Love for Scale (6 page)

Dr. Patel looked at Rachel, concern drawing her eyebrows together into a frown. “I would be very reluctant to recommend such a procedure. It’s very drastic and completely life-altering.”

“I’m
looking
for ‘life-altering,'” Rachel said, smiling.

Dr. Patel shook her head. “No, I mean life-altering as in you can never eat a regular meal again. Your stomach is the size of your thumb, not allowing you more than a few bites of food. And you’d be on vitamin supplements for the rest of your life. Is that what you’re looking for?”

“Would I be thin?” Rachel smirked, realizing she probably wasn’t being rational, but surgery seemed a whole lot easier than months, if not years of dieting. And don’t forget the post-operative lifelong vigilance.

Dr. Patel shook her head, dismissing Rachel’s question. “You said you started Weight Watchers, it’s a good program. Let’s see how you do with that before we start talking about such drastic measures.” She looked down at Rachel’s chart. “What is your goal weight?”

“I figure I’ve got to lose a hundred pounds. Nice round number, pardon the pun.”

For the first time, Rachel saw her doctor smile.

“It’s a long journey, but well worth it. The literature says that even a ten percent reduction in weight has very positive effects. You should start exercising too, that will make you feel better and will help the weight come off faster.” She scribbled something on the chart. “Try swimming, easy on the joints, especially at the beginning when you’re still carrying the extra weight.”

Oh, yay, shopping for bathing suits.
Rachel couldn’t imagine anything she’d rather do less.

“I’ll look into it,” she promised the doctor.

“Keep me posted,” Dr. Patel said, scribbling on the chart again. She looked up, smiling. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” Rachel said, eager to get out of the paper dress.

“Okay, see you again, and good luck!” The doctor smiled and left the room, leaving Rachel alone to get dressed.

Bathing suit shopping, Rachel thought as she pulled on her underwear. Maybe I should have asked for some valium to get me through that horror. Ugh.

Chapter 8

Rachel was jonesing. Sitting in her car waiting for Sheri to come down from her apartment was agony. Usually by now, she would have stopped at the Starbucks drive-through and grabbed a coffee for Sheri and a large mochaccino for herself. Withdrawal was bitter on her tongue. She honked the horn again, the second time in the last minute.

Sheri came bursting out from the double glass doors of the apartment building lobby, her coat half over her shoulders, the untied laces of her boots flying loosely, threatening disaster.

“Someone’s a little impatient today,” she scolded as she got into the passenger seat.

“You’re late,” Rachel snapped, then quickly realized she wasn’t really angry at Sheri. “Sorry, I’m just having a bad morning.”

Sheri glanced down at the cup holder where an unopened bottle of water sat, occupying the spot where her Saturday morning coffee should have been. “Ahh, I understand,” Sheri said sympathetically, nodding. “Where’re we off to today?”

“The place on Cross Street that we were supposed to go to last weekend, Zenia’s Bridals.” The edge was still very sharp in Rachel’s voice.

Sheri just nodded and looked out the window.

* * *

They are waiting very patiently, the saleslady and Sheri
, Rachel thought as she undressed in silence. Sheri had been strangely quiet all morning, which was not like her. Rachel attributed her friend’s silence to her own cranky mood, but it suited her fine. She probably shouldn’t have gotten out of bed at all, but they had missed last week so she had hauled her heavy frame out of bed to fulfill her obligation to spend the day with her friend.

She was in the fitting room, trying to shimmy into a gown that was very obviously a few sizes too small for her. It was a white
David’s Bridal
gown with an empire waist and chiffon overlay. Very beautiful, very delicate.

Although Rachel didn’t feel delicate trying to suck in everything she had to get the size twenty dress up her torso: there was nothing romantic or feminine about that.

“Y’all okay in there, sweetie?” the saleslady asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a second,” Rachel said, trying not to sound out of breath. She finally got the dress over her hips and pulled the top up and slid her arms into the sleeves. The back gaped open and there would be no attempting the zipper for fear of ripping the seams wide open.

She cursed the lack of a mirror in the change room and pulled the curtain aside. The saleswoman stepped forward, tilting her head. “Oh, that’s beautiful.”

