Fat Dad Club, part 1 (Patreon)

CARL

‘“I wanna thank you all for coming…” No, that’s too, I don’t know, formal. I’m not hosting a ceremony or anything…,’ Carl muttered to himself. ‘How about “Hey, everybody! How’s it going? So pumped you could make it!”… Too high-energy? I don’t wanna come off manic or desperate or something…’

He sat alone at the back of this trendy coffee-come-book-store, hoping the table he’d reserved would be big enough to house… well, he didn’t know how many folks were coming, exactly. This was an experiment of sorts, you could say.

‘“Welcome to Fat Dad Club”,’ he rehearsed. ‘Should I have called it that?’ He’d thought it light-hearted and humorous when he first cooked it up, but what if it hurt someone’s feelings?

He’d ask. Better to make sure.

‘“Hi, I’m Carl. I’m 44, divorced and overweight” - No, that’s too… What’s the word? Needy? Or just plain old Sad?’

He blew out his cheeks and shook his hands to get some of the tension out. Carl had posted the ad up online and it’d garnered some interest: “Just a little social gathering for local fat dads of Maupinton.” Somewhere to talk, hang out, grab a coffee or a bite maybe. But now the time had come to actually meet these guys.

To meet new people.

‘C’mon, Carl, you can do this,’ he whispered to himself, still shaking out his fingertips.

Someone was approaching. A tall, older man in a pressed white suit. He was certainly the right shape for Fat Dad Club. Perhaps 300 pounds or so. And truth be told, he looked a little like… No, that was unfair even to think.

Carl rose from his seat, brushed down some nonexistent lint from his XL polo shirt and reached out his hand.

‘Hi, I’m divorced! I mean - I’m Carl!’

He wanted to die on the spot.

The older man looked somewhat bemused behind his thick glasses but shook the offered hand nonetheless.

‘I’m Henry,’ he said in a deep voice. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘And you too,’ Carl replied. ‘You too. Sorry about the - uh, I mean, I am divorced, but that’s not… You already got coffee, I see… cos I was gonna ask…’

Good grief, this thing hadn’t even started yet and he was already jabbering.

‘It looks as though I’m the first to arrive,’ Henry noted, seating himself at the round table and unbuttoning his suit jacket to allow his considerable girth to spread as he sat.

‘Yes! Yes, that’s… that is true, yes.’ Carl dabbed a sprinkling of perspiration from his forehead with a tissue from his back pocket before resuming his seat.

‘Do you expect a large showing?’ Henry asked him.

‘Uh, you know, I don’t know… I’m not sure,’ Carl said. ‘Some people on the Facebook group expressed interest, but you never, uh… you never can quite tell.’

Henry uttered a polite little chuckle that was almost certainly intended to assuage the nervy atmosphere Carl was practically pumping out in force.

Good gosh, Carl wished his heart would calm down. Had he drunk too much coffee?

It wasn’t the coffee and he darned well knew it.

This cafe-bookstore place was quiet. That’s why he’d picked it. Typical for the town of Maupinton, it was all brickwork turn-of-the-century on the outside, and clean and modern inside. Only a small handful of customers were milling about here and there, perusing bookshelves or ordering complicated lattés. Through the open storefront came another couple of bigger guys, one larger than the other but both fitting the bill pretty well. When it became obvious they were headed for the reserved table, Carl stood again to greet them.

‘Are you… Boony and Gus?’ he asked, recognizing them from their tiny Facebook thumbnails. He was pretty sure they were a couple.

The larger, darker-haired of the two smiled and nodded.

Then his fairer-headed partner spoke up. ‘Yup,’ he said. ‘Or Gus and Boony, if you prefer, haha. I’m Gus.’

‘Thanks for coming,’ Carl replied, sipping coffee (hoping he didn’t slurp) for strength. ‘Please, take a seat.’

The couple did so, and Henry nodded to the pair of them and put out his hand.

‘How do you do? I’m Henry.’

