“S
ent.” I closed my computer and looked at up Ari. My stomach lurched, either with nerves or excitement, I couldn’t tell.

“Mazel tov!” Ari shouted while doing high kicks in celebration.

Did I really just e-mail my two weeks’ notice? Crazy. We drank l’chayim, then I ran to open the gemach, early appointment.

“Does this make me look fat?” Chaya Samet asked.

Her face was serious, so no jokes, just the truth. She’d called the gemach in panic mode, she had a new outfit but no coordinating accessories, and a date tomorrow. Of course I told her to come over.

“No, it doesn’t make you look heavier, but maybe a chunkier necklace would be more flattering,” I said, proffering another necklace.

“So I look fat.”

“No, it just doesn’t make you look thin.”

Chaya sighed, sounding so defeated, I wanted to hug her, but this was her first visit. I reached out and patted her upper arm. Neutral territory, the experts say.

“I’m not fat,” Chaya said, though she spoke into the mirror, so her reflection was talking to me. I surreptitiously elevator-eyed her. She wasn’t fat, but she was tall and broad, no daintiness to her. “But people always call me a ‘big girl,’ it’s just so…” She trailed off, words evading her.

“Demeaning,” I offered.

“Yeah, that.” She removed the thin necklace with one hand and held her other hand out for the second necklace I held: shorter, with larger links in a double layer. She put it on wordlessly.

“It does look make me look smaller,” she said, appraising herself. “But it’s not…” Again she let the sentence hang.

“Refined,” I finished.

“He made a comment to the shadchan, something like ‘Does she have a feminine side?’ I’m not even sure what he meant, but I want to look more…”

I didn’t bother filling in the words for her, but tried the noncommittal advice tactic.

“Go with what you’re comfortable with. It’s okay and good to stretch yourself a bit for another person. But don’t try to be another person.”

Chaya laughed harshly. “If it was up to me, I’d be dating in a sweatshirt and slinky skirt. But that’s not okay. Am I supposed to pencil in my eyebrows the rest of my life just to get married?”

“We have more casual pieces that would work well.” I redirected the conversation, then fished through the shelves and found an acrylic, linked necklace, white on one side, frosted gold on the other. The moment Chaya saw it, I knew I’d chosen correctly.

“Yes!” she said, taking it from me. “It’s nice, but also me.” She held it up to the light, examining it as if it were gems, then slipped it over her head. Immediately her tension dissipated — she jutted her hip and became a person.

“Thank you,” Chaya gushed as I wrote her a receipt for a refundable deposit and gave her return instructions. “This place is amazing, just the concept, and you’re so easy and chilled. Such a pleasure.”

I beamed internally, but chilled? Me? Ha.

She left and I turned off the lights and closed the basement room off the side entrance to my parents’ house. I should go upstairs, say hi to Mommy, but I didn’t have energy for her. It was after ten, Ari was waiting for me. At least I didn’t have to make Shabbos, we were going to Abby. At the door I allowed myself two seconds of guilt, then left.

(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 623)