First Love: The Love of a Good Woman, #1

By Momi Robins and Momi Robins-Makaila

Paige is just a sweet girl; the girl next door from a small hometown on O'ahu, in Hawaii. Like all little girls, what she wanted was simple; she wanted to be loved and adored, happy and carefree. But at the ripe age of five, she already learned that life was nothing but, simple or carefree.

While some girls dreamed of the beautiful wedding, the handsome and loving husband, the white-picket-fence, two-point-five children, and God-ordained kind-of-love, Paige wanted nothing of the sort.

 

Her parents' abusive relationship was the motivation to avoid love at all costs. She vowed that she wouldn't become like her weak and submissive mother, who couldn't stand up for herself. She vowed she'd never take the risk of loving a man like her abusive father, who touted apologies and empty promises.

From the day Lance, the new boy, stepped foot into her middle school classroom, his adoration for Paige was evident, but to everyone else except her. No matter how many obvious cues he dispatched over the years, she remained steadfast against love and romance, laser-focused on her professional goals, refusing to acknowledge his advances.

 

When one of her parent's many vicious fights leaves her mom, hospitalized, battered and bruised, Paige lets her guard down, allowing Jason's opportune advance, leaving her life's plans thwarted by one careless night on a white sandy beach, under a full moon. Paige is pushed on a path to a decade-long love triangle that causes her to doubt everything she'd ever believed.

A traffic jam after a salon appointment to freeze fat cells from her thighs incites the reluctant trip down memory lane; inspiration to see her life through new lenses.

Can Paige have a God-ordained kind-of-love?

Is there such a thing?

Find out!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Momilani Enterprises
• Release date: Aug 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393119821

Book preview

By Momi Robins

COPYRIGHT © 2020 MOMI Robins-Makaila.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the website address contact form.

Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

Front cover image by Masina Sausi.

Printed in the United States of America. First printing edition 2020.

Momi Robins-Makaila

Momilani Enterprises

Kapolei, Hawaii, 96707

www.momirobins.com

For God and Family...

and for you, the reader of this book, I pray that my stories will entertain and inspire you to live your best life; the life God has destined for you.

If you enjoy First Love, I’m happy to offer you my second Christian Romance Novel,

Trusting Our Love,

absolutely

FREE

I’ll offer you another opportunity to get your

FREE DOWNLOAD, at the end of Paige’s story.

Preface

IF YOU'RE LIKE ME, you want to love yourself, to have balance in your life, to experience real joy, to walk confidently with purpose, and to know who you are and what you have is enough, and you want real love. You want reminders of the truth that love conquers all, no matter the obstacles.

Whether you're reading my memoir, Christian romances, or middle-grade novels, my goal is to take you on an enjoyable journey of discovery, relationship, and personal growth.

In my memoir, I hope that my willingness to be transparent and honest about real struggles empowers you, by the grace of God to embrace your own struggles with honesty and without fear. 

In my sweet and provocative Christian romance novels, the characters are relatable and interesting. You'll love and hate them; cry and laugh with them.

Woven throughout the fanciful, entertaining journeys in my 'coming-of-age' novels for middle grade and young adult audiences are lessons to inspire the understanding of one's self, perseverance, trust, faith, and overcoming obstacles in the face of fierce adversity. I hope you enjoy them. 

Sincerely, thank you for picking up my books and sharing this journey with me. If you'd like, visit www.momirobins.com and drop me a line.   Momi

Introduction

Paige is just a sweet girl; the girl next door from a small hometown on O’ahu, in Hawaii. Like all little girls, what she wanted was simple; she wanted to be loved and adored, happy and carefree. But at the ripe age of five, she already learned that life was nothing but, simple or carefree.

While some girls dreamed of the beautiful wedding, the handsome and loving husband, the white-picket fence, two-point-five children, and God-ordained kind-of-love, Paige wanted nothing of the sort.

Her parents’ abusive relationship was motivation to avoid love at all costs. She vowed that she wouldn’t become like her weak and submissive mother, who couldn’t stand up for herself. She vowed she’d never take the risk of loving a man like her abusive father, who touted apologies and empty promises.