‘You remind me of-‘ Boony, the larger of the couple, went to say.

‘Henry Haggerty?’ Gus exclaimed. ‘Are you Henry Haggerty?’

Henry blinked a couple times. ‘Why, uh, yes I am.’

‘My mom has all your books,’ Gus continued. ‘Even though we never had much of a garden, haha!’

This whole exchange confused the heck out of Carl. But then bewilderment turned to recognition.

… Henry Haggerty…

‘Wait, you used to be on the TV,’ he stated, and felt immediately dumb for saying it; of course Henry already knew this. He didn’t need it pointing out.

‘What? That’s so cool,’ Boony began.

‘Sunday mornings, Channel 7, the gardening segment on ‘Hello Morning’’, the fair-haired Gus said, before adding proudly, ‘I used to watch it every Sunday as a kid.’

Henry gave a short smile. ‘Well that’s… That’s very touching, that you would remember that.’

As far as Carl could make out, Henry Haggerty’s hair had turned to whipped-cream-white, and he’d gained a significant amount of weight since his TV and book days. Retirement pounds, if Carl had to hazard a guess, and plenty of them. He made Carl feel all the slimmer for sitting next to him, which Carl supposed should be a good thing.

There followed some idle chit chat between the four large fellows while more coffees were ordered. Darker-haired Boony was a high school teacher, it turned out, Gus a theater director; they were married. Henry didn’t outright say he was retired, but kind of gave off that vibe, as well as looking a lot like… Carl stalled that thought. It wasn’t polite.

And anyway, he knew what he must do. He took another fortifying sip. He was the one who’d amassed them all here, Fat Dad Club being his idea and all. He should be the one to speak up first. He took a deep breath in through the nose and braced himself.

‘I suppose I’ll make a start, if that’s alright?’ Henry suddenly spoke up, addressing the table.

Carl let the breath slide back out of him, his rotund body sagging with relief.

‘My name is Henry,’ Henry went on, ‘and yes I used to write horticulture books and present a little gardening segment on Channel 7, though that was rather a long time ago. And yes, I am aware - I’ve been told - that I bear something of a passing resemblance to Colonel Sanders these days, though I’m afraid I cannot procure any free chicken.’ And he paired this with an awkward laugh.

Carl suspected it was meant to be some kind of ice-breaking joke and that he was expected join in, so added his own polite chortle. As did the married couple, which looked to appease Henry.

‘As for the, uh, “Fat Dad” part,’ Henry made air quotes with his thick fingers, ‘as you can see, I am on the, ah, portlier side, shall we say. Heavier than my television days, most certainly. And my two children are all grown up. They flew the nest many years ago. One works in Des Moines, the other in Germany presently.’ He paused and floundered a tad. ‘I don’t, uh… I don’t know how much else I’m supposed to, ah…’

‘Oh, no, you’re fine!’ Carl piped up. ‘Just whatever you want to - Or don’t want to say! This is just meant to be-‘ What, exactly? Carl didn’t want them thinking this was some kind of support group or anything. He’d just thought it could be a friendly social thing.

Something to get me out of the house.

‘- you know, breezy,’ he finished, instantly wishing he’d used any other word.

Breezy? Really?

Henry nodded. This whole time, Carl couldn’t quite parse what the man’s expression was. Reserved, perhaps, or guarded? No, that wasn’t it. He was pleasant enough. It was more like… more like Resolve.

‘Well, I still like to keep my thumbs green, as it were,’ Henry continued. ‘Though I’m a little less active than I once was.’ And he gently patted the generous belly filling his lap; his crisp white shirt working hard to contain it. He made to go on, but stopped himself short, looking once more to the doorway, another newcomer having caught his attention.

‘Am I late? Did you guys get started already?’

A tattooed man in a vest top that revealed strong arms and did nothing to hide the burgeoning beer belly beneath strode toward the group. His hair was of an untamed style and below his facial hair was the beginnings of some extra chin.

