Love for Scale

by Michaela Greene

  She had refilled her soup bowl with chicken broth, measured out a palm-sized piece of turkey breast, and filled the rest of her plate up with salad. Not the holiday dinner dreams were made of, but it filled her up and she did feel better about it the next day when it was time to weigh in at Weight Watchers.

  She was early to her weigh-in, having come right from work, so there wasn’t a line. She walked right up to the counter, slipped off her shoes and handed the Weight Watchers lady her progress booklet.

  “How are you doing today, dear?” the middle-aged woman asked, looking at Rachel expectantly over the rims of her reading glasses.

  “I’m okay, thanks. I had a big family dinner yesterday, but don’t think I did too badly.”

  “That’s good, dear.” She scribbled something on Rachel’s booklet and then looked up at her, smiling. “I’m ready for you.”

  Rachel stepped on the scale, hoping for another big loss. Three pounds would be perfect, she thought. That would take her to ten pounds total.

  She looked down at the digital numbers. She blinked. Up two pounds.

  She shifted her weight. The numbers didn’t budge.

  Rachel’s heart sank into her stomach. She had done so well at Chanukah dinner. It just couldn’t be right. She stared down at the scale, willing her body to become lighter. The digital numbers didn’t blink. What had happened?

  Then she remembered: the latke incident. Those latkes had to be about a thousand points each and she had lost count of how many of the broken and misshapen potato pancakes had made it into her mouth. With no one there to stop her, it had been too easy to consume a ton of them.

  “Are you maybe expecting your period this week, dear?” the sweet lady on the other side of the counter asked after she recorded Rachel’s weight gain.

  Rachel began to count. She’d just had to figure out her cycle for the doctor’s office when she was there for her yearly checkup, but she knew her gain wasn’t from her period. “Maybe,” she shrugged, unwilling to share her failure with the woman.

  “Well, that could easily explain a temporary weight gain.” Seemingly satisfied that she had solved Rachel’s mystery of the two pound gain, the woman handed Rachel her booklet back. “Have a good week, I’m sure you’ll see a difference next week.” She nodded encouragingly.

  “I’m sure I will too,” Rachel said, deflated, but ultimately happy that the Chanukah dinner was well behind her.

  She shoved the booklet into her purse. Glancing at the front door, she contemplated darting through it. The last thing she wanted to do was sit in a room full of people bragging about how much they lost over the week. Not that she could fault them: she had been one of them for two weeks running. But not now. Now she was a loser, but not the good kind. She stepped toward the door.

  “Aren’t’ you staying for the meeting, dear?”

  Damn. Busted. Rachel turned and looked at the woman behind the counter who was smiling at her, waiting.

  “Oh, uh I was going to go to the variety store to get a bottled water,” she lied.

  “There’s a water cooler in the back, help yourself.” She nodded in the direction of the meeting room.

  These women were good.

  There was nothing else Rachel could do but turn around and go into the group room. She wondered if the woman had actually believed she was going for a water. Probably not, she’d likely heard every excuse, used to bolters and with a two pound gain, she must have known Rachel was a flight risk.

  She walked over to the water cooler and filled up a paper cone, which may as well have been a shot glass. Rachel could have used a full bottle; she really was thirsty. She filled and emptied the tiny cone four times before she was satisfied. Still early, she took her regular seat and waited.

  About five minutes before the meeting was to start, Finn arrived. To her surprise, Rachel found her mood improved when he sat down beside her. He shrugged off his coat.

  “Did you have a good week?” he asked, sporting a toothy grin that made Rachel wonder if he had been born with perfect teeth. More than likely—like her—he had been the victim of years of orthodontic torture (in case it wasn’t bad enough being the fat girl in school…the fat girl with braces always got extra special treatment).

  Rachel shook her head. “Chanukah dinner.”

  Finn nodded, understanding. “I’m so glad I don’t have to go to those now.”

