“So that speed dating thing was lame, huh?” Finn chuckled awkwardly, still trying to catch Rachel’s eye.
Rachel turned to look at him, but his eyes dropped the second she did. “Yeah. Listen, I’m really sorry…”
Finn shook his head. “You don’t need to explain. It’s okay.”
But she did need to explain. She’d had enough people treat her like trash to know she didn’t want Finn thinking she would do that, even if she weren't interested in him in that way.
“No, I just haven’t been in a really good place lately. I got roped into going to that thing by my mother, but I wasn’t really into it, you know?” She looked down at her hands, smoothing the fabric of the same skirt she had worn to speed dating. It was the one she abhorred: the biggest one she had, the last one that fit.
“Yeah.” Finn fidgeted his fingers obviously just as uncomfortable as she was.
“I’m really trying to make a change,” Rachel mumbled. “I guess that’s why I’m here.”
Finn just nodded.
Glancing at the clock, Rachel was relieved to see that the meeting was scheduled to start in only a few minutes. A few long, agonizing minutes if she didn’t come up with something to say.
“So what kind of name is Finn?” she asked. “It’s not your typical Jewish name.” She cocked her head. “Unless you’re not actually Jewish but…”
Finn smiled. A real smile. “No, I’m really Jewish. It’s a good story, actually,” he said.
Rachel nodded at him, encouraging him to continue.
“The original Finn was a friend of my grandfather’s. My grandfather lived in a poor part of town that was like a ghetto. Not like a ghetto today, but that’s what he called it. Anyway, him and Finn, Finnegan was his name actually, as is mine, used to play and go to school together. Well, one day they were swimming in a creek and my grandfather almost drowned, but as he went under, Finn pulled him out of the water and saved his life. A year later Finn died of pneumonia when he was just twelve. My grandfather swore he would name his firstborn son Finnegan.”
Intrigued by the story, Rachel couldn’t help but notice the discrepancy “But you’re not his son, you’re his grandson.”
Finn hunched over and shrugged, “Oy, I’m blessed with four goils, vat can I do?” his impression of anyone’s grandparents who had emigrated from the old country was right on.
Rachel giggled.
“Four daughters and enough brains not to call any of them Finnegan. So he made my mother and her sisters swear that the first one to have a boy would name him Finnegan. And here I am.”
“That is a great story.” Rachel smiled, wishing she had a namesake or even a cool name like Finnegan.
“AND WELCOME BACK TO WEIGHT WATCHERS EVERYBODY!” a woman bellowed from the front of the room so loud, Rachel nearly fell off her chair.
A series of hoots and hollers sounded from around the room. Wide-eyed, Rachel turned to Finn, who was unabashedly whooping it up with the rest of them.
“For anyone who’s new today, my name is Donna and I am your friendly neighborhood Weight Watchers leader. And how is everybody feeling today?” She paced back and forth in front of the full room, holding a roll of stickers in her hand. “Anybody feeling good?”
Is that woman on uppers? Rachel wondered.
Finn looked at Rachel, a deep blush creeping up his neck. Almost reluctantly, but sporting a big grin, he lifted his hand.
He had been spotted. “Finnegan Schwartz, come on down. I KNOW you’re feelin’ good today.” Donna stood, staring at Finn as the whole room burst into encouraging applause.
Rachel slid her knees around into the aisle so Finn could get past her again. He walked up to the front of the room, the blush having migrated north to cover his entire face. When he got up there, the applause abruptly stopped.
“What have you got to tell us, Finnegan Schwartz?” Donna asked.
There was a buzz in the room that was almost palpable. Rachel looked around and heard whispers and twittering. All of the women and the few men in the room had huge smiles on their faces, staring forward at the spectacle. She was apparently the only one in the room who didn’t already know.
“I’m here for my one hundred pound ribbon,” Finn said almost inaudibly, looking at his feet.
Donna leaned in really close to Finn. “Excuse me, I didn’t quite hear you, you’re here for your WHAT?”
Finn looked up, the smile spreading like cream cheese on a hot bagel across his face. “I’m here for my one hundred pound ribbon!”
The room exploded into cheers and whistles, everyone on their feet clapping, including Rachel. The excitement was infectious. And she was stunned. Finn had lost one hundred pounds. Exactly what she needed to lose. She was so happy for him, for what it must feel like. She couldn’t even imagine what he was thinking, but the euphoric look on his face summed it all up.
She was just beginning her journey; he was well on his way.
As one, the entire room (except Rachel) broke into a song that only lasted a couple of moments but culminated in Donna pinning a ribbon on Finn’s chest and everyone bursting into cheers again. Finn was in tears, as were some of the people in the audience, Rachel noticed. But they were well-earned tears of joy; she could hardly blame them. Her heart was bursting with pride even though she hardly knew Finn; it was more that they shared something, something more intimate than a lame date at the synagogue. They both knew what it was like to be fat.
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 an
d 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!”
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