He laughs. “No way. You should have told me when we got pizza the other night. I wouldn’t have gotten sausage on it.”
“Well, there’s more I should probably tell you, and I probably should have told you sooner,” you say. “Like. I don’t eat much.”
“What do you mean?”
You’ve made it inside the house and fortunately his mom is busy in the kitchen. You take a seat in the living room together.
“I’m in therapy for an eating disorder,” you admit. It feels scary to tell Ben this, but it also feels important because he’s someone special and you’re going to need his support. You’re mad at yourself for waiting until it’s five minutes before you’re supposed to sit down with his family for dinner for the first time.
“So can you eat? Do you like, throw up and stuff?” He doesn’t ask to be unkind; you can tell he truly doesn’t know what it means to have an eating disorder.
“No. It’s not like bulimia. That’s the throwing-up disorder. And I don’t have anorexia, although you could consider me borderline, because I guess if I don’t eat enough to keep healthy it could get bad. That’s why I’m in therapy. I go every Monday—to one-on-one therapy and also group therapy. To try to change my eating habits and behavior.”
“But … and don’t take this the wrong way … you look great,” he says.
God, you love this guy. You’re so grateful for him. How can he be this amazing and wonderful and … and you just want to put your arms around him right this second and hug him because he’s looking at you with such concern, like he really wants to understand what’s going on. He’s really listening to you.
“I have what’s called ARFID. It’s a disorder where I’m sensitive to foods, and avoid a lot of things and restrict foods that are not familiar to me. I’m really scared of trying anything new. Like I’ll gag and practically vomit when I try a new food. So I’m in therapy to learn to like food.”
“What can you eat? What do you eat?”
“I should have told you all this before you invited me to dinner. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, I’ll tell my mom. Come with me,” he says. He pulls you up from the couch and takes you into his arms and holds you for a few seconds. “Don’t worry. My mom will understand.”
He grabs your hand and you follow him into the kitchen, where his mom is prepping a salad. “Mom, what’s for dinner exactly?”
“Well, Dad’s making burgers, and I’m making a salad. We’re also having chips and some fruit. What’s up? Do we have a food allergy?” She looks at you.
“Um, I…” You look to Ben for help.
He puts his arm around your waist. It feels very protective and loving. And it gives you the confidence you need: “I’m in therapy for an eating disorder and not too many people know. I just told Ben.”
“Oh honey!” She reaches for you and gives you a hug and you burst into tears, right in their kitchen. They are tears of relief and sad tears too. It feels good to cry. Ben’s mom rubs your back and tells you that it’s okay to cry and you’re very brave and you should be very proud of yourself for sharing that with her because she is sure it was a hard thing for you to do. You’re sniffling on her shirt and then you laugh because now you feel silly about the whole thing so you pull away and wipe your eyes.
“I’m sorry,” you say.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Ben’s mom says. “You’re going to be fine.”
“I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” she says. “But let’s see, what can you have?”
You give her the quick definition of ARFID and between the three of you, you decide you can have a peanut butter sandwich, an apple, and some chips for dinner. All the tears are dried up when Dan, Alana, and Olivia come in.
You end up sitting in between the twins at dinner so you don’t even get to sit by Ben, which is a bummer, but fortunately, Ben’s mom got to Mr. Hansworth—Dan—before dinner was served so he is clued in to what’s going on. But of course, once the girls see that you get to eat a peanut butter sandwich, they also want one. Mrs. Hansworth is so nice, she makes them sandwiches too. And Dan is so cool, he says, “Hey, this just means more burgers for Ben and me!”
After dinner, Mrs. Hansworth brings out a chocolate cream cake and lights the candles for Ben. “I can’t believe my son is seventeen!”
“You’re old!” Alana says.
“You should get married now, you’re so old!” Olivia adds. “Hey, you two should get married!”
There is laughter and an off-key round of “Happy Birthday” and you all eat cake. Cake is never a problem with the monster.
Afterward, everyone sits in the family room and watches a Disney princess movie that you’ve never seen, but Ben has and he knows all the songs and actually sings them with his little sisters, which is the most precious thing you have ever witnessed. You are amazed at how incredible his family is. You thought you were falling in love with him, and then to meet his whole family and see how awesome they are, well, you are in it deep now.
You braid the girls’ hair as you promised, and they take turns brushing your hair. Ben says he wants a turn so he sits on the couch and you sit on the floor between his knees and he runs the brush through your hair gently. Your back is against the couch, and you take your hands and put your fingers under the soles of his socked feet, which are toasty warm. He presses down on your fingertips lightly with his toes, and then he squeezes his thighs against your shoulders. He’s still brushing your hair and it feels like something wonderful. The girls are snuggled up near you on the floor—Alana’s head is in your lap and Olivia is curled up next to you on the other side with a pillow and a blanket. You let them play with your bracelets and you’ve never felt so comfortable and relaxed with a family, not even your own.
About halfway through a second movie, Ben’s parents tell the girls it’s time for bed so the twins hug you and ask if you’ll come over again.
“Do you think Ben will invite me back?” you ask them.
Olivia says, “He better or we’ll kill him!” and Alana says, “You’re the best girl he’s ever invited!”
You turn to grin at Ben and then hug the girls again.
His parents say good night too and take the girls upstairs to bed. Then you and Ben are alone. He moves your hair all to one side, leans down, and kisses your neck, right below your ear.
The goose bumps are explosive.
“You are the best girl I’ve ever invited over,” he whispers.
When he takes you home, you kiss at the front door until you feel completely woozy and disoriented. Finally, he says he has to go or he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to leave. He pulls himself away from you, but he promises he’ll talk to you later. When you get inside and lock the door, your phone buzzes. It’s a text from Ben: I miss you already
23
During your session on Monday with Shayna, you tell her that you’ve begun to open up to your boyfriend about your disorder. You feel proud of this accomplishment.