He took up the seat between Carl and Gus, panting slightly, and flashed a cheeky grin.

‘Sorry, I’m Joe.’

All was silent for a moment; Carl noted the others taking in this newcomer.

‘Uh, welcome, Joe,’ Carl said. ‘We were just, uh, just getting started. Henry here was telling us a little bit about himself.’

‘Oh cool,’ Joe said, relaxing back, letting his beer belly protrude forward, its flesh poking out beneath the hem of his tank. ‘Don’t let me stop you, man. Hey you know you kinda look like the KFC guy, haha.’

‘I, ah… Yes, I was just…’ Henry seemed flustered by this, his train of thought thoroughly derailed. ‘Well, I was just… I suppose that about covers it for me, for now.’

‘Hey, do they do food in this place? You guys hungry? I’m starving,’ Joe said, and rather than wait for an answer, he simply called out to the server at the bar area, ‘Hey, you guys got anything to eat?’

The server looked both annoyed and amused by this at once.

‘Cakes, mostly, and pastries,’ she called back.

‘Sounds good, bud. Could you bring a bunch over? I can give you my card.’ Joe then addressed the table, ‘It’s Fat Dad Club, right? We got a reputation to uphold, haha!’

Even though this was the inaugural Fat Dad Club meeting, which had been in session for all of 30 minutes, Joe having been here for 5 of them.

Carl thought he caught one of the married guys, Gus, staring at Joe’s arms. He had to admit the tattoos looked intriguing.

He didn’t know if he felt any more or less up for speaking now, Henry hardly having warmed up the crowd, but Carl knew it was time… His turn…

‘Well, thank, uh, thank you all for coming,’ he started, immediately forgetting everything he’d rehearsed. ‘I’m Carl. I’m, uh, 44 years old. I’m a financial adviser. I live, uh… Well, I was living with my mom but she moved out recently, went down to Florida with her friends. Well, before that I was living with my wife and daughter - she’s off to college now, actually - My daughter, not my wife - I mean my ex-wife…’ This was all coming out at random like gobbledegook. He was waffling. And sweating.

‘Oh, right on!’ the tattooed Joe sat up as cakes and baked goods arrived, the server deftly unloading a half dozen plates onto the table.

‘Oh, thank God,’ Carl said. ‘I mean, thank - thank you.’ And he relinquished one of his dreaded chuckles; a sound like something a cartoon character would make.

‘Get involved, my dudes,’ Joe said, laying his hands immediately around a large raspberry danish and biting down. ‘Carl, carry on, man, I’m sorry,’ he added with his mouthful. ‘You were saying?’

There was trepidation, but Henry and Boony both ‘got involved’, with a banana muffin and cream horn respectively.

‘Uh, well, you know…,’ Carl resumed. Joe’s dismemberment of sweet flaky pastry was distracting his already wavering focus. ‘You know how it is. I was married, put on a few husband-pounds. Had a kid, put on a few more…’ He managed to turn the dread chuckle into more of a human-sounding laugh at the last minute.

But apparently Carl’s words had resonated with the group; they laughed along, Joe rubbed the curve of his own bloated beerbelly and added, ‘Damned right, haha!’

‘And, as I say, I live on my own now and it’s just too easy to keep eating, heh,’ Carl went on, relieved to have the crowd nodding along. ‘You know, you try to lose it, but something happens when you turn, oh, I don’t know, 35 or so? Start feeling settled. Having that extra cookie or two, heh.’

‘Or three or four!’ Joe interjected, tearing into a new danish, this time custard.

‘I joined a gym and never went…,’ Carl said.

‘Now that does sound familiar,’ Henry lamented.

‘And I’m still paying for the darned membership!’ Carl exclaimed with a smile, beginning to feel buoyed by the reception his words were garnering.

‘We’re both gonna start jogging,’ Gus spoke up. ‘We’re gonna start next week.’

