150 Pounds (39 page)

There was a flip side to this mind-set. Before losing weight, she’d fantasized that life would be easy when she was thin. That she’d have no trouble finding a boyfriend. Never feel sad again. Become really outdoorsy, go backpacking with Outdoor Bound armed only with half a granola bar and a tarp. Wear four-inch fuck-me heels.

Thus far, she still hadn’t found a hot guy who loved former fat girls who ran a blog and an orchard at the same time. (But she hadn’t given up hope. She was cute and now an entrepreneur; who didn’t think
that
was sexy?) She still felt sad from time to time, but no more than the average human being. The only outdoors traipsing she’d done was around her farm, and that had been in the beat-up sneakers she’d had since high school. As for the four-inch fuck-me heels … let’s just say she was happy in either sneakers or the heavy plastic orange Mario-Batali-like gardening clogs Mimi left behind.

She forgot her weight loss constantly; but it was like a limb that had been sawed off, and she still felt tingling and itching sensations where it had once been attached to her body. She’d worn her plus-size bra until Emily had grabbed at the extra fabric through her dress a few weeks ago.

“Your tits are hanging loose, babe,” she said, in her usual tactful way. “We need to take you bra-shopping.”

So they’d driven to the Short Hills Mall, and Shoshana had nearly fainted when she was measured for a size 36C. “I haven’t breezed past the letter
D
since the sixth grade,” she’d said to the saleswoman, who hadn’t looked in the least bit fazed by this proclamation. Pam came along, insisting on helping Shoshana shop, although she’d refused to buy something nice for herself in any of the stores, saying she preferred to “just order something from the catalogs.”

Emily and Shoshana had exchanged a look while strolling through the mall, hordes of yuppies getting an insanely early start on holiday shopping. It broke Shoshana’s heart that her mother never did anything nice for herself. It was as if by being heavy she felt she had to keep saying, “Excuse me,” simply for
existing
. Buying clothing in a department store was a simple experience for most women; for Pam it was sheer torture. “Everyone stares at me,” she said softly, when Emily pressed her.

So when Jessica stated the obvious, that Shoshana was no longer big (Jessica hadn’t known Shoshana before, of course, and saw only the curvy yet fit young woman in front of her), Shoshana responded, “You know what? Fuck it. Let’s do it. Cut away.”

And that was how she found herself with an adorable bob. She had to run into the bathroom and stare at her reflection several times; it was her, and yet it wasn’t. The haircut framed her face, light and whispery. All the years she’d had that long mane because she thought her face was simply too round to look good with a bob. Her long hair had been a curtain she’d hidden behind. She’d thought it was the only thing pretty about her, when in fact her deep brown eyes and clear, porcelain skin were there all along. And it took a complete stranger, a new friend, to show her the light.

The following morning, Shoshana woke around eight-thirty. Frank Sinatra lay snoring on the pillow next to her, and woke with a snort when she opened her eyes. She was waking earlier and earlier these days, juggling both the blog and the orchard. Just yesterday Emily had pointed out that the Red Delicious were ripe. Today she would have her first customers coming to pick their own. Last week she hung signs in town and placed an ad in the local paper beside sales of tractors and hens.

She scrolled through her e-mails. It was pretty much what she’d expected. Half her readers were shocked and horrified at her weight loss, accusing her of being a “sell-out” and “fraud.” She wanted to scream,
I’m the one who freaking started this blog! I get to weigh whatever the hell I want to!
But she’d been heavy too long not to understand that their feelings and negative feedback were rooted in fear and confusion. They’d looked up to Shoshana. She was expected to be the most self-deprecating, the most fat, the funniest. Their idol had changed, and the fans were displeased.

However, the other half of the responses to yesterday’s post were warm and positive. It was always that way with the Internet, wasn’t it? Shoshana developed a thicker skin since starting
Fat and Fabulous,
although she still wanted to please everyone, though she knew that was impossible.

“You should be so proud that you lost weight through walking and eating fresh foods,” Amy from Des Moines, Iowa, wrote. “Not dieting or running yourself into exhaustion, like most girls. I can’t wait to see what your next blog posts are about. Keep up the great work!”