  “I don’t blame you, I wish I could get out of going, but there is no way that I will ever get out of attending a Stern Family Chanukah–it’s the celebration of the miracle of lights, you know,” she said, her arms spread in an exaggerated imitation of her mother. She cringed, thinking about the kind of grief Jeff got about missing most of the family dinners. Apparently being on the other side of the country was not a valid excuse to get out of a three-hour meal. Unless the word ‘deathbed’ was included in one’s reason for not attending, there was no valid excuse.

  Finn laughed, “I do sympathize. Really I do. I’m not sure I could handle all that food.”

  Intrigued, Rachel looked at Finn. “That’s awesome that you don’t have to go anymore. How did you do that? What do your parents say about it?” Maybe she could get some pointers.

  “Not much. They’re dead,” Finn said, looking at his watch.

  Rachel blinked, not sure if Finn was serious. “Excuse me?”

  He looked at her. “My parents died, so I don’t have to go to family dinners anymore.” He shrugged.

  “Oh my God, Finn, I’m so sorry.” Blood rushed up to Rachel’s face and neck so quickly, she almost felt dizzy.

  “It’s okay, it’s been a few years. They died in a freak bus accident in Israel.”

  “Oh, my God was it…I mean do you think it was…”

  Finn shook his head. “Everyone thought it was terrorism at first but it was just an accident. Seven people from the tour died and my parents were two of them.”

  “I’m really sorry, Finn. God, I shouldn’t complain about my family.” She looked down, ashamed. “Don’t you have any siblings? What about your aunt?”

  “I’ve got two sisters and yeah, you met my aunt who pretends she’s my new mother sometimes. But one of my sisters moved three hours away and the other is busy with her husband and kids. My aunt tries, like that night you saw us at the restaurant, but it’s hard to get together. Sometimes I go to see her but it’s more to keep her happy than for myself.” He shrugged again.

  Rachel couldn’t imagine what her life would be like without her family around. As much as they drove her crazy, she still loved them and liked keeping them close. And she would never admit it out loud, but Pearl hadn’t been the only one who was sad when Jeff packed up his SUV and moved away.

  “Do you get lonely?” Rachel asked, realizing the minute the words were out of her mouth that it was a stupid question.

  Finn looked down at his hands. “Yeah, I miss them, but I’m really trying to move forward. Get a life of my own, you know? Work has been busy, but it would be nice to…” He looked at Rachel.

  She turned away, seeing a hurt in Finn’s eyes that she couldn’t bring herself to address.

  He never got the chance to finish his sentence.

  “AND WELCOME BACK TO WEIGHT WATCHERS EVERYBODY!”

  Sighing quietly to herself, Rachel looked up at Donna, thankful for the timely interruption. Finn had mentioned work for the first time and it occurred to her as she sat there next to him, hearing about the week’s success stories, that she had no idea what he did for a living. She stole a sideways glance, looking at his profile as he applauded and cheered, enraptured with the room’s events. What did he do? Not that it really mattered, she was just curious.

  He dressed very neutrally: she’d only ever seen him in Dockers and button downs or the occasional t-shirt. She had to assume that he changed his clothes before he got to the Weight Watchers meetings. Maybe he was something in banking…she was just speculating, there was no way she could ever guess.

  After l
istening to four more weight loss stories, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She leaned over toward Finn. “What do you do?” she whispered.

  He turned. “Huh?”

  Rachel felt stupid. “What do you do for a living?”

  Finn’s brow furrowed. “Why are you asking me that now?”

  “I have no idea, I just realized that I don’t know what you do.”

  Finn grinned, the right side of his mouth turning up. “I’m a doctor.”

  Of all the careers that she could imagine Finn doing, a doctor was not one of them. He lacked the confidence that she was always accustomed to with her doctors. Though she had to admit, she’d never really seen any of her doctors socially.

  “Is that okay with you?” Finn asked, still smirking, right eyebrow raised.

  Rachel realized she was staring at him. She blinked and shook her head, unable to prevent a deep blush rising up her cheeks. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Sorry, I was just curious.”

  Finn looked at her a few seconds longer, not saying anything before he turned back to the front of the room and began to applaud for the most recent ‘loser.’

