Love for Scale (8 page)

She felt instantly ashamed for how she had thought of him as pudgy when she had first met him. Now he looked different to her somehow. He was still not svelte, but now he seemed more…successful.

He finally returned to his seat, this time sitting on the aisle as Rachel had moved over to accommodate him. “That’s really awesome, congratulations,” she whispered as a lady in the front row took the spotlight, speaking about her own weight loss.

“Thanks,” Finn said. “I hope you had a good week too.”

Rachel shrugged. “Four pounds. It’s my first week.”

“That’s great. You have to put up your hand.”

Rachel’s eyes widened and she glanced up to the front of the room.

“Who else is feeling good today?” Donna’s eyes scanned the room.

“Put your hand up,” Finn said.

“No.” Rachel tried to shrink down in her seat.

“Over here, Donna,” Finn hollered, unprovoked, pointing his index finger at Rachel.

Terrified, Rachel tried to make herself smaller, or better yet, invisible.

Didn’t matter, she may as well have been wearing a neon sign the way Finn was carrying on.

“Hi there, you don’t look familiar. Finn says you had a good week?”

“It’s my first week. I lost four pounds,” Rachel whispered, her face enveloped in a hot blush.

Donna turned to the crowd and bellowed, “FIRST WEEK, FOUR POUNDS!”

A din erupted in the room and the next thing Rachel knew, Donna shoved a length of stickers professing ‘I DID IT’ into her hand. She stared down at them.

“You can put them on your journal. I put mine on the fridge, next to my ribbons.” Finn was grinning. “You did great.”

By the time the meeting was over, Rachel had not only learned about one point cheesecakes but had caught Weight Watchers fever in the form of renewed motivation and better yet: a meeting buddy. No more mention was made of the speed dating debacle, just a promise to see each other same time same place next week.

Rachel felt great as she walked to her car, not even thinking about dinner.

Chapter 10

“You know, Chanukah is coming,” Pearl said as she and Rachel cleared the dinner plates. It was just the two of them. Harry had already left the table to go watch television in the den.

Rachel scraped the bones left over from her fish into the garbage. “Yeah, and?”

Pearl put the lid on the jar of pickles and looked at Rachel. “Well, I’m going to be making latkes and donuts.”

Let’s be honest
, Rachel thought, I
will be making latkes and
you
will be picking up a dozen donuts at Krispy Kreme
. “Your point being?” Rachel didn’t bother looking at her mother; she knew where this conversation was going.

“So what are
you
going to eat?”

“Are you
only
serving latkes and donuts?” Rachel rinsed the plate and stacked it in the dishwasher.

“Well of course not! I’m making a turkey and soup and
kugel
. Oh, and maybe a carrot
tzimmes
. I can’t
not
make all those things just because one person is on a diet…”

“So I’ll eat the soup and the turkey,” Rachel shrugged. “What’s the problem?”

After Pearl’s meltdown after finding out her daughter had joined Weight Watchers, Rachel had sat down with her mother to chat about the food issue. Since then, Pearl had seemed to be more understanding. But decades of dishing out love via food was a tough habit to break. Rachel had tried to be extra sensitive of her mother’s feelings, but the snippets and snide remarks were beginning to wear on her nerves.

“Oy, Rachel, I can’t do everything for you, your brothers are coming home, it’ll be a full house, I can’t just focus on one person.” She shook her head.

Who was asking you to?
Rachel looked at her mother, wondering if she was having a hot flash or some other menopausal hormone rush that was making her crazy. She wasn’t willing to risk worsening the situation so she just gave in. “Don’t worry ma, I won’t be any bother. I’ll just fix myself a salad, you won’t even know I’m here.”

Pearl whipped around, dropping a plate on the floor, “What are you saying? That you don’t want to be here?”

Rachel stared down at the still spinning plate. It reminded her of an act in the circus where a man spun plates on long wires. Sometimes she felt like that guy, except she wasn’t at all good at it and inevitably the plates came crashing down.

“Look what you made me do!” Pearl shrieked, staring down at the Corelle plate on the floor.

