“How did you feel?” Donna asked, moving back toward the front of the room.
“At first, it was so good, you know, the gooey cheese, the sausage and pepperoni…”
Rachel was sure she couldn’t be the only one in the room who was salivating.
“But then…” Thelma continued. “After I was done, I was so sick. Not just sick from the pizza, although my stomach was not pleased, let me tell you. But, I just felt like such a loser, you know, the food getting the better of me.”
Rachel nodded, knowing exactly how Thelma felt. They all knew how Thelma felt.
Even Donna, their skinny leader, who was hard to imagine as ever being fat, knew how she felt: it was all over her face, the pain as raw as if it had been her own mouth the pizza had gone into. “Was it worth it?” she asked.
“Not a bit.” Thelma’s eyes dropped.
“I bet if you’d had just a bite or two that would have satisfied you,” Donna said.
Thelma nodded. “And I would have felt a whole lot better about being in control.”
“Since we’re on the subject, anyone else have a confession?” Donna scanned the room.
Another hand went up. This time in the front, the lady that had talked about the one-point cheesecakes at the last meeting. She stood up and turned to face the audience. “Did anyone know there was such a thing as chocolate covered Twinkies?”
A buzz erupted from the room.
“Well, I didn’t, so when I discovered them I had to try them. But I only had one.”
“Good for you,” Donna smiled.
A sour look crossed the woman’s face. “Okay, maybe I should clarify. I only had one…box.”
Donna smirked, “And that’s how many?”
The woman cringed. “Eight.”
“In how many days?”
The woman frowned. “Days? What do you mean by days? I ate them in one sitting!”
The room roared. Rachel bit her lip. She would never have the courage to make such a confession.
“She’s lost over sixty pounds,” Finn whispered to Rachel.
“Wow.”
“She’s such a nice lady, but she’s really had it tough. Her husband died of colon cancer last year. He was sick and didn’t even let on.”
“That’s terrible,” Rachel said.
“It’s been a struggle with her, but she’s worked so hard at it. It’s hard not to have a setback every once in a while.”
He would know, having lost a hundred pounds himself.
The rest of the meeting turned into a huge confessional. Instead of getting tips about eating out, Rachel heard countless horrifying stories of stolen cream puffs, secret midnight snack bags of chips, forbidden banana splits and even one account of a woman who had eaten a whole pint of ice cream while sitting in the bathtub so she wouldn’t be discovered by her family.
When it was finally over, Rachel got up and put her coat on as the people filed out of the room. She smiled at Finn. “Well, I guess I’ll see you next week.”
“I’ll walk you out.” He stepped into the aisle and waved for her to go ahead of him.
A middle-aged woman had stopped at the door and was waiting, a friendly smile on her face. She looked familiar and Rachel thought she was waiting for her. Racking her brain, she tried to remember where she knew the woman from.
“Hi Fran,” Finn said as he approached the woman. He took her outstretched hands and kissed her cheek. Rachel stepped to the side, trying to figure out who the woman was, not wanting to intrude on their conversation.
“Hi Finn, I couldn’t make it here last week but I heard you got your ribbon and I wanted to say how proud I am of you.”
“Thanks.” He turned toward Rachel. “Fran, I’d like you to meet Rachel…uh…” he looked at Rachel, eyebrows raised; seemingly surprised that he couldn’t complete the introduction.
“Stern, Rachel Stern.” She reached out her hand.
“Fran Gold, I’m Finn’s aunt,” the woman said, taking Rachel’s hand into her own.
“Nice to meet you.” Rachel still couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew Fran from somewhere.
Fran nodded, her glance lingering on Rachel before turning back to Finn, a subtle question in her eyes.
Finn blushed. Rachel turned away.
“Well it was nice seeing you, Fran, I’m just going to walk Rachel to her car. See you next week.” Finn put his hand on Rachel’s elbow, gently guiding her toward the door.
“Finnegan, drop by the house, this week, will you? Nice to meet you, Rachel.” Fran yelled at their backs.