From the day Lance, the new boy, stepped foot into her middle school classroom, his adoration for Paige was evident, but to everyone else except her. No matter how many obvious cues he dispatched over the years, she remained steadfast against love and romance, laser focused on her professional goals, refusing to acknowledge his advances.

When one of her parent’s many vicious fights leaves her mom, hospitalized, battered and bruised, Paige lets her guard down, allowing Jason’s opportune advance, leaving her life’s plans thwarted by one careless night on a white sandy beach, under a full moon. Paige is pushed on a path to a decade-long love triangle that causes her to doubt everything she’d ever believed.

A traffic jam after a salon appointment to freeze fat cells from her thighs incites the reluctant trip down memory lane; inspiration to see her life through new lenses.  

Can Paige have a God-ordained kind-of-love? Is there such a thing?

YOU’LL FIND OUT...

Chapter 1

Looking Back

"I WAS THIRTEEN YEARS old the first time I saw a speck of cottage cheese­–like cellulite on my thigh. I remember looking at my body in the brightly lit Strawberry Shortcake–decorated bathroom I shared with my younger sister. It didn’t matter much then. That was before it all changed. Decades later, the cottage cheese on my little-girl-turned-young-woman-turned-mother thighs bothers me quite a bit. That damn ugly pest lay dormant for thirteen years, yet once it reared its ugly head, like rabbits on steroids, it multiplied with a fricken vengeance. I’m five-feet-five-inches tall and one hundred thirty pounds. I’m pretty healthy (been called a MILF), but that damn cottage cheese makes me feel like an imposter. No matter what the heck I do, I can't seem to get rid of it. It's been killing me slowly with its poison, sucking the life out of me. Unlike my young self, I can no longer open my eyes while staring into the bathroom mirror without my right eyebrow twitching uncontrollably. 

I guess that’s why I’m lying here, mummified in cheesecloth, hoping to shrink my ass and thighs as much as I can in an hour. If the scorching heat doesn't get to the deposits of fat on my thighs, it'll extinguish some brain cells, for sure. God knows the effects of the sun-like heat and synthetic chemicals soaking into my epidermis. That damn fricken cellulite and the lengths I'll go to get rid of it, pathetic. That's why I have to tie a jacket around my waist and pretend it looks cool. That's why no matter how much I work on myself; I can't seem to like what I see. That's why I have to have sex with the lights off. Oh, wait, what's sex? Oh, wait...maybe it’s not the cottage cheese that makes me feel like a fricken imposter. Maybe it’s the half-of-a-decade-old hiking trail carved into my belly. No matter how much I tell myself that path is evidence of childbirth and motherhood—my badge of courage—it doesn’t work. I still feel like my life is passing me by, robbing me of total happiness. I love my grandma, but I am a hundred percent hottie held captive in a grandma’s body.

This body image dysphoria is simply one of my many issues. How am I going to find my second ‘soulmate’ with all this bullshit going on inside my mind? It's no wonder I've had one big fat failure after another: I haven’t spoken a kind word to my dad in years, and other than my kiddo, I don’t have any prospects of a stable intimate relationship. You'd think since I got that one stubborn gray hair that keeps popping up in the middle of my head, that one strand that glistens in the sunlight, I’d have gotten this self-esteem thing under wraps—doesn’t gray hair mean wisdom? Even if it’s only one hair, I should feel wiser.

Okay, stop feeling sorry for yourself, Paige. You’re alright. You are God’s precious child. You can do all things in Christ, who strengthens you, you dumb ass! Has it been an hour yet? I swear I’m going to bust open. I hope they didn’t forget about me."

Knock, knock. The subtle sound of knuckles against the tiny, dome-shaped human kiln startled her. You okay in there? the dainty technician, who looked too young to buy a pack of cigs, asked as she knocked on the chamber's roof.

Paige cleared her throat to lighten the raspy sound of her alto voice.

I’m fine. Just excited to not see the fat on my thunder thighs, she remarked.