  Rachel clapped along obediently, wondering what kind of doctor Finn was. Family doctor? Surgeon? Neurologist? She just couldn’t imagine him wearing a white coat, or scrubs and a mask. She stole another glance at him. Family doctor, he had to be a family doctor, he was so nice. His bedside manner would be exceptional.

  Her mother would plotz.

  * * *

  By the time Rachel got home from the Weight Watchers meeting she was starving, having gone straight from work and adhering to her ‘no eating before weigh-in’ rule. She avoided the fridge, knowing it would be full of Chanukah leftovers. Instead, she grabbed a can of tomato soup out of the cupboard.

  Pearl trudged into the kitchen in her slippers and zip-up housecoat. “Hi honey, how did it go at your weigh in?” she asked.

  Keeping her back to her mother, Rachel pressed the button down on the can opener, allowing the noise to fill the silence as she formulated an answer in her head. She watched the can as it turned, buying her a few precious seconds. She willed herself not to cry. She couldn’t bring herself to tell her mother that she’d gained two pounds; she was ashamed of the gain and worse, the closet latke binge that had led to it.

  Although, in her own defense, she hadn’t wanted to cook the damn latkes in the first place, had begged not to.

  Rachel turned toward her mother and took a deep breath. “I gained two pounds.”

  Pearl shook her head. “Oh, Rachel.”

  Angry tears sprung up and out of her eyes quicker than Rachel could wipe them away and before she realized, she was yelling. “It’s your fault! I didn’t want to make those stupid latkes. I asked you not to force me to make them but you wouldn’t listen and I ate a ton of them and now I’ve gained two pounds!”

  Pearl just stood, wide-eyed, staring at her daughter.

  Rachel walked over to the fridge and opened the door. As expected, there was a huge aluminum foil tray of leftover latkes, ready for anyone with a weakness for fried starch patties. As Pearl silently watched, Rachel pulled the tray out of the fridge and tossed it onto the counter. Pulling the garbage pail out from under the sink, she lifted the lid, ignored the smell (Pearl must have finally tossed out the last of the gefilte fish) and made ready.

  Pearl broke her silence. “Rachel. What are you doing?” The edge of panic was in her voice.

  “I’m getting rid of these things, I can’t stand it anymore.”

  “Rachel don’t!” Pearl closed the gap between them and tried to grab the tray from Rachel’s hands. Pushing her mother away with her shoulder, Rachel dumped the whole tray into the garbage upside down, knowing that no matter how desperate she got, she would not pick food out of the garbage, especially if it was sitting on top of nasty smelling fish.

  They both stared down at it for several long moments.

  Pearl was the first to break the silence. “What did you do that for?” she demanded.

  Rachel didn’t care how pissed off her mother was. She had never felt more liberated. “I got rid of it. Now I won’t get tempted by them anymore.” She smiled despite her mother’s angry scowl.

  Pearl’s hands were on her hips. “Well, you wouldn’t have been tempted by them for much longer, Rachel. Someone from the food bank is on their way to come pick them up.”

  “What?” Rachel looked at her mother, and then back at the bottom of the upturned aluminum tray as it sat in the garbage.

  “What am I supposed to give them now?” Pearl demanded.

  What have I done? “Oh my God, Ma, I’m so sorry.” The first time ever that Pearl decides to part with edible food to a non-family member and Rachel had gone and thrown it out.

  She burst into tears.

  “Oy, Rachel, don’t cry.” Stepping forward, Pearl put the garbage back into the cabinet and placed her hand lightly on Rachel’s arm. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

  Rachel shook her head. “It’s not you. I’m not crying because of what you said. I just can’t believe how weak I am. Why can’t I stop eating?”

  “No,” Pearl said. “I shouldn’t have made you make them, just like you said. You weren’t weak—you told me and I pushed you. That was unfair. And to keep them in the house wasn’t right either. I should have gotten rid of them right after the dinner. I’m…oh, Rachel.” Her voice cracked.

  “Don’t you start crying.” Rachel pleaded with her mother.

  “I’m so sorry,” Pearl sobbed, throwing her arms around Rachel.

  “It’s okay, Ma, it’s okay.” She patted Pearl’s back. She had never consoled her mother so much as she had since starting her diet. It was a bizarre twist.