“Keep going, just pretend you didn’t hear,” Finn said, increasing his pace. Rachel almost had to jog to keep up. “Oy, she’s such a yenta,” Finn whispered in her ear.
Rachel couldn’t help but giggle as they made their quick escape.
“I feel like I know her from somewhere,” Rachel said once they were outside. It was going to drive her crazy, trying to figure out where she had met Fran before.
Finn shrugged, following Rachel’s lead to her car. “She’s a nurse at a senior’s home…”
“Romance novels!” Rachel blurted out. “She reads romance novels. From the library.”
They approached the car. “Okay…” Finn said.
“I work at the library,” Rachel explained. “The Seaside branch. She’s in twice a month or so to get a stack of romance novels.”
Nodding, Finn leaned against the car as Rachel put her key into the lock. “That makes sense; maybe she’s been reading too many. I swear she’s convinced it’s her God-given purpose in life to find me a wife.” He rolled his eyes as Rachel giggled. “Well anyway, I’m glad you had a good week. You’re right on track.”
“Thanks,” Rachel said as she got into the driver’s seat. “And you make sure to stay away from that mandelbrot this week!”
“I will, I promise,” he said before he closed the car door for her.
Rachel smiled as she watched Finn walking away from her car. She felt energized from the meeting: not only had she recorded a good weight loss for the week, but she and Finn had really connected. She knew that no matter what happened with her weight loss journey, she had a friend in Finn and he would always be there as a support.
She put the car in gear and drove away wondering if her mother knew how to make mandelbrot.
Chapter 14
Saturday morning was a blur of Brian this and Brian that, leaving Rachel’s head swirling. Her secret crush on Sheri’s latest man had all but disintegrated thanks to Sheri’s new and improved nauseating bride act. Usually, it was funny; her ridiculous and improbable stories about her “unfortunate groom” when they did their little routine at the bridal shops were enough to send Rachel into fits of hidden laughter, but now her repertoire of stories had dissolved in favor of her incessant swooning over Brian. And worse, she gave no sign of letting up.
“Oh Brian will love me in this gown.” or “Oh, Brian doesn’t like a woman showing too much cleavage.” Or Rachel’s least favorite: “Brian will just plotz when he sees me in this.” Since when did Sheri, the non-practicing Catholic, add Yiddish to her vocabulary? Brian’s doing, she was sure. It was enough to make her gag. Playing the part of the effervescent and oh so happy maid of honor had never been so difficult.
After that debacle had been lunch from hell. If Rachel hadn’t heard enough about Brian in the bridal salon (and she definitely had), she got more than her fill at lunch.
“You know, Brian says that you should buy a house with all that money you’ve got stashed away…” Sheri said before she stuffed a forkful of lettuce into her mouth.
Rachel dipped her own fork into the little ramekin of dressing she had requested and stabbed it into her salad. “How does Brian know so much about me?”
“I told him,” Sheri shrugged.
Obviously, Rachel thought. She was sulking, she knew, but she wished Sheri didn’t feel the need to tell Brian everything. And of course, it didn’t matter if Rachel asked Sheri n
ot to tell Brian all about her, she would go ahead and tell him that too. Sheri often had verbal diarrhea, probably to take the focus off her own flakiness.
The cherry on the meal was when the waiter came to clear the plates. “I’ll bring the bill.” He noisily piled the plates on top of each other. He had not been the epitome of service, but neither Rachel nor Sheri had bothered to say anything.
“We’d like to see a dessert menu,” Sheri said, an edge just discernible in her voice.
“No, I don’t think I should have anything…”
Sheri looked at Rachel, “You can have a little something.”
The waiter looked down at Rachel, his long, dark eyelashes fluttering. “I’d go with your instincts. Nothing on our dessert menu is ‘light.’”
Rachel blinked, speechless save for the little gasp that escaped her.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Who the hell do you think you are?” Sheri snarled. “Get the fucking dessert menu.”
“It’s okay, I’m not hungry,” Rachel mumbled, smoothing the paper napkin on her lap.
