contactsheetconfessor

“So,” Alicia started, adjusting her hair a little, “not to start on a dour note, but I’m guessing there haven’t been too many wedding shoots in the past little while?” “Well, I mean yeah, although I had a couple in the last month or two, actually. Some of them definitely want to get it done; there’s different levels of risk tolerance I guess; some ceremonies are smaller…” “Right, right. Well that’s good. Kind of hard to talk about anything with all the nothing, right? TV? Are you liking Wandavision?” “Oh yeah, so weird right? But what a concept. Great way for Marvel to break out of the box and do it with a lower-stakes story, right?” “Yeah, totally. Like a love letter to TV itself. Which is nostalgic but also kind of bittersweet in a weird way?” “Mmm.” I nursed my beer and took a moment to just observe Alicia, who looked right back at me with a similar sort of inquisitiveness. Allowing it to happen. “Did you have dinner?” “Oh, no, but I shouldn’t eat out…” “… And that’s why we went to a restaurant? Haha.” “You got me. But to be honest. There’s been a lot of takeout lately…” I offered my hand. “Thought we weren’t gonna worry about stuff tonight.” “… No, might as well not, huh?” We ended up having burgers and fries. It was unusual to see—Alicia would always be the one having salad back in the day; it was increasingly clear a wholesale change to her habits had arrived, which only made sense considering the evidence that sat right before my eyes. I insisted on paying the cheque. “He doesn’t know you’re here, right? No um, paper trail. And it’s OK, the photography thing is a moonlighting thing, now worries.” “Ah… well thanks.” As we got up, I noticed how Alicia looked just that much fuller, having even less space to suck it in. I went in for a hug. She felt amazing; my fingers detected the way her sides began to push over the sides of jeans; I sensed just how thick her tummy was getting. There was quite a contrast from her face; I was **, which probably showed up on my face as I leaned back from the hug to study her eyes again. She stared at me for a second and almost murmured, “do you like what you see?” I nodded. “Did you… want to come over for a coffee?” It was just then, for some reason, that I noticed a faint but noticeable imprint of Alicia’s navel against her shirt, just the way it was pushed back a little from the hug; it gave me an instant rise. “I’d uh… I’d love to.”

Besides the occasional email update about how things were going with wedding planning (spoiler: not great), we largely kept things to ourselves, Alicia and I, even though as I mentioned we had a history of friendship. It kind of just happens as you get older, right? It feels like it doesn’t have to, but work, obligations, time, postponements… it adds up. Those nearly or over thirty get it. Social media posts from Alicia were minimal—text updates; maybe a picture of a coffee; an architecture photo, things like this. Finally, by mid-July the bars reopened, and by mid-August I guess Alicia felt secure enough about it to visit one, because there was an Instagram pic showing her, and my God—her boobs must have gone from that tight B to a solid D. Her face looked exactly the same—a result of expert angling, perhaps. A black shirt covered her arms and the rest. I knew, obviously, she was engaged to be married, but perhaps another photo shoot was in order sometime. Selfishly, I knew she probably had designs on losing it in time for the wedding, but I kind of hoped that aspect wouldn’t quite work out. I mean, I was conflicted—a part of me just wanted to be happy for her. But another part of me just couldn’t help but be enthralled. I debated texting her, but so soon after such an unusual picture, I decided, would be too much, so I let it go. And again, a total drought of selfies from August to February of next year—even the holidays passed without a couples photo, instead opting for stockings, Christmas trees, and the like. Granted, I may have missed something because we all have lives and I was less obsessive than this story is probably suggesting right now, but anyway. Finally, I got a text in February. “Hey there—sorry that it’s been so long! I was wondering if you wanted to get out and socialize a little and we can discuss the latest plan, if you’re comfortable? Restaurants are at 25% capacity.” “No worries! Life is busy. Great to hear from you. Yeah, I’d like that!” “7pm Saturday?” I paused. Usually we met at 4pm on a Friday at Starbucks, or something like this. “Yes for sure. See you then!” “It’s a formal-ish place, so more than a t shirt, okay stranger?” “Got it.” The whole thing was slightly suspect. Was I reading into it too much? Probably. So I obliged, dressing in a grey blazer and a wine red button-up shirt, and dark jeans to hedge it if I ended up over- or under-dressing. I arrived a bit early; Alicia came at 7 on the dot. I always appreciated how she went by the book. The first thing I noticed was that she looked absolutely dressed as if on a date night, not about to iron out the latest details with her wedding photographer. The second thing I noticed was that her chest had possibly somehow gone up yet another size, or at least had filled in even more, or looked bigger in real life. She still had on skin-tight dark blue jeans, and on top a black frilly piece that completely obscured her front and went down past the top of her jeans, almost like a skirt, except a smidge of cleavage and, daringly I thought, exposed arms—arms which definitely betrayed her weight gain a little, I thought. They were thick, looked soft, and wobbled almost imperceptibly with her steps, as she took them in subtle heeled boots. “So, hello there.” Alicia smiled, revealing the slightest amount of double chin as she motioned to get her purse dangling off the back of her chair. She was sporting a new haircut, blonde locks a touch shorter than before, grazing her neck. “How are… um, how are things?” I said, clearly still a little dumbfounded and drinking her in. Alicia’s eyes flitted around the room. “Things are um… okay. Jake’s in LA. Business.” “I see.” Alicia grimaced slightly. “Things are a little rough with Jake and I right now.” “I’m sorry to hear that…” I was pretty uncomfortable at this point. Alicia opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. A moment passed. “I knew this would be a bad idea. I should go.” “Hey, hey. Wait,” I intoned. Alicia stopped after rising from her chair. I couldn’t help but notice the new outline of her ass as she did so. “We’re having dinner and doing a photo update, right? You deserve this. We deserve this. It’s been months. Maybe space is what you need. Nothing wrong with that.” Alicia sighed. “Yeah…” She nodded. “No reason to make it worse than it already is.” I nodded; a waiter passed by and I raised my hand. “Two IPAs?” “Now are you going to help me drink these or are you gonna strand me?” I lifted my hands as if shrugging. “Hahaha. Another reminder why I chose you. As photographer,” she quickly self-corrected. The beers came. “Cheers,” Alicia said, holding out a glass. Her upper arms looked wonderful, pressed up against her sides. I endeavoured to distract my eyes away from them. It really was an incredible difference overall—I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had somehow slipped on forty pounds or so over the last year and a half. Or more? Now I had a moral dilemma. Alicia was probably rather ready to try something with me… and I’d never gotten myself into such a situation before, ever. And I genuinely wanted her. For now, I left it to see where the conversation, and the night, took us. “Cheers.”

