanent basis.

  Everyone, including me, assumed I would marry before my brother, Seth. After all, I’m almost two years older than him and about ten years more mature. Seth played the field and hadn’t had a steady girlfriend since high school. At least I’d suffered through a few long-term relationships over the years. Of course, they always fizzled out before the possibility of marriage entered the equation.

  Before today, I had very high standards, and I refused to date just anyone. I didn’t understand why I needed go on a date to get to know someone with undesirable qualities. I’ve never been one to compromise, but look where my high standards have gotten me.

  A bridesmaid at my younger brother’s wedding.

  Date-less.

  Single.

  No prospects in sight.

  Plus, it didn’t help I’ve always been fat, sometimes weighing as much as two hundred and fifty pounds. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard I should settle for anyone who would have me. My family couldn’t understand why I didn’t continue dating Mike, a nice but boring biology major with the worst case of halitosis on record. Or Harry, appropriately named for his hirsute body, hair sticking out of the collar of his shirts and hanging off his hands like a werewolf.

  Silly me, I thought after I lost some weight I’d have a better selection of men, but maybe I waited too long because I swear the only men I meet these days are married, gay, or married and gay.

  And those were the good ones.

  But finding his soul mate had come easily for Seth. He met Emily in graduate school in New York and after a six month whirlwind courtship, they announced their engagement. Now after a six month engagement, they were getting married.

  On the bright side, because I didn’t have a date for my
own brother’s wedding, I convinced him to let me bring Missy as my “plus one.” Practically family anyway, she’s been my best friend since kindergarten.

  Missy and I became friends as we sat in the hallway outside our respective classrooms for a “time out.” My teacher caught me hitting some kid who teased me, and Missy yelled the word “shit” when she stubbed her toe on her desk. Sitting unsupervised for five minutes, we discovered we had a lot in common. From that point on, we were inseparable.

  I used to dream Missy would marry my brother, but the dream died when she revealed to me in eleventh grade that she preferred women.

  Earlier today, Missy reminded me of the potential to pick up someone at a wedding. But other than Caleb, Seth’s friend from New York, no marriageable men were coming. Of course, he had a date.

  “How do I look?” Missy twirled around in her sleeveless black Lycra dress.

  A size two and drop dead gorgeous, Missy never had a problem finding a date. Yet, she chose to play the field, never getting serious with any particular woman.

  “Fabulous as usual. Can you help me get back into my dress?” I literally needed help due to the amount of Spanx I wore to suck in my problem areas.

  I wore one to suck in my thighs, butt, and lower stomach and another to confine my breasts, muffin top, and back fat. Then, I wore pantyhose over it. I wouldn’t be able to bend over, eat, or possibly breathe all night, but at least I’d appear a size smaller.

  I panicked when Emily first asked me to be a bridesmaid. I’ve always thought the sole purpose of a bridesmaid dress is to ensure no one looked better than the bride. Luckily, my future sister-in-law decided the bridesmaids could wear their own dresses, as long as it was navy and the hem fell below the knee.

  I chose a silk dress which covered the fattest part of my arms and showed a good amount of cleavage, my best feature if I do say so myself.

  Since Seth had hired a professional photographer to take family photos, my parents paid for me to get my hair, nails, and makeup done. Emily hired a few beauticians to come to the synagogue and work their magic on the bridal party. I don’t normally wear makeup, but I didn’t want to be the only bridesmaid with a naked face.

  When I saw the girl, who later introduced herself as Ophelia, with her blue Mohawk, black lipstick, and hooped eyebrow piercing, I almost changed my mind about the whole thing. My mother convinced me if I didn’t like it, I could always wash it off and do my own makeup.

  As it turned out, Ophelia did work magic. She added a thick layer of mascara to my lashes making my brown eyes seem bigger. Then, she waxed my eyebrows, so instead of having bushy Brooke Shields eyebrows, they arched in the sophisticated style of Angelina Jolie. My nonexistent lips normally disappeared on my face, but Ophelia used a dark brown lip liner and filled in my lips with a matte burgundy, creating the illusion I had full lips like Renee Zellwegger after a collagen injection.

  Somehow, Ophelia even managed to make my unruly black hair behave. As I explained the dangers of hairspray to the ozone layer, she tamed my hair with massive amounts of non-aerosol hairspray and mousse and pulled back the sides with rhinestone barrettes. It would probably frizz by the end of the night, but at least it looked good for the pictures.

  She really earned her overpriced pay when she added acrylic to the short bitten nubs of what I refer to as my nails. Long but functional, square but slightly rounded, I had beautiful nails for the first time in my life. I kept glancing at my hands in awe, as if they belonged to someone else.

  Too bad I didn’t have a diamond ring to wear.

  Just as Missy zipped my dress, the door to the dressing room opened and Goldman, my brother’s Best Man, peeked his head inside. “Your mom sent me to get you guys. We’re meeting for the Badeken and you and I have to sign the Ketubah.”