Sheri smiled. “It really is, come out and look at it.” She nodded toward the pedestal standing in front of the three-paneled mirror.

Rachel came out of the cubicle and stepped onto the platform, the dress thankfully covering her black socks. The dress
was
beautiful. If only she were smaller. If only she could fit into it and zip it up and see what it was
really
supposed to look like. She took a deep breath, mindful of the unyielding seams, and stared at the mirror, trying to imagine herself in the dress a hundred pounds lighter. Lighter, slimmer and of course, beaming with happiness. She liked what she imagined and was suddenly smiling enough that the saleslady went for the close.

“Shall I take your measurements to put on an order for this one?” she asked, eyebrows raised, red painted lips pursed in a conservative smile.

Rachel was quick to answer. “I’ll have to come back with my mother before I make any decisions.” It was her stock answer to the inevitable question. And it was one hundred percent true: if she was actually engaged and shopping for a wedding dress, no matter how many gowns she had seen and tried on with Sheri, her mother would definitely have to be very involved. That the girls had kept their bridal shop excursions secret from Pearl for all these years was no accident. Rachel had come by her love of all things bridal very honestly and they both knew if Pearl ever found out where they were going almost every Saturday, she wouldn’t admonish them for pathetically playing dress up bride. No, she’d probably turn into a particularly annoying leech, accompanying them and offering her strong (but never solicited) opinions. No thanks.

But this was a dress Rachel could actually see herself walking down the aisle in. Walking toward a man who would be standing, waiting for her under the
chuppah
,
a big smile on his face as he waited to officially join their lives together. Her parents would be there too, walking on either side of her. Her dad would wear a tux and her mother, in Jewish mother tradition, would wear something dark with lots of beads or sequins sewn into it. They would smile and whisper how proud they were of her. And her boisterous Uncle Morty would surely heckle them as they walked by down the aisle. She could just imagine it. It would be perfect.

If only
she
was. Well, she admitted to herself, trying to quell the habit of beating herself up, she was working on it.

Snapping out of her daydream, she turned back to Sheri, instantly sorry for how horrible she’d been acting toward her friend all morning. She decided to throw her a bone. “Did you find anything in fuchsia?” she asked loudly.

Sheri shook her head, her sadness palpable.

The saleslady was stoic, not batting an eyelash. “We did have something last season, but unfortunately, it was discontinued.” Rachel was impressed. Most salespeople cringed when they heard the bride wanted her entire bridal party in fuchsia, right down to bow ties and cummerbunds. It was a cruel trick to play, but highly entertaining. It had been Sheri’s idea.

Rachel sighed for the benefit of the saleslady, “I guess we’ll have to find a dressmaker who can make all nine dresses for us. I don’t suppose it will be difficult finding a pattern. It might be harder finding the fuchsia tulle and that shiny fabric I like, what is that called again?” she squinted at Sheri as she lifted her skirt and stepped down from the pedestal.

“I don’t know, nylon?” Sheri shrugged. “That would look cool, kinda like a pink garbage bag.”

Rachel tipped her head, feigning deep thought. “Hmm, maybe.”

The saleslady blanched.

Ducking into the change room, Rachel couldn’t help her wicked smile. Her mood was definitely improving.

* * *

Always one to find a way to turn a good day bad, Rachel asked Sheri if she didn’t mind wrapping up early at the bridal shop so they could go bathing suit shopping.

Although just the thought of it made her cringe: bathing suit shopping, what was she thinking? Ugh.

“So where are you going to swim?” Sheri asked as they piled back into Rachel’s car and headed back to town, to their neighborhood mall.

“I don’t know, I guess I’ll join the YW. It’s not too far.”

“The YM is closer to you.”

Rachel glanced over to see if Sheri was serious. Apparently she was.       

“What?” Sheri got defensive.

“I’m not going to a pool where there are
men
.” Rachel couldn’t believe she had to even explain.

Sheri shrugged and then after a moment, said, “Hey listen, I wanted to ask you something. Next Saturday Brian wants to take me to Niagara Falls for a romantic weekend.”

“That sounds nice,” Rachel swallowed the ball of jealousy rising in her throat.