  “Oy, and my Jeffery…dating…a…shiksa!” Pearl let go. The sobs permeated her speech, causing her to hiccup.

  That’s what this is about, Rachel thought. Her brother dating a non-Jewish girl and bringing her home for a holiday dinner attended by the rabbi: how embarrassing. Could life deal Pearl a worse hand? Rachel smiled in spite of herself, her mother still clutching at her.

  “Ma, Jeffery is a big boy, isn’t it better that he’s happy, even if she’s not Jewish?”

  Pearl pushed Rachel away, frowning. “What? Where does this come from? Did he ask you to say this?”

  “No, I’m just saying that you should be glad he’s happy and just accept it. Think of The Jazz Singer.”

  “This is not a movie, Rachel,” Pearl scolded.

  “No, but the message is still a good one. Wouldn’t it be better to have him with a shiksa than not have him at all?”

  Never one to be overly rational when it came to matters of tradition (Rachel could hear Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof in her head, bellowing out TRADITION!), Pearl shook her head. “No, it’s not right, he should be more like Aaron: He's a good boy. He found a nice Jewish girl.”

  I don’t know about nice. Oh, and by the way, that nice Jewish girl cheated before she upped and left him, and is probably using his money to finance her Caribbean singles cruise. Rachel kept her mouth shut, not wanting to exacerbate her mother’s distress. She turned back to her can of opened soup and took it from the opener, dumping its contents into a saucepan.

  “OH! I’ve got a turkey,” Pearl proclaimed.

  “I’m good with the soup, Ma,” Rachel said, scraping down the sides of the can into the pot on the stove.

  “No, for the shelter people. I’ve got an extra turkey in the freezer, and maybe a spare brisket…I’ll go check.” Suddenly happy again, due to the prospect of feeding people, Pearl turned on her heel and headed down the stairs to the chest freezer in the basement. Rachel rarely dared to venture into the freezer but knew that it held all manner of frozen meats. She could never imagine having so much food that you had an ‘extra turkey’ or a ‘spare brisket’ but that was a Pearl trademark: food stockpiling. God forbid you have twenty people show up at your door and not a crumb to serve them…

  Stirring h
er soup, Rachel watched her mother’s head bob and disappear down the stairs. “I so need to get out of here,” She said to her soup. It didn’t protest.

  Chapter 20

  Rachel dialed into her voicemail as she sat on her bed, pulling her Weight Watchers food journal out of her purse to record her dinner.

  Sheri’s voice came through. “Hey Rach, sorry I haven’t called, been really busy. I need to talk to you, please call me. It’s really important.”

  “Oh sure, now you call. What’s the matter, is Brian busy?” Rachel said out loud as she scribbled into her journal.

  On Sunday afternoon, Rachel had been sitting in Sheri’s apartment, enjoying the solitude and in the middle of watching a movie when Sheri had called from her cell phone to thank her for dog-sitting. And tell her she had basically fifteen minutes to vacate.

  Apparently she and Brian were on their way home and wanted a continuation of their ‘couple time.’ Chalk it up to NBS, Rachel thought. She certainly was no stranger to this kind of behavior from Sheri, but wondered when New Boyfriend Syndrome would turn into the less offensive ‘the honeymoon’s over’ Boyfriend Syndrome, which would mean more girls’ nights with Rachel and infinite complaining about Boyfriend.

  Packing up her things in a hurry, she had said her final goodbyes to Sunny (not sure which she would miss more: the quiet apartment or the sweet little dog) and left.

  And she hadn’t heard from Sheri since.

  After the beep, the second message began and Rachel leaned in close. It was a man’s voice. “Hello, uh, this message is for Rachel. Um, this is Brian, uh, Sheri’s friend.” Rachel’s heart skipped at the mention of his name. “Um, anyway, I was hoping to talk to you, if you could give me a call…” he stammered his phone number. Rachel struggled to scribble the number into her journal.

  Why was he calling her? What could he have to talk to her about? Why did he call Sheri his ‘friend?’ Maybe this is what Sheri wanted to talk about.