‘That’s what I said,’ Carl grimaced, not unkindly. ‘Then ‘next week’ turned into ‘next month’ and then ‘next month’ turned into-‘

‘Yeah but we’re really gonna do it, though,’ Gus shot back. ‘And I’m hiring us a trainer too.’ He added quietly to Boony, ‘Babe, you really shouldn’t eat that. You’ve had enough.’ And he plucked the second cupcake from his partner’s hand and placed it back with the other sweet treats. Boony just nodded quietly.

‘We’ve been married for 7 years now,’ Gus proclaimed, ‘and I kept the weight off. But then we adopted our daughter a couple years ago and that’s when it really went south for me. There’s just no time to keep in shape! I started to turn into a “fat dad”’ He pulled a face at speaking this phrase. ‘But now our daughter’s starting school, we can concentrate on looking good again.’

In the ensuing silence, Gus filled it with, ‘We just moved here to Maupinton. We’re actually a New York couple originally, so…’ As though this explained everything.

Carl found himself wondering what that even meant, but said nothing.

‘Well, you know, that’s cool and all,’ Joe retorted, now on his third pastry. ‘You guys do you, man. But me? I’m enjoying the ride, haha.’ And he gave his belly a mighty slap, issuing a drum-like sound. ‘No guilt. No nothing. I’m just - Sorry, I should probably do the whole ‘proper introduction’ thing first, huh?’

‘Oh, uh… whatever you want - or feel comfortable with, that is,’ Carl responded, just glad his turn was up, in all honesty.

‘As I said, like, I’m José but most everyone calls me Joe. Or Ho, haha,’ Joe laughed.

Carl suppressed the dreaded chuckle with middling success. Henry looked like he’d missed the joke.

Joe went on, ‘I work at the garage downtown - Monkey-Wheelers. Me and my wife just had a little baby girl, so it’s like all the ‘new parent’ stuff at the moment, you know what I mean? Like changing diapers and midnight bottles and all that stuff. You guys know all about that, I guess.’

Carl and Henry said ‘Yes’ while Gus said ‘No’ in the same moment. Boony remained silent.

‘I put on the dad-pounds and I’m not even mad about it,’ Joe continued smoothly. ‘It’s just been easier, you know, kinda getting in on the take-outs, the late night snacks, couple beers after a long day, haha. Cos before I was all like ‘I gotta bench, bro’, ‘I gotta watch my carbs’, and now I’m like ‘Fuck it, this is great!’ Haha.’

Carl felt a smirk emerging on his face. He glimpsed across to an entirely unimpressed Gus. Henry was politely cutting his lemon-drizzle cake up into smaller slices with a knife and fork.

‘Like, for me it was like ‘Why am I still swimming upstream?’ You know what I mean?’ Joe asked the group at large. ‘Why am I fighting it? Maybe this is, like, nature’s way or whatever. Carl, you said it, about settling down and all. Colonel, maybe you too? What if we’re, like, just meant to get to this point in life where the body wants what it wants, you know what I’m saying? The belly wants out, haha. It wants to grow!’

Although Gus had crossed his arms, each of the dads were fully attentive on Joe’s words now.

‘José, could you… tell us more about that?’ Henry inquired, leaning forward.

Carl had to admit, he was kinda fascinated too.

‘Okay, so I know everyone says you gotta lose weight, you gotta worry worry worry all the time, right?’ Joe carried on between bites of danish. ‘And that’s cool and all if you wanna be like that. But I’m telling you, dudes, once I stopped worrying and learned to embrace the belly… it’s been like a whole nother world.’ He laughed a large, genuine laugh. ‘Fucking Christ, man, I’m SO much happier. I eat what I want, when I want, like, I’m not a slob or anything, but I just… Stopped. Fucking. Worrying.’ He leaned back and rested his hands behind his back, letting his dad-gut emerge in full from beneath his vest. ‘Plus, you know, girls fucking love a dadbod, man. Did you know that? Like, I don’t go around doing anything with them, but I’m telling you - This bad boy gets attention!’

