“You wanted to see me, Mr. Gaines?” Tiffani asked, stepping into the office. She felt as though she were in high school again, in trouble for something and having to answer to the principal for it.

“Yes,” her boss, Mr. Gaines, replied, looking up. “Please, sit down.” Tiffani sat and nodded nervously, fidgeting with her skirt. Mr. Gaines sighed and, glancing down at a piece of paper, said, “You’ve been working here for the past five years, correct?”

“Yes,” Tiffani replied. She remembered her first day as a news anchor for the TV station. She’d been so nervous, so afraid of messing up. Most of all, she was scared of those skinny little young things. They reminded her of the cheerleaders she’d known back in high school.

“According to this, you are… five-four, and one hundred and thirty-five pounds. Am I correct?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sure it says somewhere on there that it’s within a healthy weight range.”


“Mm, well, be that as it may, I think it would be best if you lost about ten to fifteen pounds.”

“Excuse me?” Tiffani gasped, shocked.

“Well, you know, the camera does add ten pounds, and we’re losing viewers to other stations with… with…”

“With thinner, more attractive news anchors, you mean?”

“Not quite how I meant to word it, but, yes, essentially.”

Tiffani rose, eyes narrowed in fury. “So, you’re telling me that you want me to become malnourished and unhealthy, for the sake of this company? Let me tell you something, back in high school, I used to be in a club that required the same damn thing, and you know what? I didn’t do it for them either. I found a club that accepted me for how I was. And I’m ready to do the same thing now. But this time, I swear, if you fire me or demote me for my weight, I’ll slap a lawsuit on you quicker than you can say ‘discrimination.’”


Emily sipped at her coffee, reading her book. Nearby, several foolish young things sat, giggling and chatting about their plans for the upcoming weekend. One turned to her. “So, Em,” the petite blonde called out. “Plan on doing anything with your family this weekend?” She laughed and covered her mouth, pretending to be embarrassed by her words, then added, “Oops, I forgot, you don’t have a family.”

Emily calmly closed her book, looked up at the tittering young women, and slowly rose. Looking the foolish girl in the eyes, she said, “I do have a family, just not children. And you want to know why, Karen?”

“No, why?”

“Because I don’t want them to end up being mindless imbeciles like you,” Emily responded, walking away.

The group of women snickered, and one of them muttered, “What the hell is her problem?”


Emily rolled her eyes and pressed the button for the elevator. She sighed and tapped her foot, waiting impatiently. Need to get back to my office, she thought. Lia’s supposed to send the shots sometime today.

Emily Desjardin-Rivers. Though she was a well-known writer, several years before, she’d started up a magazine that had, despite dire expectations of critics, become extremely popular. Reality Magazine, which was created with adolescent and young adult females, focused on self-confidence and happiness. There was minimal advertising in the magazine, and what little there was advertised was neither beauty product nor for diet, but instead new books, delicious food products, and other such items. There were no airbrushed images of emaciated models, but instead, candid photos of various female role models, ranging from celebrities to community leaders. The magazine, in a nutshell, was designed to be a foil to all of the mindless material in other magazines.

“Other magazines sell the products they advertise by making their readers feel bad. They make their readers think that they’re ugly, in horrible relationships, and are fat,” Emily had explained once. “I wanted to create an antidote to that, something that people could read to feel empowered.”

And, indeed, the magazine had thrived and was now one of the most successful. Yet, even with the success, Emily was still unhappy. Her coworkers and employees, it seemed, still had not grown out of that high school mentality. They joked about her appearance and, more frequently, her lack of children. Emily had no desire for children and often made it clear. “If I want something cute to love on, I’ll get another pet,” she often said. Louie, similarly, felt that he lacked the patience and responsibility to care for a child, and, indeed, often said that it would be irresponsible for them to have a child that they could not properly care for and raise.

I just wish they could understand that, Emily thought bitterly. Louie and me… and all our friends… we are a family, kids or not. If they could just understand that!


AJ sighed and squinted at his watch. She’s running late, he thought. I hope nothing bad happened. He looked up and saw her walking through the door, looking somewhat unhappy. Quickly, he rose and pulled out the chair for her, and she sat down.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “But before you tell me, let me just say, you look great.”

“AJ, you saw me last week,” Ophelia replied, rolling her eyes. “But, thanks. And you know what I’m upset about.”

“Look, I’m sure that Cy will understand.”

“I don’t want her to think she’s a bad partner,” Ophelia said, shaking her head.

“It’s not like you guys can’t afford it.”

“It’s not just that… I don’t want the donors to be some strangers. I want them to be people I know… people I trust. You know?”

“Yeah, I understand.”

“So, how’s Tiff and the kids?”

“Tiff’s doing good. Jane turned ten last week, Eva got all A’s on her last report card, and Leah is… well, she’s still acting like you.”


Ophelia chuckled a little at this. “I still can’t believe you and Tiff named your kid after me… sort of.”

“Well, when she was born, she looked so much like you, Tiff said, ‘AJ, she looks like Lia!’”

AJ and Ophelia laughed and chatted. AJ had a good life; he was successful doctor and married, with three lovely daughters. Yet, even with all of this, he felt as though something was missing. He couldn’t put his finger on it; the closest he could come to figuring it out was during these lunches with Ophelia.

Maybe, if things had been different, he often thought. But he had no intention of interfering with Ophelia’s relationship with Cy. Those two are happy together. It would be wrong to tear them apart. And, yet, it stung to know that happiness was so close, and yet, so far away.