“Fuck that, we’re having dessert.” She looked up at the waiter who had begun to nervously fidget. “And you…go get your fucking manager.” Sheri’s voice had increased in volume, creating a buzz at the surrounding tables.
The waiter stammered an apology and whisked himself away with the plates.
The manager, who couldn’t seem to apologize enough for the ignorance of the server, had waited on them after that.
At least the meal had been free, although it didn’t serve to take away the sting of the waiter’s hurtful behavior and Rachel couldn’t bring herself to even have one bite of the cheesecake Sheri ordered.
After lunch, they had gone back to Sheri’s apartment to figure out what Rachel was going to wear to her date.
The afternoon consisted of Rachel trying on one frumpy outfit after another while Sheri tried to pick the least dowdy among them. Rachel was left without a shred of self-confidence once they decided on what she would wear for the blind date: a dark ankle-length skirt and a mauve sweater set. “You’ll be sitting at a table for most of the date, so you have to look good on top: the bottom isn’t as important.”
Yeah, that’s the kind of encouragement I’m looking for, thought Rachel as she cringed at herself in Sheri’s full-length mirror.
At least the outfit fit. Two weeks ago, the skirt’s waistband was at the end of its stretch, but now it had some give, albeit not much. That was the pathetic highlight of Rachel’s day. So far, anyway. She still had a blind date to go before she could call it a day.
Rachel sat on the bed and watched Sheri pack her suitcase for the overnight excursion (taking more than one person could wear in a week, just in case). She listened to Sheri go over Sunny’s schedule one more time. Unnecessary: Rachel had looked after the dog before, it was not rocket science, and anyway, Sheri always left detailed instructions as to Sunny’s care on the counter. Beside the typed, bulleted list was Brian’s handwritten directions about his dog, Glen: a little less formally constructed, but thorough nonetheless.
Sure that most people didn’t leave their kids with so much fanfare and production, Rachel smiled through the lecture, glad that Brian would be there to pick Sheri up very soon.
Once he did arrive, Brian went over his instructions with Rachel as she willed herself not to let her feelings for him slip out via her body language; no good could come of it if Sheri ever figured it out.
Sheri and Brian had a nauseating fake argument over the weight of Sheri’s suitcase, and then they were gone. Rachel caught the glimmer in Brian’s eyes when he told Sheri he had somewhere special to take her before dinner.
Closing the door behind them, Rachel was glad to have some time away from the endless supply of Sheri’s observations, quotes and anecdotes centering around—what else?—Brian.
She sat on the couch, grabbing the remote off the coffee table. Patting the couch in invitation, she encouraged the dog to hop up beside her. Sunny happily crouched down and then with a massive grunt from his teeny weenie body, jumped up on the sofa next to her. He squirmed up against her leg and lay down, a big sigh supplying the finale to his physical exertion.
Rachel smiled down at the little dog and rubbed his head and back, his big brown eyes closing in contentment. She glanced at the clock: still a few hours before she had to get ready for her date. Flipping the channels for several minutes, Rachel finally realized there was nothing worth watching so she gingerly—so as not to upset the snoring dog—got up and headed toward the kitchen to find something to eat.
She was staring into her third cupboard before she even realized what she was doing. She was looking to self-medicate with food. It was a habit. An old habit. A bad habit. She slammed the cupboard closed, angry at herself, but relieved that she hadn’t actually found anything appealing.
I need a nap, that’ll get my mind off food. Rachel went into the bedroom and lay down on Sheri’s bed. It didn’t take long before she felt her mind begin to wander with the beginnings of dreams, but not before she felt the bed quiver and a warm little body wriggle up against her belly.
Chapter 15
At precisely seven o’clock, a car pulled up in front of Sheri’s apartment building. Squinting to try to see its occupant, Rachel wished she had stayed up in the apartment so he could buzz her; then she’d know for sure if this was him rather than risk the embarrassment of going out to some stranger’s car. She shifted her weight from one uncomfortable foot to the other (“The only way you can get away with wearing that skirt is if you wear something with a heel,” Sheri had said). So much for it not mattering what I look like on the bottom.