  Adam Goldman and my brother became friends in middle school, when they got into a fight and my brother sat on him. Apparently that’s all guys have to do to make friends.

  For some reason, everyone just calls him Goldman.

  “Tell my mom we’ll be right there. And if you ever open the door again without knocking while I’m getting dressed, I’ll kill you.”

  Goldman smiled sardonically and nodded before closing the door. I chastised myself for feeling annoyed, when I should be used to it by now.

  A year younger and two years behind me in school, I had had a huge crush on him in high school. Whenever my brother excited the room, leaving us alone, he’d ask me questions about school and who I liked. As soon as my brother returned, he’d act as obnoxious as my brother, making crude jokes and bodily function noises.

  I thought maybe he liked me and didn’t want my brother to know. One night, when he slept over, my brother fell asleep on the couch while we watched the original “Nightmare on Elm Street.” At the part where Freddy Krueger kills Johnny Depp in his waterbed, I buried my face in Goldman’s chest. While I waited for the scene to be over, he began petting my hair. I tilted my head, sure he’d kiss me. Instead, he said my hair felt like his poodle’s, abruptly ending my crush on him.

  I turned to Missy, taking her hand in mine. “Promise me no matter how drunk I get tonight you won’t let me embarrass myself.”

  Missy laughed and put her arms around me, pulling me into a hug. “I’ll do my best, but it won’t be easy,” she teased.

  She and I left our dressing room and entered a conference room filled to capacity with five bridesmaids, five groomsmen, four parents, two siblings, one bride, one groom, one wedding planner, and one seriously ancient Rabbi.

  All heads turned to me.

  “I’m out of here,” muttered Missy, running out of the room.

  “Traitor!” I said, under my breath.

  Apparently, I spoke louder than I thought, because Goldman gave me another one of his smiles and added a chuckle.

  Let’s just hope my mother didn’t hear.

  I tried to take a seat at the conference table, but I couldn’t sit with all the Spanx. The bridal party glared at me, surely wondering why I awkwardly rested on the back of the chair, straddling rather than sitting in it.

  I smiled and gave them the only excuse I could think up on such short notice. “I don’t want to wrinkle my dress before the ceremony.”

  After a few uncomfortable seconds, the Rabbi began. “Even though you have three hundred people waiting in the sanctuary to watch you marry, the marriage actually occurs right now as we sign the Ketubah. For those of you who may not know, the beautiful Ketubah chosen by Emily and Seth is a Jewish marriage contract which explains that marriage is not only a physical and emotional union, but a legal and moral commitment to one another. As Emily’s husband, Seth promises to provide her with food, clothing, a home, and my personal favorite, physical pleasure. Note it says nothing about Emily’s obligations to Seth.”

  Everyone laughed, as the Rabbi had intended. I’m sure he told the same joke at every wedding.

  “Emily and Seth will now sign the Ketubah, followed by their witnesses, Adam and Sara,” declared the Rabbi.

  After signing the Ketubah, I joined my parents, while the parties signed the marriage certificate for the State of Michigan.

  “Technically, Seth and Emily are now husband and wife. But since your guests are waiting to see you two get married, I suppose we shouldn’t disappoint them.” The Rabbi paused, waiting for the laugh. I forced one, so he wouldn’t be offended, but honestly, I started to feel a little sorry for the old guy.

  “Now for the Badekan, Seth will put a veil over Emily, just like when Rebecca married Isaac. This reminds us that however attractive physical appearance may be, the soul and character of a person are more important.”

  Hmm, maybe I should wear a veil from now on.

  After Seth and Emily repeated a few things in Hebrew I didn’t understand, the Rabbi led us to the lobby of the Sanctuary for the “unofficial” wedding ceremony. The party planner lined us all up like cattle and the music began to play. My mother insisted on standard Jewish m
usic, but Emily and Seth chose to walk to “Wind Beneath My Wings” played by a live harp player.

  I walked down the aisle with Caleb Young. Too bad he came with a date, because for a friend of my brother’s, he seemed to be a decent guy, not to mention good-looking.

  Unlike the men I’m usually attracted to, Caleb had light brown hair with natural golden highlights and blue eyes. I preferred my men a little on the heavier side or at least tall and muscular, but Caleb was lean and only a few inches taller than my five-foot five inches. I’d bet my life savings he ran for fun. I never understood the point of running, unless someone chased you. Plus, I only dated Jewish men and judging by the cross around his neck, Caleb was a nice Catholic boy.

  We took our places around the chuppah as the ceremony began. My feet swelled from my high heels and it would be another half-hour before I could attempt to sit. Hopefully, Missy would figure out a way for me to sit without popping out of my Spanx.

  Halfway through the ceremony, something fell into my eye. I tried to ignore it, but it hurt too much and I couldn’t keep it open. My eyes watered uncontrollably and I prayed Ophelia used waterproof mascara or else I’d end up resembling a wet raccoon before the service ended.