Modern Girls by Jennifer S. Brown

lay this in the hands of something greater than myself.
    I suddenly leaped off the couch, draping the sheet around me. Ma looked up from the table, startled.
    “What? A bee stung you?”
    “Ma,” I said.
    “Never have you moved so fast out of bed. Sometimes I can’t tell which is sofa and which is you—you stay in so long.”
    I rolled my eyes and headed to her room.
    “What’s with the sheet?” Ma asked. “Suddenly you’re too modest for us to see you in your nightclothes?”
    “I’m a grown woman, Ma. I shouldn’t be prancing around in underthings.” The truth was I feared her eyeing my bosom, my stomach.
    Making my way into her room, where I kept my clothes on a small rack, I surveyed my garments. What to wear for an appointment with
Hashem
? I pulled down my most modest dress, which wasn’t saying much—the skirt came to below my knees and the sleeves brushed my wrists, but the scoop neckline wasn’t the most decorous. It would have to do. The last time I’d worn this dress was for the Stein funeral.
    As I eyed the zipper, I sighed, and I turned to face Ma’s dresser. Could I do this? With my eyes half-closed so I wouldn’t see her unmentionables, I fished in her top drawer for a girdle. My hands found one, but not before they alighted on the small box. With a quick glance at the door, I pulled out the tin. My future. How wonderful it would be to sit in a classroom, surrounded by numbers. Were there new numbers to learn? New worlds of calculations to discover? I pictured evenings filled with numbers swirling around, multiplying and dividing, leaping along the number line, digits building and snowballing to ever greater sums. I admired the roundness of even numbers in their willingness to halve, the stubbornness of prime numbers in their refusal to divide. I loved the infiniteness of
eight
stretching before me, no end in sight, and the sturdiness of a
five
. Rounded
nine
was maternal, holding within a triplet of threes. But then the thought of maternity brought me crashing back into the moment.
    I replaced the tin, shut the drawer, and shimmied into the girdle. Ma was just big enough that the girdle skimmed on easily, which disappointed me; I was hoping it would hide more. But it did enough so the dress slid down my body with barely a struggle.
    Before leaving the bedroom, I bolstered myself with a deep breath. There was no way to slip out undetected; I’d just have to deal with Ma head-on.
    Ma was cleaning a spill and not looking at me when she said, “Sit and eat.” She glanced up and was clearly surprised. “Did someone die?”
    “God forbid, Ma.”
    “Why are you dressed like that?”
    Walking to the credenza, I opened the glass doors, hunting for my prayer book. “I thought I’d go to
shul
this morning.”
    The silence startled me. Ma looked at me openmouthed, and Alfie and Eugene exchanged nervous glances. Finally Alfie said, “Are ya sick or something?”
    Ah, there was the
siddur
, behind the photo of Ma’s parents. “No, I’m not sick,” I said. My tone was taking the singsong quality of an angry child and I checked myself, readjusting my voice by clearing my throat. “No,” I repeated, “I’m not sick. It’s just been a while since I’ve been to
shul
on
Shabbes
and I thought I should go.”
    “What about the movies?” Eugene asked.
    “We’ll still have plenty of time for the movies when I get back,” I said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
    “Wait.” Ma’s voice was firm. I was sure she was about to insist I eat first.
    “Ma—” But she interrupted before I could finish my sentence.
    “I will come with you.”
    “Oh,” I said. Now it was my turn to be taken aback. Ma didn’t go to
shul
. She sent
Tateh
while she cooked and cleaned. She went for the holidays, but even then she didn’t stay long, hurrying home to prepare the house. But here she was looking for her own prayer book and a hat suitable for
Shabbes
.
    Alfie shook his head. “Going mad around