The car door opened, a man got out. He looked to be about five foot ten, with a medium build. Brown hair and glasses. Joe average. Turning toward the front door of the building, he didn’t even hide it when he looked Rachel up and down. She knew in that instant that the date was going to be a disaster. Fighting the urge to turn and run back toward the stairs, Rachel stepped forward, determined to be brave and see it through. She would consider it dating practice so when Mr. Right did come along, she’d be polished and not screw it up. She pasted a smile on her face, the same smile she used when her least favorite library patron, Mr. Barton, refused to pay fines, insisting that without his tax dollars, there would be no library.
With a pose of confidence she didn’t feel, Rachel stepped forward.
The man opened the first set of glass doors. “Hi, I’m Leo,” he said sticking out his hand for her to shake. How formal. His handshake was not clammy, thankfully, but rough, crushing Rachel’s fingers together. Probably used to shaking more men’s hands than women’s, Rachel figured.
“I’m Rachel, nice to meet you,” she lied.
“Shall we?” He opened the door for her. Nice. “I’ve made reservations at the China Lantern, I hope that’s okay. Sheri said you like Chinese food.”
A buffet. She knew it well. Rachel groaned inwardly as a list of do’s and don’ts memorized from the Weight Watchers booklet flashed on the screen of her mind. Buffets were don’t number one. No one who lacks any sort of self-control (and let’s be honest, if we had any self-control, we wouldn’t be at Weight Watchers, would we?) should ever go to a buffet. Okay, too late for that. Plan B: load up on low point items. Salad, plain shrimp, vegetables. She got into the car, nodding her thanks at Leo for holding the door again. She began adding up the salad dressing points and the seafood sauce. Maybe she’d splurge for some rice noodles with beef. How many points would that be? She wondered as the car jerked forward.
“Uh…Hello?”
Rachel turned. “Sorry?” she felt a blush rise up her neck threatening to color her face. Wasn’t the number one rule of dating to pay attention when your date speaks? Oops, not even five minutes in and she’d screwed that up.
“I asked if you like working at the library.”
“Yeah, it’s okay,” Rachel said, not thinking for a second that this guy w
anted to hear about her job. Try to act interested in him, was rule number two. “How about you? Are you a financial planner also?”
“Yeah.” Leo shook his head, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he drove. “But listen, uh…I don’t mean to sound like an asshole or anything, but what I do is complicated and I don’t think you’d understand it, anyway.”
Rachel studied his face, trying to see if he was serious.
He turned and looked at her. “What?” he asked, frowning.
“Oh, nothing,” Rachel said, looking out the passenger side window.
This is going to be just fabulous, Rachel thought right before: Sheri, you are so dead.
* * *
Rachel had never before appreciated how beneficial going to a buffet on a first date could be until she sat across the table from Leo the asshole blind date from hell. She was well into her first full plate before she realized that his constant looking over her left shoulder was not due to him being slightly cross-eyed but because of the blonde silicone-enhanced waitress in the section of tables behind them.
As soon as Leo’s half-assed attempts at conversation became intolerable, after say, eight words, Rachel put her fork beside her plate and politely announced that she was going back for a few more pieces of sushi. The trick was to only get a few at a time. And as a bonus, maybe that would keep her from eating too much, she thought.
Normally self-conscious, especially when eating in front of people, Rachel found that she really didn’t care what this guy thought and decided to enjoy herself. She didn’t care that he watched her go up to the buffet twice as many times as he did, she didn’t care that she ended up overeating (couldn’t her extreme suffering be counted as exercise?) and she didn’t care that his looks at the waitress became full out flirting.
What she did care about was that when she excused herself to go to the ladies room, she returned to an empty table. She sat by herself for over twenty minutes, slowly gnawing at the barbecue ribs she had procured on her way back from the bathroom.
Rachel turned and looked at the blond waitress, catching her eye and waving her over. The waitress smiled and nodded before she put her tray down at the server’s station and headed over.
Love for Scale Page 8