150 Pounds (40 page)

“That’s my cue!” Emily said, walking over to her little table where she had a
PICK ALL YOU WANT FOR FIVE BUCKS!
sign.

Soon after, cars started pulling up the driveway, and folks from Chester and many surrounding towns streamed into Shoshana’s Apple Orchard. She recognized several farmers whose products she’d bought in past months, and walked over to greet them. The seeds Mimi, Georgina, Joe, and Bob had planted so long ago gave Shoshana some of the juiciest apples around, everyone agreed.

The day sped by in a blur. The opening was a smashing success. She sold every pie, chatted with neighbors, loaded barrel after barrel full of red apples into pickup trucks, and finished the last of the apple cider. As the sun shot dark red and purple rays into the expansive sky, Shoshana and her friends packed up the tables and shared the very last apple pie, which Shoshana had saved, heating it up in the oven. Greta made an assembly line in the kitchen, plopping a scoop of vanilla ice cream on each plate. Joe Murphy had snuck nips from his whiskey flask throughout the day, and now slept sitting up on the living room couch, Frank Sinatra and Patrick O’Leary cuddling at his feet and his pipe still stuck in the corner of his mouth. “Yer fa-tha would have been real proud,” he’d said to her earlier in the day.

He grunted a few times in his sleep, and then seemed to rouse himself. He was wearing the three-piece suit he’d worn the day she met him, the vest and jacket perfectly pressed and neat even though he’d been napping in it. Shoshana sat on a purple velvet armchair across from him, finishing her pie. Sinatra woke and came to jump up on her lap, helping himself to a taste of the food on her plate, lapping it with his crooked tongue.

Greta came into the room with Pam. She wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to Joe, pinching him hard on the nose.

“Christ, woman!” he howled.

“Oh. Sorry. I thought you were still asleep,” she said.

“Bloody hell. No. Just a little drunk,” he muttered. “And I haven’t forgotten about our announcement, neitha’.”

“What announcement?” Emily asked. She’d walked into the room and sat down on Shoshana’s lap. Shoshana grunted and then tried to cover her mouth so as not to let the sound escape.

“My mother used to say don’t call it a trout till it’s in the bank,” Joe said, standing and lighting his pipe.

“Eh, shut up, old man. You’re in the bank, and you know it.”

“Wait, I’m confused. Who is the trout?” Greg called out from the kitchen, where he was playing cards with Andrew and Aggie and drinking a beer.

“Seems I’m to get married,” Joe said. And he blushed, which was so out of character Shoshana let out a huge laugh.

Pam ran to Greta and hugged her. “Greta! I have goose bumps. After all these years.”

Greta shrugged. “Everyone we loved is dead. We figured, what the hell?”

It wasn’t exactly the most romantic of wedding announcements, but it would do.

“I t’ink this calls for some celebrating,” Joe said.

“Fuck, yeah,” Emily said. She shook her head. “Picture that, you two old buzzers, falling in love.”

“Well, don’t get ahead of yerself, now, woman,” Joe said. “It’s more like I finally realized this beast on my back wasn’t getting off.”

“Pshaw,” Greta said, laughing. “You just didn’t want to die alone, you old fart. You need someone to change your diapers.”

“Oh, hell, if I’m gonna marry you, the least ya can do is take me in the back of the house and shoot me like a lame horse,” Joe said, sipping from his flask.

“You two,” Pam said, smiling. She clasped her hands to her ample bosom. “I know Mimi would be so happy about it if she were here. I’ll get the cups.” She rushed into the kitchen and produced several mason jars, which Joe filled with whiskey. Everyone had some, even Pam.

While Greta and Pam prepared dinner in the kitchen, Shoshana’s friends stood around on the screened-in back porch, laughing and teasing one another. Someone found an old transistor radio in a drawer, and Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Proud Mary” played. Shoshana leaned into the music like it was a warm wind. It had been a day she would remember for the rest of her life.

*   *   *

The next morning, Shoshana stared at the bright glaring light on her laptop. She couldn’t believe what she was reading in her in-box:

Hi Shoshana, this is Alexis Allbright. You can totally say no if you want, but I was wondering if you’d meet me for a cup of coffee tomorrow. I know from your blog you live above a coffee shop, I could come meet you there in Hoboken? I would understand why you would say no, but I just wanted to thank you for what you said in the
Post
. Coffee is on me, of course!