You can believe it or not, but this is a true story and I felt it was worth sharing. “Oh my god, how are you? It’s been what, like um… five years? Did you ever end up finishing that movie? Haha.” Alicia smiled coyly, hiding a little behind the IPA she nursed with both hands, fingers delicately curved along the sides of the standard beer glass. She was just about the same as I’d remembered her—about five foot six or so, mostly slim figure, blonde hair tousled around her neck, nearly grazing her shoulders. “Ah… yeah, we did release it a few years ago on Vimeo. Not exactly the box office hit I expected,” I joked. “Are you still doing it?” “Well—apart from the day job, dabbling more in photos,” I said, shrugging slightly. “It’s hard.” “Yeah, yeah I get it. I still paint. That one’s mine.” Alicia pointed to something a somewhat abstract canvas at the corner of the living room, resembling a kitten and yarn. “Nice—title?” “Untitled. Um, the fall of civilization. Haha.” There I was, in the middle of a house party with folks largely in their late twenties to early thirties, late 2019. It was, retroactively speaking, a halcyon time, for reasons that the entire world can understand, but also because it seemed to have been a time when everyone’s careers were finally taking off. Alicia was hosting. “Well thanks for inviting me, this is really nice. I actually brought a camera if you wanted to get some candids. Would that be okay?” “Oh! Yeah, for sure… you’re too polite, you can probably just go for it, haha. Well I’m going to attend to some other folks, but it was so nice to see you, huh?” “Okay! Talk soon; don’t be a stranger.” “Later stranger.” Alicia winked and meandered off towards the staircase. There were maybe twenty or thirty people strewn about the house—enough to feel comfortably anonymous. I did my thing, catching up with a few others and doing a few candids. I had always had a thing for Alicia, but I knew she was dating someone at the moment; we almost got close in university (or so I’d like to think), but I was worried about ruining a friendship. Given this context, a few months later, in January, I got a call that devastated me more than I had even really expected. “Hey! Hey, it’s Alicia. Guess what?” “… What?” I said, incredulous. “I’m engaged! Oh my God, right?” “… Wow! That’s—that’s incredible. Congratulation,” I said, with all the excitement I could muster. More easily done over the phone, I thought. “Mhm. And you know what that means? We need somebody for engagement pics…” “I think I know a guy,” I said, which elicited a laugh on the other end. “Yeah, soooo…. what about like, March 14th? Is that too far away? Already committed?” “No, no that’s cool. I’ve got it down. Great to hear from you and congratulations again.” “Okay, awesome. Thank you so much. We can discuss particulars over email. I’m so excited!” “Looking forward to it! See you, stranger.” “See you, stranger, haha.” I put down the phone and sighed. I scrolled through Alicia’s Instagram, and then resolved not to think too much of it. Keeping it a friendship was my choice as much as hers. And then, you know what happened. We did manage to get the March shoot done. It was a combination of outdoors and indoors, showing off the rings, all the standard stuff. I died a little inside the whole way through. Why did I agree to it again? Maybe it was the chance to photograph her. And we’re friends, ultimately. I was being pretty bad about the whole thing, internally. The other thing I did notice, which you pretty much knew was going to happen, was that Alicia was looking a little more… relaxed, versus the fall. It was slightly more than the standard winter weight, by my estimation—she countered it with a slightly looser, black top, showing off a tasteful smidge of cleavage, now really filling out her B cups (just a guess). Moreover, and this was the real reason for the longer, loose top—her jeans were pretty clearly tight as hell. Obviously, that subject never came up. But it was clear. “Make sure the angles are just right, haha,” she told me as I focused on securing some candids. I gave a slight nod in return. And then I did something terrible. I snuck in a few less-than-flattering shots—something I could easily pass off as misfires, if anyone ever saw—but they would not. Just a few with Alicia at a side angle… showing to the maximum extent the delta between last November and the intervening four months or so. Upon delivering, I got a call back. “Holy shit, these are incredible dude! Haha wow… honestly I’m going to ask you right now, will you do the wedding?” “I, yeah, of course!” I said, again feeling the stupid mix of jealousy and knowing I shouldn’t. “Okay. Damn, I can’t wait to post these. Thank you so much.” “Pleasure’s all mine, stranger.” “Haha… okay. Talk soon. Take care, stranger.” And then it happened—the world shut down. And the wedding, which was to happen in September, got postponed. Lockdown was hard on everyone; all my shoots were thrown out the window basically, and (luckily) Alicia and I and most people we knew had to work from home. Her Instagram trickled to a crawl, mostly now containing messages of hope and support. We had it easy, but toughness is relative. The whole summer, I couldn’t help but be curious of two things, but I knew not to pry: How were things with Jake? And… had Alicia’s weight kept creeping up on her?