The Middlesteins(43)

“Emily, this is Anna,” said her grandmother.

Emily was still looking at the waitress’s hand, specifically her nails, which were painted a sparkly purple color.

“She’s a friend of mine,” said her grandmother. “Go on, don’t be rude. Shake her hand.”

Emily reached out and shook the waitress’s hand.

“I like your nail polish,” she said, and she felt completely lame, but she had never been introduced to a waitress in her life. She knew her family and her friends at school and the people at the synagogue and some of her neighbors and her parents’ friends and some random distant relatives, but people who worked out in the world, the people who served you at various stores and restaurants, were not people you befriended, not because you were better than they were (or they were worse than you), but because . . . she didn’t know why because. Because they didn’t quite exist for her yet. Maybe, just then, they started to exist.

“I’ve got the bottle in back,” said Anna. “I can grab it for you, it’s no trouble.”

“Aren’t you just so lovely,” said her grandmother. “After we eat, of course.”

Seven plates of food arrived soon after, plus three bowls of rice, but Emily ignored most of it, keeping her eye on the folders, and her aunt, who was watching her grandmother eat, while her grandmother ignored her and piled food on her own plate and ate and ate and ate, she didn’t stop for nothing, head down, chopsticks in one hand, a spoon in the other, like it was a contest, like she was in a race, but it never seemed like she was going to finish, like her grandmother could eat forever and never get full. This is how you got that way, thought Emily, who ate only three dumplings, even though they were delicious, dewy and plump and slightly sweet, because she was beginning to feel sick watching her grandmother. She looked again at her aunt’s face, and realized she was sick, too. Only the waitress, Anna, wasn’t sick. She was cheerful, clearing the plates as her grandmother emptied them with efficiency. She was the only one who didn’t know. Emily wondered if anyone was planning on telling her. She bet Anna would want to know.

With the post-dinner green tea (and just one more glass of wine for her aunt, she probably wouldn’t even finish it) came the bottle of purple polish, and Emily quietly busied herself with her nails, dabbing and blowing delicately, working awkwardly with the cast, while her aunt opened the first folder.

“We’re going to talk about your grandmother’s health for a little bit,” said Robin.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do that in front of her,” said her grandmother.

“Is it going to bum you out?” said Robin.

“The whole thing is already a bummer,” said Emily. Her grandmother started to cry. “Don’t cry,” said Emily, and then she started to cry, and so did Robin. Anna walked up with three dishes of ice cream, made a small, horrified expression with her mouth, and then walked away, silver dishes still in hand.

“Everyone cut it out,” Robin said finally, dabbing her eyes with her napkin.

“It’s going to be fine, honey,” said her grandmother, who did not stop the tears dripping from her face. “Come here, bubbeleh.” She extended her arms toward Emily, who slung her one good arm around her grandmother’s torso and clung tightly.

“Breathe,” said Robin. They did. They all breathed separately. They all breathed collectively. “Now, let’s get down to business.”

She opened the top folder. It was full of brochures. Spas, retreats, resorts.

“Fat farms,” murmured her grandmother.

“You have to start somewhere,” said Robin.

“I’m not going anywhere,” said the older woman. “I don’t want to leave my family right now.”

“I’ve also got some information on nutritionists,” said Robin. She pulled out a single slick sheet of paper that had a picture of a buff, smiling man with enormous teeth that somehow seemed whiter than the paper they were printed on. “This guy is supposed to be one of the best trainers in Chicago, and he specializes in cases like yours. He’s in the suburbs on Tuesdays and Fridays.”

“I already walk around the track almost every day,” said her grandmother.

“You’re going to need more than the track,” said Robin.

“I’m doing the best I can,” said her grandmother.

“This is the best you can?” said Robin angrily, motioning to the now-empty table.

“I like it here,” whispered her grandmother. “These are my friends. You can’t make me give up my friends.”

Emily suddenly felt nervous; the humanity, the rawness of emotions of those she loved and revered, it was a lot to handle. She didn’t want to know this yet. She said suddenly, “What’s in the other folder?”

The two women looked at her. Robin smoothed her hand nervously over the table. “Maybe this is too much,” she said. Emily reached out her good hand and quickly pulled the folder toward her, then flipped it open. Weight-loss surgery. Staples and tubes. “That’s probably not for right now,” said her aunt. “It could be for later this year.” Robin paled, and rubbed her hands along the sides of her face. “It’s not ideal. It’s not entirely guaranteed, and any time you go in for surgery, you’re putting yourself at risk.” Robin could no longer look at her mother or her niece. “It’s a way to go. It’s not the way I would go. But it is a way to go. It’s something to think about.” She lurched forward and clutched at her mother. “Can’t you just stop, please, stop, Mom, please?”