From inside the tube, the clanging staccato sounds of the opening hinges magnified in her ears.

Honestly, I can't see how you think that. You are a beautiful woman, answered the sweet girl whose name tag read ‘Rachel from California.’

You are lovely to say that, but I know you say it to all your customers, Paige said in a slightly less than facetious tone.

No, Paige. I’m not kidding. You look great, honestly, she replied, nodding her head affirmatively. Seriously, Paige, what are you like, 28?

A few more years than that, Paige joked.

Well, working here, I see a lot of things. Two-hundred-fifty-pound women come in here, expecting to shed a hundred pounds in a one-hour session. Then there's the one-hundred-ten-pound woman who is mortified by the dime-size dimple on her butt. You fall near that end of the spectrum, undoubtedly!

Paige shifted her head toward the floor, timidly. Her cheeks lifted into her eyes as she emitted a subtle,

Awe.

As her feet welcomed the cold tile, she grabbed Rachel's arm to brace herself from toppling over. The stars spinning around in her mind slowly faded as she acclimated to being outside of the dome. Once she stood upright with her feet firmly planted on the floor, she thanked the dainty technician. Rachel from California, that is sweet of you to say. Rachel held a terry cloth bathrobe like a curtain for Paige to slip on as she stood upright. I feel lighter already, Paige chuckled, blinking her eyes to expedite adaption to the new environment. I’ll be better when I get these wraps off me, though, she smirked.

I’m sure you will be, Paige, I’m sure you will be. She flashed a kittenish wink. Rachel held on to Paige, assisting her toward the restroom down the dimly lit hallway.

I’m fine, Paige said, holding both palms out toward the floor to balance herself.

I know you got this, but humor me, please, so my boss doesn’t fire me. Protocols are important here.

Paige chuckled. Sure. I guess I can let go for a little while and let someone take care of me for once. Take care of me, then. If you insist, here you are. Paige held her arms out for Rachel to assist. Rachel laughed.

Prompted by her daydreams down memory lane while she lay still in the fat-burning dome attempting to rid her thighs of the little bit of lard that somehow attached itself to her body, she wished other mistakes were that easy to free from her life's existence. Amazingly, science had advanced enough that fat could be squeezed from the body as if it were never there—with no scars, no downtime. At least that's what they say. We shall see, she mused. "It would be delightful to erase emotional scars and dumb decisions like that," Paige ruminated. "Wouldn't that be a scientific breakthrough if it were possible to melt away heartache? I could be a multi-millionaire if I had a pill powerful enough to do that," she pondered, popping the Prozac she forgot to take before her visit to the salon.

All good. Ready to start the rest of my day, she sighed as she left the bathroom and her soaked wraps—hopefully, soaked with the fat she was leaving behind.

Paige took a deep breath before starting the engine. Ok, this day is going to be a great one. As she reversed from the stall in the parking lot of the salon, Paige chided herself, remembering the busy day she had ahead. Why do I always wait until the very last minute to finish all the party arrangements? Her bad habit of procrastination was something else she hadn’t yet been able to nip in the bud. As she thought about Peyton’s birthday and how the arrangements weren’t gonna make themselves, she tugged on her daily to-do folder stuck in the handle of her purse, swung it open to the bookmarked page, and laid it down on the passenger seat—all while attempting to give her driving most of her attention. After flipping three pages backward, her fingers found the list of ‘Peyton’s Birthday Party To-Dos.’ Invitations, check; order food, check; order cake, check; table centerpieces, check; balloons, check; five number one candles, check. The list was long, with a check next to most items, but there were still so many remaining, checkless. As her eyes glanced at the next entry on the list, ‘slideshow,’ angst rose in her body like the red line of a thermometer sitting in hot water. She’d been stuck at that entry for days, not wanting to face the memories her life's pictures elicited. She was unsure which period was causing more apprehension—the first four years of Peyton's life or her own childhood.

Although most pictures elicited happiness, many of them had the same effect as the cellulite on her thighs. She contemplated getting rid of them as she had with the fat but knew even if she could, they wouldn't stay gone. The memories remained, etched in her brain.