It was the exclamation point at the end that got to her. It was so darn cheerful. For so long, Alexis Allbright had stood for every pretty, skinny girl who laughed at Shoshana in high school, glared at her as she tried to ease her bulk into a crowded train seat, giggled as she jogged past them. She’d been the dark to Shoshana’s light, the enemy lying in wait for her in the Fat-O-Sphere. The media pitted them against each other in article after article. Whenever a new story about obesity hit the press, they’d both get interviewed. She was so used to hating Alexis that she had no idea what she would say to her when they were face-to-face. Besides, what did Alexis want that she couldn’t just say in an e-mail? This wasn’t the Alexis she knew. It was like Darth Vader lifting his mask and suddenly singing out hits from
The Sound of Music
.

She hit reply and sat staring at the blinking cursor. It was Sunday. Her friends would be going back to Hoboken anyway. She could hitch a ride and not have to take the train. (As much as she dearly loved New Jersey Transit, it made a lot of stops from Chester to Hoboken and that made the trip agonizingly slow.) She thought about her mom’s advice. Alexis’s frown line between her eyebrows and cruel, black heart. She didn’t trust her. Surely Emily would agree the only reason to meet in person again would be to tell her to go to hell. But telling people off wasn’t Shoshana’s style. She sighed, looking around her bedroom at the soft salmon-pink of the walls, the pretty lace curtains she’d found in an antique store in town, Mimi’s black-and-white stills from movie sets, her beaded lampshade, the vase of blue hydrangea flowers Pam left on her bedside table. She was happy, happier than she’d ever been before. So what could Alexis do or say that would take that away?

It was that exclamation point that finally won Shoshana over. It was cute and girly, written in the style
she’d
type to friends, or to her readers. Shoshana sometimes put so many exclamation points in her blog posts she was teased about it.

She typed quickly, before she could change her mind. “Hi Alexis, got your e-mail. Coffee tomorrow sounds fine.”

She shook her head and erased the word “fine.”

“Coffee sounds nice. How about Empire at two o’clock?”

She had barely hit send before Alexis’s name popped right back up on her in-box.

Shoshana paused. She moved her mouse over Alexis’s name and clicked.

“Great! See you there.”

She looked out the window and the stirring of people walking around below washed over her in muted sound. Dishes clattering, voices murmuring, toilets flushing. There was an unused paintbrush from a watercolor Pam was working on left on the windowsill, and Shoshana reached to pick it up, running the soft bristles over her palm. She liked the feeling.

Driving back to Hoboken that afternoon in Greg’s car with Jessica in front, squished between Andrea and Aggie, and Frank Sinatra asleep on her lap, Shoshana watched the scenery, her cheek pressed against the window, as they drove over the Pulaski Bridge. Planes landing at Newark Airport flew directly overhead; she imagined if she reached her arm out, she could touch one. Traffic was snarled, the bridge looking as though it were made of cardboard, lit against the sky with unnatural shades of orange and purple. Exhaust and steam merged on the street below, creating a heat mirage that made the buildings of Bayonne and Union City seem as though they were melting.

“Did someone fart?” Andrea asked.

A chorus of “Nope”s.

“Just New Jersey, then,” Andrea said, satisfied. It was a conversation most people had on the expanse of travel between Newark Airport and the Holland Tunnel. Even natives felt a certain satisfaction in asking a rhetorical question. A simple checking-in of olfactory wellness, if you will.

Shoshana smiled. She felt at home in both places: Hoboken and Chester. And yet they were so different. Perhaps it was symbolic, of both
Fat and Fabulous
and
Skinny Chick
. The two blogs had separate agendas, but did they have to be pitted against each other as enemies? If Shoshana found beauty and love in both towns, couldn’t she find peace and a middle ground with Alexis?

*   *   *

The following day, Shoshana woke up in her bed to find Frank Sinatra licking his pink and black paws on the pillow next to her head. “Who needs a man when I’ve got you?” she crooned at him, and he licked her face in agreement. She stared into his bug-eyes and scratched him behind his ears the way he liked.

