This choice: Better try to borrow some jeans—Reagan won't go softly into that good night · Go Back...
Now, for a girl as lazy as Reagan, the initial response to this predicament had been to throw on a pair of leggings and call it a night.
But after having spent so long fucking with Uma, and with her own weight now on the rise, Reagan was much more against settling for the easy way out on this matter. To do so may as well have been tantamount to signing over her figure right then and there. Then where would she be? Wearing sweatpants to the club? No thank you. Reagan wasn't about to let herself go to Fatsville, at least not without a fight.
There had to be a pair of jeans that she could squeeze into somewhere in this stupid house.
The differences in everyone's general shape made this a bit more difficult than it ought to have been. In a perfect world, Audrey might have been more bottom-heavy like her sisters (but then, in a perfect world, Reagan wouldn't be in this situation in the first place!) and she could have spotted her a set of jeans.
Phoebe was unfortunately skinnier than Reagan. As identical as they were, they unfortunately didn't share a waist size anymore. And to try squeezing into one of her twin's jeans would have been... well... embarrassing.
Since Uma was at work, that left only one other option...
"You want to borrow my jeans?" Chel snorted, "What the fuck, Rae, do you think you'll fit?"
It had taken Reagan a fraction of a second to realize that her cousin wasn't mocking her for her weight gain, but was rather taking shots at her own chubby hips and blubbery belly. The homicide in Reagan's eyes faded when she'd realized this, but she hadn't unclenched her fists yet.
"I think that I've still got an older pair around here..." Chel made a face as she pushed away from her desk, "You know, for motivation."
Ixchel had handed her cousin a pair of black boot cut Levi's, well-worn and broken in. It had dawned on Reagan that her cousin had been a fair bit more thick around the bottom half than anyone had given her credit for. Those Mexican genes had done well to give Chel a padded rear end and an ample chest, albeit at the cost of a perpetually soft tummy. A tummy that, as she crested north of two hundred pounds, only looked to be getting bigger...
"You grew out of these?" Reagan asked with some surprise, "I saw you wearing them, like, a month ago."
"Yeah, well..." Chel's lips tugged to the side as she gave her hoodie-covered tummy a slap, "...what can I say?"
"I heard that." Reagan laughed weakly, "Happens to the best of us, I guess."
"Yeah, and you." Chel stuck out her tongue, "Why don't you try 'em on? Make sure that they fit?"
Chel had the biggest closet in the house. Which was awkward, and a little infuriating to the more fashion-conscious housemates like Reagan.
It was a big, walk-in affair that made Reagan grumble in jealousy every time that she set foot inside of it. She and Phoebe could have made so much better use of this space, and Chel could have split their rooms into a bedroom and office. If they had moved in first, you could bet your bottom dollar that this closet would have been split down the middle between the two of them.
Chel didn't even have that many clothes! She was one of those people who liked to dress "comfortably". Just a bunch of wide-cut jeans and baggy tops. Sure there were some cute things in here, but even in her time of duress, it was all Reagan could think about that the least fashionable member of the family got the most space to store her clothes.
Clothes like the jeans she was getting ready to try on.
Ugh, what a bad night.
"Okay." Reagan closed her eyes and took a sharp inhale, "Let's do this..."
Reagan slipped her feet through the holes and pulled the boot-cut sleeves over her legs. Taking either hand and pulling up on the belt loops, Reagan conformed the faded black denim to the contours of her body.
Taking the button between her forefinger and thumb, Reagan closed her eyes and prayed silently that Chel's pants would fit...
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