And from Mary Lenihan from Poughkeepsie, New York: “Shoshana, I have followed your blog posts for three years. I’ve always known you to be nothing but genuine and funny. Your posts brighten up my day. I love you at any size. Three of my girlfriends who read your blog are going to make a trip in a few weeks to buy apples from your farm! Here’s hoping there’s an apple pie left for me. Hugs, Mary.”

She edited tomorrow’s post, a response by Dr. Amanda Weber to a report recently released from the American Heart Association that stated fatter patients were more likely to survive hospitalization and invasive treatments. The doctor’s writing was getting better and better; Shoshana was proud she’d found her articles on positive messages for heavier women in a small newspaper and recruited her to write for
Fat and Fabulous
. Dr. Weber had become a gem. At first her writing and tone were stiff and doctorly, but after a few gentle edits she’d really figured out
F&F
’s breezy, girlfriends-chatting type of dialogue.

After checking all her messages, some which made her cry (in a good way), others that made her laugh out loud, and still more that made her cry yet again (in a bad way), Shoshana shut down her computer and sat on her bed, thinking. The house was silent, everyone tucked into their beds, sleeping off hangovers. She ran her fingers through her hair, enjoying the way it swept across her neck.

She walked to the bathroom and discovered there was a note sticking to her bathroom mirror, along with a photo. She reached up and slowly peeled off the tape that held up the photo, studying the image. It was a picture of Shoshana at five years old, her cheeks round and red. Her auburn hair was in pigtails, tied with two red bows. Two giant hands held her up, and by his slim gold wedding band she recognized them as her father’s. A Post-it was stuck to the picture:
You have always been our sweetie pie. Please consider calling the newspaper.
Shoshana sighed. She’d be fifty and her mother’s guilt trips would still resonate.

She dug around in her bedroom until she found the unflattering picture of Alexis from the
Post
. The section was edited by someone named Judy Price. Shoshana pictured her: English major, sleek hair, glasses on top of her head, lives in Brooklyn. She Googled the
Post
’s main phone number and asked for Judy Price, who miraculously was in.

“This is Price.”

She had a smoker’s deep, throaty voice.

“Hi … Price. This is Shoshana Weiner, I run a blog called
Fat and Fabulous
.”

Pause.

“I’m aware.”

This wasn’t going to be as easy as Shoshana had thought. “I don’t really know how to say it…”

“Is this about the Alexis Allbright story?”

“Uh … you mean the picture?”

“No. Story. Girl made everyone feel shitty about not being skinny, then gets fat herself. Makes for great print. I saw what she did to you on
Oprah
. Ouch.”

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of why I’m calling.”

“Shoshana, my father used to have a saying. If you have a mouthful of shit, spit it out.”

Shoshana stared at the phone.

“Right. Well, the thing is…” She glanced down at the clipping on her lap. At Alexis’s startled eyes, her protective hand over her midsection, unsuccessfully hiding her weight gain from the camera. Shoshana sat up straighter. “I want to make a statement about the picture you ran.”

“Yeah? What kind of statement?” Shoshana could hear typing in the background. She pictured Judy Price as a multitasker: pencil behind her ear, jabbing at keys, drinking a mug of coffee, and talking to Alexis, the phone glued to her shoulder.

So Shoshana told her, and when she was finished, Judy Price had a humdinger of a quote for tomorrow’s paper.

Shoshana went downstairs to wake up her lot; each person had a special role for the orchard’s grand opening. After jumping up and down on Emily a few times and ducking her sister’s threats to “punch you in the vag,” she rapped on Greg and Jessica’s door, likewise with Jane and Andrew (in case either couple was having some early morning loving, she didn’t want to disturb them by opening their doors), and snuggled Andrea spoonlike until she finally agreed to get out of bed due to Frank Sinatra licking her face with his doggie breath. Next, she woke up Karen and Aggie, who had gone out late last night to the Black Horse Tavern, a bar in Mendham. Shoshana heard them come in sometime around two, Aggie’s dreadlock bells jingling as she walked up the driveway.