Rachel stepped back. “What? I didn’t do anything…and what are you freaking out about? It didn’t even break!” She was now sure her mother was a victim of rampaging hormones. Nothing else could explain her behavior. And God help her father, although he had been the smart one to escape immediately after eating. He must have seen this coming somehow.

Pearl slumped into the kitchen chair behind her, her eyes becoming glossy and wet.

It occurred to Rachel that perhaps something else was bothering her. She took a guess. “What’s wrong, Ma? Is this about Aaron?”

Her mother looked up at her, “What do you mean? Why would this be about Aaron? What’s wrong?”

Oops
. Rachel backpedaled frantically. “No, I just mean about the boys coming home for dinner.” She wondered if Aaron would finally break the news to the family. How else was he going to explain Lily’s curious absence from the dinner table?

Pearl shook her head, thankfully not having caught on to Rachel’s blunder. “All these years. It’s all my fault.” Pearl brought up her hand to cover her eyes. She began to sob, the tears running quickly down her face, landing on her lap.

Concerned, Rachel stepped forward and squatted down in front of her mother. “
What’s
your fault?” Pearl had never been prone to crying. Guilt trips yes, but never tears.

“Your weight problem.” Pearl didn’t look up.

“How are you responsible for my weight problem?” She took her mother’s hand, looking up into her face.

“Look at what I’ve fed you all these years. The noodle
kugel
, the
blintzes
, the potato
latkes
…”

Her mouth watering at the mention of all her favorite foods, Rachel squeezed her mother’s hand, mindful of the sharp edges of the diamond rings. “Maybe the choices didn’t help, but I’m the one who shoveled all the food into my mouth. You can’t hold yourself responsible.” She shook her head, finally understanding her mother’s erratic behavior: it wasn’t menopause, it wasn’t news about her soon-to-be divorced son, it was a heavy dose of guilt. A Jewish mother’s finest weapon, turned on herself. Pearl had fallen on her own sword.

“Ma, don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m doing something about it now. I won’t be eating that stuff anymore, or at least I’ll find low fat substitutes.” She couldn’t believe she was the one consoling. She, the one who weighed two hundred and forty-two (nope: two hundred and thirty-eight) pounds.

“There’s no such thing as low fat schmaltz,” Pearl said.

“Ugh, schmaltz. Who needs to eat rendered chicken fat, anyway?” Rachel pretended to gag. “That stuff is heinous.”

“Mmm, I love it.” Pearl finally smiled.

“Gross.” Knees creaking in protest, Rachel stood up. “Please don’t beat yourself up about this, Ma. This is my thing, I’m going to do it.” She smiled.

Pearl nodded. She threw up her arms. “I’ve got twelve people coming for dinner,
oy vey
, what a production.” The sword of guilt had been withdrawn from Pearl’s body and was now dangerously facing Rachel.

“Of course, I’ll help, Ma,” Rachel said, hoping that she could find someone else to make the latkes. Not only was it tedious and messy, but potato latkes were impossible to resist.

Pearl stood up and patted Rachel on the cheek. “You’re a good girl,” she said before she left the room, leaving Rachel to finish cleaning up the kitchen.

Twelve people? Rachel wondered what extras Pearl had invited for Chanukah dinner. She and her parents were three, and another three for Aaron, his wife and her brother Jeff. (Of course, Pearl would have to amend her count once she found out that Lily wasn’t coming.) That made six and her Bubby Marion was seven. She shrugged, figuring the rest were friends of her parents. Pearl couldn’t resist feeding people, so if she heard of stragglers without a place to go on one of the Jewish holidays, she was always the first to extend the invitation.

“It’s a mitzvah,” Pearl had said as she set the table for fourteen last Passover. “No good deed like feeding the needy.”

“The Feldmans are
hardly
needy,” Rachel had said. “She’s an orthopedic surgeon and he’s a corporate lawyer.”

Pearl had rubbed diligently at a spot on one of her sterling silver knives with a napkin. “They are new in town and have no family here: that makes them needy. In need of family. It’s a mitzvah, ask the rabbi.” Pearl was adamant; there was no arguing with her.

Rachel had given in, as she always did.

Chapter 11

Getting ready was the easy part. Rachel had her brand new swimsuit on underneath her sweats so it was just a matter of taking off the shirt and pants. Easy.

