Love for Scale

by Michaela Greene

  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.

  “About what? A holiday?” Rachel clutched tightly at the curtain, hoping it covered everything. Lily had always been exactly what Rachel was not: willowy and tall, popular with the boys. Rachel had even had the pleasure on several occasions to witness Lily reminding Aaron (always with a wink or a vulpine grin) just how lucky he had been to get her. Tact had never been her strong point.

  Lily began to fidget. “No, not about a holiday. We’ve split up.”

  Sheri’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. She looked back at Rachel.

  “What?” Rachel’s knees almost buckled.

  “We’re getting a divorce.” Lily shifted her weight from her left to her right foot. “You know, your brother will just never grow up.”

  Looking out over Lily’s shoulder, Rachel tried to think back to the last time Aaron was over at the house. He had shown up after work looking for a meal recently. Had there been any signs? He had said that Lily was away on business, but never anything about them breaking up or even that they were having problems.

  “I’m sure he hasn’t told my parents. I’m sure I would have known.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to tell your parents because he’s a good for nothing man-child. And I guess even if he had, your mother would have just nagged him to death. ‘Oy Aaron, what has happened, my bubbelah! Here, have some kugel…’” She did a fair impression of Pearl.

  Stepping back, Rachel was shocked at Lily’s outburst. She had always been outspoken at family dinners, but usually, it was to offer her opinion on fashions (and fashion victims) and why she never ate gluten. But never anything like this.

  Sheri took a side step so she was standing between Rachel and Lily. “Excuse me, can you turn the volume down on the bitch just a smidge?”

  Lily didn’t respond, except with a killer glare aimed right at Sheri. Neither woman’s eyes wavered as they battled wills, their eyes their only weapons.

  Rachel looked from Lily to Sheri, putting her money on Lily for the winner if things got physical. Sheri was scrappy, but Lily taught self-defense at the Jewish Community Centre.

  Rachel took it upon herself to break it up before it turned into a bona fide catfight. “Listen, I know what Aaron can be like, and I certainly know what my parents can be like, but are you sure it’s over? I mean have you tried counseling and everything?” Lily would not have been Rachel’s first choice of spouses for her brother but she knew he adored her. She couldn’t imagine what could have broken them up.

  Lily nodded. “It’s so over. I’ve moved out.”

  “When?” Rachel couldn’t believe Aaron had kept this secret.

  Lily rolled her eyes. “Uh, like two months ago.”

  “Oh my God,” Rachel said.

  Lily shrugged and smiled. “Anyway, you never said what you thought of this bikini.”

  * * *

  Rachel ended up buying the first bathing suit she had tried on, not having the emotional strength to continue the torture for any longer than was absolutely necessary. Plus, she wanted to get away from Lily. They left her in the bathing suit store, still shopping for bikinis to take with her on her ‘newly single’ cruise to the Caribbean.

  “It would have been so much cooler if she’d just turned lesbian,” Sheri said as they walked out of the store. “Although I just can’t see her wearing a lot of flannel…”

  Rachel couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of Lily the fashionista in a plaid, flannel shirt. “Sher, this is my brother’s wife we’re talking about, not some sitcom chick.”

  “Whatever, he’ll get over it. She was always a bitch.”

  No arguing with that.

  “Are you going to tell your parents?” Sheri asked. “It doesn’t sound like Aaron has any intention of it. I mean two months…”

  Rachel snorted, “Nope. I’m not going to be the one dropping that bomb! No way.”

  “Can I? That would be fun.” Sheri smiled.

  “I need something, let’s grab some food.” Turning around, Rachel began walking back the other way toward the noisy food court.

  A step behind, Sheri skipped to catch up. “You sure? What about your diet?”

  Rachel stopped short, a sigh escaping her lips. “Ugh. I forgot. Just a black coffee then, I guess. I need something.”

  Chapter 9

  “That’s great, you’ve lost four pounds!” the skinny girl whose name tag read ‘Candy’ (yes: how incredibly ironic) said excitedly. She smiled as she wrote it down in Rachel’s progress booklet.

  Rachel felt like she’d just gotten an A in an advanced trigonometry class; trigonometry being her most challenging and dreaded subject in high school (next to dating, that is). She slipped her shoes back on and waited for Candy to finish recording the information so she could take her book and leave.

  She was happy with her progress, although she wasn’t surprised to see a loss, having followed the program exactly for the past week. She had drunk every required glass of water and more, had counted every bite and had written it all down in her weekly journal.

  Having so much control over her own life was strangely exhilarating, despite the restrictions.

  “You’re staying for the meeting aren’t you?” Candy asked as she passed the booklet back to Rachel.

  Glancing over at the meeting room she noticed rows of chairs set up, some already occupied by chatting women. Rachel hesitated. Her pantyhose were heating up and she was starving; she hadn’t eaten since her lunch break, having been cognizant that any snack could show up on the scale at weigh-in. She just wanted to get home. She bit her lip and turned back to Candy. “Is it required?”

  Candy frowned. “Well, no, but you should go, it’s really helpful. I never would have lost all my forty pounds if it wasn’t for the meetings. Everyone is here to support you.” Her smile was encouragement personified.

  The people who worked at the Weight Watchers office were all very nice, Rachel concluded. She was sure it was because they’d all been clients first. They could empathize, they’d all been there. Not like the emaciated models who worked at the plus size store: you could tell those women had never had a weight problem and although they acted nice, were probably judging their customers inside their heads. Sometimes it would even slip out: “Oh, dear, I don’t know what they were thinking when they made these outfits, but you can’t wear stripes that go horizontally, only vertical stripes for you.” Rachel, having learned her lesson, just shooed them away when they got so close as to begin to open their
mouths for a comment. She hated those judgy skinny bitches.

  Rachel looked back at the meeting room, realizing that she was holding up the line behind her by standing at the weigh-in station overly long. Feeling the several sets of eyes on her was enough. She took a deep breath and walked into the meeting room, choosing a seat on an aisle (in case she needed to bolt). She checked her watch and discreetly surveyed the people who were already seated.

  “…and they’re only one point!” said a middle-aged woman in the front row who had turned to talk to another woman behind her.

  “Get out, one point for a cheesecake?” said the other woman shaking her head in disbelief.

  “It’s true, I swear. They’re made for diabetics.”

  Rachel hoped that whatever cheesecake they were talking about at a scant point each, would be mentioned in the meeting. She didn’t have the nerve to go up and ask the ladies. Although, what did she have to lose? And it could mean a low point dessert…

  “Is that seat taken?” a strangely familiar voice came from above and slightly behind her.

  She looked up to see Finn, the unchosen speed dater from the week before, smiling down at her. She blinked several times before she realized that he was waiting for her to respond to his question. “Oh, uh no, go ahead.” She picked up her coat which she had draped over the chair beside her and tucked her legs under her as best she could as he squeezed by. Maybe I should have scootched over a seat, she thought, that would have been much easier. Still, she liked the idea of being able to make a clean getaway.

  Looking straight ahead, trying to figure out the best way to amend the awkward situation, Rachel felt Finn’s eyes on her.

  He had to know by now that she hadn’t picked him. It had been over a week since Rachel had gotten her results from the speed dating, so he must have gotten his too. She wondered if he too had been picked by no one; a humiliation even worse than going to the stupid event in the first place. At least the guys who hadn’t picked her weren’t sitting beside her at a fat people meeting, facing her and having to explain. Her face was hot and beet red, she was sure.