“Wow, your haircut looks really pretty,” Karen said now, stretching her long legs and yawning.

“Thanks. Now get your butt in the shower.”

Shoshana was opening the gates at ten o’clock, so she put out cereal and milk for everyone. Fuel. As her friends padded downstairs barefoot and ate, chatting away, Shoshana looked around and realized she had fallen in love after all: with the farm. It brought all the people she cared about under one roof, and gave her a passion she’d never known she had: to grow and tenderly take care of apple trees. The scent of their trunks, the shine in their leaves, the smell of fresh cider … she was indeed in love. There was work to be done each season, and she was excited to take it on.

Joe Murphy and Greta arrived after most of the breakfast bowls had been put into the sink and washed by Aggie. Everyone got a kick out of Joe, who recently invited her whole crew over for dinner, plying them with whiskey and his stories of overseas travel when he worked in the oil industry.

Shoshana divided the work to be done: Joe and Greta would educate people on the history of the orchard and help them choose the type of apple they desired. Aggie, Andrea, and Jane were put in charge of commanding the apple pie booth. The pies were all made with Red Delicious; after a taste test with Greta, they agreed it was the best type of apple to make pies from. Andrew and Greg would serve free apple cider to guests milling about the grounds, and Jessica would woman the gate in case anyone needed directions up the driveway.

Shoshana offered a percentage of sales to all her friends, yet they’d politely refused. “It’s your orchard!” they’d exclaimed. “Besides, it’s fun to come out here to the sticks and mooch off you.” No one would accept any percentage of profits, not even Greg, who’d helped her trademark the orchard’s name and drew up the business plan, which they finally went over together late last night.

Shoshana walked outside to put the final touches on the orchard, hanging a wooden sign at the foot of her driveway road so people knew where to turn when coming from town. Aggie had painted
SHOSHANA’S APPLE ORCHARD
in cheery red and green lettering. Aggie had also donated a four-foot-tall penis sculpture to bless the farm, which Shoshana had quietly whisked away and hidden inside the back shed.

Pam returned from her shift at the hospital just as Shoshana was about to open the gates. She stood with her arms around both her daughters’ waists, surveying the property from the driveway. She saw the fresh coat of white paint Greg had put on the house. The yellow and violet mums Mimi planted so long ago had come up, dotting the landscape. She saw the pretty white rocks that now filled the driveway, the apple orchard that had once been a tangled jungle, now with seventy-five apple trees, cut short and thinned out, their beautiful branches hanging sideways like arms reaching for a hug.

“I am so proud of both of you,” Pam said, her eyes welling with tears. “Mimi would have been thrilled.”

Shoshana smiled. It had been more work than she’d ever imagined, but with the help of friends both old and new, it all came together. Holy shit, she was a frickin’
farmer
! A reporter from
New Jersey Monthly
was coming out next week to interview her and take pictures of the house and orchard for a profile. She suspected Pam of calling the magazine, but she had no proof.

“I love it here,” Emily said. “It’s so
you,
Shoshana.”

“Will you keep the Hoboken apartment?” Pam asked.

“As long as I can afford to, sure,” Shoshana said. “It’s not that much for rent, and I like being able to live in the city and country at the same time. I can hang out here taking care of my apple trees, but hop on the train and be in Hoboken in an hour, go out in the city, see Broadway shows, and visit Em at work. I feel really lucky.”

“I just can’t believe how little there is of you to put my arm around!” Pam said, giving her oldest daughter a squeeze.

Both girls laughed. Shoshana had been unsure how Emily would react to her weight loss, but she’d been nothing but happy for her sister. “Being fat ain’t fun,” Emily said one night as they lay on the grass outside the house, looking up at the stars, looking for the Milky Way. “Let’s be honest.”

There had to be a balance, which was the direction Shoshana was struggling with when it came to
Fat and Fabulous
. She wanted to exist somewhere in the middle of fat and skinny, and she was going to figure it out, no matter how long it took. She might not have all the kinks worked out just yet but she would. Her weight, her body … it was all an adventure we call life.

Around eleven, when Shoshana started to fear no one would show up, a few families started walking up the driveway, looking curious.