She could already smell the coffee beans roasting downstairs as she put on jogging shorts and laced up her sneakers. It was a nice day outside and she felt like exercising. She still marveled at her own agility; she could bend down over her leg and tie her shoelaces. When she was heavy, she would have to put her leg up on a chair to reach over her stomach. Another thing about weighing only 150 pounds: she wore shorts. Shorts were not her friend before, the material getting stuck between her thighs and chafing her, the shape of them cutting off her body at mid-leg and making her legs look like two sausages. She’d walked over to a jogging store on Washington yesterday and picked up a pair of cute pink mesh shorts. Peering outside now, she didn’t see much sun, so she threw on a long bright orange scarf with red flowers and a sweatshirt that read
FAT AND FABULOUS
at the last minute.

She walked the mile through town, dodging beer delivery trucks, mailmen, dog walkers with their packs, and stroller moms. A street-sweeping truck beeped near her as it collected the leaves that had already given in to the season. It was warm for October, still in the low seventies, but gray and cloudy, making the skyline of Manhattan on her left seem that much grander, the lights in the buildings shining across the Hudson, a dark blue barge making its way lazily up the river. The town’s maintenance crew chased a flock of geese off the lawn of the shipyard pier, and the birds took off in unison, flying for a destination where they’d hopefully be more wanted.

A woman with a child yelled, “Leave the birds alone!”

One of the men responded with, “It’s these guys that took down that plane into the Hudson!”

“Jeez,” Shoshana said to Frank Sinatra. “No love for geese these days.”

He growled.

“Hmmm, maybe you agree with the men,” Shoshana said, wagging a finger at him. She could see the Empire State Building’s radio signal flashing red from its roof, the Chrysler’s fish-scale design, and all of downtown’s low settlements stretching to the Financial District. Her favorite parts of the skyline were downtown and uptown. She could just as soon skip the middle part; Times Square and Penn Station were a zoo. The
NEW YORKER
sign lit up bloodred against the stark sky.

She did her loop around Hoboken, and then sat outside at Onieals for an iced tea. Sinatra sat in her lap, his pink tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth. A football game was on the television inside, and although it was early in the day there were a few people eating lunch outside.

After promising the friendly bartender to come back for the following day’s wine-tasting event (she’d bring her roommates), Shoshana walked home. The day had soft edges. She’d almost forgotten about meeting Alexis for a cup of coffee. Remembering this immediately twisted her stomach into knots.

Last night she couldn’t sleep, stressing about what she would say to Alexis. She even practiced telling her off, trying out what she would say on Frank Sinatra, who had jumped and hidden underneath the bed. Now things no longer seemed so finite or troublesome. Her feelings were murky, and she wasn’t sure what Alexis would say to her. However, she had started her own apple orchard; she could deal with a rude skinny girl from Connecticut, for god’s sake.

She could make out Alexis’s profile in the window of Empire Coffee. Shoshana glanced quickly at her watch; she was fifteen minutes late. “Shit!” She’d been relaxing at Onieals and the time had escaped her. She tied up Sinatra outside.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, sitting down across from Alexis, unwrapping the long scarf from her neck and fanning herself. “I totally lost track of the time, and here you are coming all the way from the city and all.”

Alexis blinked.

And just like that, both girls seemed to notice each other for the first time. “You’re preggo!” Shoshana shouted, just as Alexis exclaimed, “You lost so much weight!”

They laughed.

“Yeah. I guess I did,” Shoshana said. She still felt insecure about becoming so much
less
. About losing the weight. And seeing the admiring look in Alexis’s eyes (was there even a green flash of jealousy?) made Shoshana angry, insane as that may be. She did not lose the weight to make people like Alexis admire her. She wished for her old body back, suddenly. She straightened her shoulders. She knew she was damn good at running
Fat and Fabulous
. It didn’t matter what size she was.

“I caught hell about it from my readers,” Shoshana said.

“I hear you on that one,” Alexis said. She frowned. “I didn’t lose too many advertisers, but I definitely feel like I need to go in a new direction. A lot of my longtime fans stuck by me, but others moved on. They said they didn’t really think I could give advice about keeping weight off when I was putting on weight like a champ, no matter the reason. Sometimes I feel like I want to write about something else, I’m just not sure what. Your readers can box you in. Try to control you. I just don’t know what else I’m good at. Except getting knocked up.” She winked at Shoshana.