Four Sterilite containers were buried deep in the storage shed in the corner of the backyard, where she rarely went. At least, that’s where they lived until the slideshow for Peyton's birthday became a priority. Peyton had been through too many hardships. She deserved a fun celebration. This sacrifice was the very least she could do. Paige moved the containers from the shed to the back of her closet a month ago. That was the first step. Like some recovering addicts, she took a considerable amount of time to get from one stage to the next. Oh, gosh. I have, like, two hours to get a slideshow done. I'm so dumb, Paige mumbled to herself.

'Beeeeep! Beeeeeep,' honked the frustrated driver behind. She peered angrily through the rearview window at the car's driver. The flailing of his arms and scowl on his face instantly gave away his impatience. Unsure of how long the red light had been green, her foot slammed on the gas pedal. Shit! she shouted inside the safety of her car, inching her way into the right lane so the impatient driver could pass. If it weren’t for the black tint of her car window, the irritated driver could have easily read the scowl on her face too. Rather than brooding, Paige tapped her fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm until her scowl was gone. Before the chorus, the grimace was wiped off her face for sure. That’s what the right music could do—a strategy she’d developed a long time ago.

With her right hand on the wheel and the elbow of her other arm resting on the car door, her mind wandered again—a common transgression of a struggling wannabe writer on a mission to write something useful, something worthy of publishing she could consider a gift to the world. As she scratched her temple with her fingers and dragged them down the side of her face, she wondered, "If I could tell the younger version of myself what to do to achieve the biggest dreams of my life and avoid all this bullshit and heartache of life’s long, arduous road of ups and downs, I’d do it in a second. I’ve had enough of life’s obstacles. I’m so sick of being alone, a mediocre parent, an unknown real estate beginner, a noncommittal Christian, and ten pounds heavier than I want to be." She exaggerated a sigh, calmed and began twirling the strands of hair lying on her shoulder. Her fingers made multiple rotations before her mind answered her question. "Wait! That's a great idea. But what the hell would I say to myself? What kind of help would I be to my younger self?" She prodded her mind.

As she often did, Paige started a two-way dialogue with herself. "So...," she thought, tapping her fingers against the side of her forehead. If I could instruct the five-, ten-, fifteen-, twenty-year-old version of myself to live well, what would I want to teach her? What would I share? She gasped, slapping her thigh. Ugh! She adjusted on her seat to straighten her naturally poor posture as if that might help the inspiration seep inside. It did. Paige lifted her finger toward the sky. I should share my journals. Then she shrunk into her shoulders again. Ugh. Why would I write about that? Nobody would care. An embittered gasp transpired from her solo conversation. Why would anyone want to read the story of a lonely, slightly overweight, noncommittal Christian woman who is a mediocre mom? Okay. Scratch that idea! Paige shook the brilliant-turned-miserable thought from her mind. The episode of brooding combined with her daughter’s looming birthday celebration and that damn container of pictures sucked any extra energy out of her. God, where's the inspirational music when I need it? she squawked, thumbing through the disappointing selections on the radio. It's my only child's birthday, she conceded.

A semi-inspirational song helped until Paige remembered Peyton’s last birthday party. Jason’s mother’s sister got drunk, and tore Paige’s dress in front of her then-infant child. Jason’s aunt was an interesting character. The mere thought of having to see her sent Paige into a state of panic. Her underarms dripped profusely with sweat. Her heart thumped feverishly, and the only thing that could bring her back down was the end of every visit. His aunt Steph was a big woman. She was broad and tall, so tall she never wore heels, and so wide, her shirts always stretched horizontally. She was an intimidating woman because of her size alone, but when she spoke, her voice was so raspy, she sounded like a man. Jason used to joke that when people called his house, they'd mistake his aunt for his father. It became a family joke listening to her scream at the other end of the line: I am missus, not mister, you idiot! Why Jason’s aunt couldn’t stand Paige was unknown to her, but it was clear to everyone. She sought to embarrass Paige any chance she had. Whenever Jason’s aunt tried to embarrass