Leaving the safety of the locker room and walking down the long tiled hallway to the pool and getting in the water: that was the hard part.

Rachel had gone down to the YWCA to join and sign up for Aquafit classes, but the YW’s pool was closed for major renovations. Rachel was told by the smiling lady in the horn-rimmed glasses that the pool was not scheduled to open for at least two months. Determined to get some use out of her expensive and non-returnable bathing suit, Rachel had reluctantly joined the YMCA instead.

Note the M, as in
men
.

Terrified, she stood in the empty women’s changing room, flip flops on her feet, towel, and goggles in her hands, trying to get some nerve.

I just have to do it
,
Rachel told herself. She swallowed hard. This was worse than getting on the scale at Weight Watchers. Everyone at Weight Watchers was in the same situation; at least there she had a sense of solidarity. But at the Y she was alone, having only her colorful beach towel to comfort her.

She glanced at the clock. Only three minutes until the class started. That got her moving: the last thing she wanted to do was walk into a class late, where everyone would stare and judge. Holding her chin up, she pulled the bathing suit down out of where it had ridden up her butt, put the lock on her locker and headed toward the pool.

“I
will
do this,” she said out loud.

The
thwack thwack
of her flip-flops echoed loudly as she walked down the long hallway. She took a deep breath as she arrived at the door to the pool and turned the handle. Her heart pounded as she opened the door, hit with a wall of bleachy smelling, hot, misty air from the pool. She walked onto the pool deck and claimed a small piece of the bench where she placed her towel, kicking her flip flops underneath. She had yet to look at the pool or its occupants.

Slowly she turned to face about fifteen smiling faces, most topped with varying degrees of gray or white hair, a couple in bathing caps. She smiled back at none of them in particular and approached the stairs (thank God she was spared the indignity of having to climb down a ladder).

It was hard to tell most of the people’s sizes due to the distortion of the rippling water, but Rachel was fairly sure she actually wasn’t the largest, although she was definitely the youngest.

“Hello, dear,” the lady closest to the stairs said through her toothy smile. “Welcome. I’m Fern and this is my husband, Sam.” She nodded her head toward the octogenarian beside her.

Rachel smiled as the butterflies in her belly began to dissipate.

“Thanks. Hi, I’m Rachel.”

“Nice to meet you, Rachel,” Sam said before turning to the rest of the seniors bobbing in the water. “Everyone, this is Rachel.”

A chorus of “Hi Rachel” and “Welcome, Rachel” served to buoy Rachel even more as she nodded and smiled.

“Okay, everyone, social hour is over.” a voice boomed from the pool deck. Rachel looked up to see a young man, nestled somewhere in his mid-twenties, bending toward a table that held an iPhone dock and speakers. He was wearing shorts and a tank top, his tanned (fake bake: it was December, after all) chiseled muscles rippling all over his body in contrast to his shock of bleached blond hair. A seashell choker rounded his neck, completing the ensemble. Rachel was sure the young hardbody had to be a surfer imported from California. She hardly had time enough to become self-conscious before he hollered, “Let’s get marching!”

Suddenly, all the heads and shoulders Rachel could see above the water were facing front and bobbing up and down. A moment later the music started: some unidentifiable dance music, but thankfully not too loud. The instructor turned back toward the pool nodding and smiling at each person. When his eyes landed on Rachel’s, he smiled. “Hi, I’m Gordon. Welcome…”

“Rachel,” she said, hoping it was loud enough to hear over the music.

“Welcome Rachel,” Gordon smiled, making Rachel blush.

He didn’t seem to notice. “And still marching it out,” he yelled, bringing his knees almost to his chest as he did his marching on the deck.

By the time the Aquafit class was finished, Rachel was winded and exhausted but felt fantastic. She had thought the class was going to be a breeze considering all the senior citizens, but to her surprise, it was very challenging. Dancing in the water along with the music wasn’t only fun, it was hard work. She could almost visualize little globs of fat being released from her body and floating away in the pool. It was a good feeling; she would definitely be returning to the Aquafit class.

When she got home she had the house all to herself: it was her parents’ Bridge night. Resisting the urge to check the fridge for leftovers, she went straight to her room. There was a message on her machine. From Sheri, she guessed.