Oh, I know all about looking odd; I’m the oddly chubby daughter of a fit and fabulous mother

It’s Monday morning, and I’m early for my appointment at Fashion by Rosie. All winter long I wore the same four dolman sweaters to death, pushing off this shopping trip. But this week the wind seemed to be blowing differently, as if spring really is on its way, and that gave me the boost I needed to call Rosie.

I wrap my sweater tighter and scroll through today’s schedule on my phone.  Clothes shopping, then client, client, client. Team meeting at two for Adina at Bnos Bais Sara. I smile. That should go well. When Adina first started seeing me she was suffering from severe social anxiety.  I wouldn’t call her a social butterfly now, but in just eight months the girl’s opened up enough to make a couple of friends to call her own. I’m proud of her. Honestly, I’m proud of me. It never ceases to amaze me what the right therapy can do.

“Tova!” My younger sister slams the door of her gold Sienna, throws her black leather teacher’s bag over her shoulder, and hurries toward me.

“Hi, Brach. You park all the way over here every day?”

“I only park on the boulevard when the teacher’s parking lot is already full, which is not every single day. Just most.” She smiles. “Listen— I have the most amazing thing to tell you! Wait, it’s almost nine— why aren’t you at the office?”

“Rosie’s meeting me here, I asked her for an appointment before the store opens.” My fingers untangle the back of my sheitel as we talk. “I don’t know, I can’t shop with other people around.” I give a sort of half laugh.

“I hear that. Rosie would only do this for you.”

Rosie walks past us and opens the door to the store. We both wave. Bracha is still three blocks from the school, and classes start in ten minutes, but if she’s in any rush, she doesn’t show it.

Bracha takes a deep breath. “So, after the teacher’s meeting yesterday, Rebbetzin Cohen asked me to stay for a minute and she said—” She pauses for a second and holds up her hand— “Wait, did I tell you the theme for the tea this year?”

“Yeah, wellness. That lady from that magazine is doing a healthy cooking demo, right?”

“You didn’t hear the best part.” Bracha pauses, waiting for my reaction.

“No?”      “Rebbetzin Cohen wants to call us up to present us with an award for Mommy’s fifth yahrtzeit.”

“Oh!” I clear my throat. “Um. Nice.”

“So, so nice. Mommy did so much. Besides teaching dance at the school for like 20 years and not even getting paid for it. Remember how she used to coach people before coaching was even a thing?”

As if I could forget. — Tova, let’s work out a healthy eating plan, shall we? My mother’s unfailingly chipper voice sang in my ears.

I try to keep my voice neutral. “Uh huh. Wait… you want me to get up there with you?”

“Of course! She wants you to speak!” Bracha claps her hands. “The mothers will be eating out of your hand. They don’t get a talk from a child psychologist with a six-month waiting list every day.”

I smile at her compliment.

“Rebbetzin Cohen reminded me about those Motzaei Shabbos workshops Mommy did,” Bracha continues. “She took along so many women on her health journey. Like for free, too. It’s amazing.”

Bracha takes out a water bottle from her bag and a pacifier falls to the ground. She tucks the pacifier into the bag’s outside pocket and continues. “She used to talk about getting everyone on the fitness train. She wanted to help everyone.”

I’m giving an exercise class for teenagers now in the school gym. You coming, Tova? The girls your age really want to be fit and healthy. My mother’s voice was a near constant soundtrack.

A large diesel truck rumbles by, blaring its horn. I feel a headache coming on.

“Bracha, I have to go, Rosie’s waiting for me.” I turn toward the store.