And once more he proudly cradled his circular stomach while the others listened, rapt, to this strange new concept.

That evening Carl stepped, heavy and tired, into his apartment, his head full of the day.

Fat Dad Club had been… a success, perhaps? Could he call it that? Everyone seemed to have enjoyed themselves once they got into the swing of it (except maybe that Gus guy), and they’d disbanded on the assumption that there would be another meeting soon. Carl saw that as a win, for sure. And he hadn’t screwed up the public speaking too bad. At least he hadn’t done that thing where he accidentally merged two words together (he cringed nightly over the time he’d once said “thanksuch” to a waitress).

He slipped off his shoes as his cat trotted into the hall and wisped between his legs. Carl picked him up, cradled him against his tubby moob.

‘You been a good kitty while I’ve been gone, huh, Spot?’

Spot meowed.

‘Probably been wondering where Dad’s been.’ Carl plodded into the kitchen. ‘Not your usual routine.’

Or mine.

He relinquished Spot in order to pour some kitty treats into the cat bowl, which Spot instantly gravitated towards. Then Carl took a Microwave Lasagna For One out of the fridge, and poured himself a Diet Coke. As he set the little boxed meal spinning slowly in the microwave, he thought on Joe’s words.

Joe was a hoot alright. Eating his fill and loving every minute. He was crazy, but it put a smile on (almost) everyone’s faces. The way he just didn’t care. Heck, the guy was proud of that beer belly he was sporting. Carl had never met anyone like that before.

As the lasagna hummed and spun, he looked down to his own dad-belly bulging against the fabric of his sensible polo. He felt at his pudgy body, laid his hands against the curvature of his bulbous stomach. A couple pats for the heck of it.

It wasn’t so much that he’d ever disliked being large, per se (his ex-wife had disliked it enough for the both of them). But you weren’t supposed to like it either, were you? Everyone expects you to be thin. And if you’re not thin you should be trying to get thin. And if you can’t even do that, then… what? You’re not allowed to be happy?

The microwave dinged, and Carl prepared to sit down with his dinner and stick on Star Trek (The Next Generation, of course - the best one). He made himself comfortable and started up the TV. It was a Ferengi episode, not one of his favorites, but that’s where he was up to on this umpteenth retread of the whole series, and he couldn’t watch them out of order. That would be unthinkable.

During Captain Picard’s opening monologue, however, Carl’s thoughts ran back to Joe’s attitude. Back to food. He stared down at his lasagna, and considered the idea of two puddings tonight instead of one. Wouldn’t that be more enjoyable?

”Why fight it?” That’s what Joe had said.

Two desserts wasn’t part of Carl’s usual routine. It was… unorthodox. But then starting up Fat Dad Club wasn’t part of his routine either. And hadn’t that been the point? To push himself out of this apartment? Out of his comfort zone?

Carl’s ex-wife used to say his idea of excitement was rearranging the sock drawer, and that if he ever broke from his routine he’d die of shock.

Well, I showed you, didn’t I? I started up a club and met a bunch of new people. And they all had a good time. And they wanna do it again.

He had a selection of sponge cakes in the pantry; they’d been on offer at the store. The plan had been to try a different one each night after dinner (he’d already mentally assigned a flavor to each day of the week). But now Carl was thinking of the vanilla cream cake AND the triple chocolate.

Without even realizing, Carl had finished the lasagna and was absently rubbing his belly, now warm and content.

Stop worrying had been Joe’s message. And look at him - that was one happy man.

Well, you know what? Pudding made Carl happy. He stood up, grabbed his plate and paused Commander Riker mid-speech.

Carl was gonna have that vanilla cream sponge dessert, and then the triple chocolate, and then he might even have the rum and raisin, darnit!

As he marched into the pantry, he thought that starting up Fat Dad Club had been a good idea. A very good idea indeed.