“Well I’m really looking forward to going, but I need someone to look after the dogs.” Sheri looked like a begging dog herself the way she widened her eyes and dropped her chin. Rachel wondered how often she used her puppy dog face on Brian.

“Live in or out?” Rachel had taken care of Sunny before, on occasions when Sheri had been afflicted with NBS in the past, eager to run off anytime New Boyfriend asked. Rachel rather liked the little dog, and enjoyed playing house, pretending it was her apartment and her dog, at least for a weekend.

“Your choice. You know you’re more than welcome to stay at my place. But if you could look after Glen—Brian’s dog—also, that would be awesome.”

Well, it’ll get me out of the house
, Rachel thought. “Sure.” She paused, afraid to ask the most important question, “Are we still on for next Saturday morning, though?”

Sheri nodded nonchalantly, “I don’t see why not.”

* * *

Bathing suits are the most basic form of torture any overweight woman can endure, of that Rachel knew for sure. Forget childbirth, forget menopause, she couldn’t imagine any kind of agony measuring up to wiggling in and out of Lycra Spandex suits that no one over a size eight liked to wear anyway. Oh and by the way, you’re going to pay over a hundred dollars for the pleasure. There were suits that promised to hide, but never hid, suits that professed they shaped, but unless hugging rolls of fat was considered
shaping
, Rachel could see no difference. She wanted to run out of the store which catered to models and other skinny types who actually liked bathing suits. Hard to believe some people
liked
bathing suits and even sought them out, but how else could you explain the brightly flowered two-piece outfits hanging off the emaciated mannequins?
Somebody
had to be buying them.

“How was that one?” Sheri said from the other side of the change room curtain.

“Wedding gowns can hide so much.” Rachel frowned into the mirror, looking at the suit. It was a standard, plus-sized, black bathing suit, complete with hard formed breast cups (which buckled from her lack of breasts) and attached skirt which was supposed to cover up large, bulging hips. Yeah, nice try: she looked like a bed with an extra-large dust ruffle. “This is heinous.”

“Let me see.”

“No.” Rachel turned and looked at her ass. Huge.

Sheri tapped her foot. “Rachel, let me see it.”

Pushing open the curtain, Rachel scowled.

Sheri looked her up and down, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. “Turn around.”

Rachel complied.

“Nice panties, by the way.” Sheri was smirking.

Obeying the big sign in the change room that demanded the wear of undergarments when trying on suits,
for hygienic reasons (no kidding)
, Rachel had left her granny panties on. They came considerably lower on her hips than any of the bathing suits did.

“Piss off.” Rachel tucked the edges of the pink cotton panties up under the suit with her fingertips.

“I think it looks okay,” Sheri announced.

“Really?” Rachel wasn’t so sure. She turned back toward the mirror, considering the bathing suit further. “I guess I’m not really going to be happy with any of them. As long as it covers everything, I guess that’s the best I can ask for.”

“It looks fine,” Sheri shrugged.

Still looking into the mirror, Rachel noticed a woman pass behind Sheri. “Is that Lily?”

Sheri turned. “Who?”

“Lily, my brother Aaron’s wife.” Rachel turned around, pulling the curtain in front of her body. She squinted, looking at the back of the woman who might be her sister-in-law.

“Oh, you mean the skinny
princess
? Did she cut her hair?” Sheri frowned.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in a while, it sure looks like her, though.”

“Lily!” Sheri yelled. Sure enough, the woman turned around, staring back at them.

“Oh hey, Rachel, Sharon.” She stepped closer, a fluorescent orange string bikini in her hand.

“It’s Sheri,” Rachel corrected her.

Lily shook her head, smiling. “Right, right, uh huh.” She held up the bathing suit. “So um, what do you think of this?”

I think it’s too small even for Sheri’s dog, should he be inclined to wear obnoxiously colored bikinis
, Rachel thought. “Are you and Aaron going away?”

Lily looked at Rachel as though she were a leper. “
I’m
going away…” She continued to stare at Rachel, blinking. Finally, she broke the awkward silence. “Has Aaron not talked to you? Or your parents?”

Keeping her mouth shut, Sheri looked back and forth from Lily to Rachel, as though she were watching a tennis match where they used grenades instead of balls.