She bit her lip. “And I realized that maybe this—where we are right now—that maybe it’s all my fault, that I pushed you too hard to look a certain way. And I’m sorry about that.”
I knew it wasn’t all her fault. Even so, I would have thought hearing her say that would make me feel better. But it didn’t. Mom’s fragility scared me. My mom was diamond hard. She seemed unbreakable, and her I-know-better-than-you attitude always brought out the worst in me. When we’d fight I’d get meaner and meaner, just to try to wipe that look off her face. It never worked. Now that it was gone, though, I didn’t know how to handle the person sitting in front of me, and I almost wanted her to put her hard shell back on.
She sighed. “You know, I’ve never liked the person I saw in the mirror.”
Just like me.
She twisted her green Kate Spade bracelet, the one Dad got her for Christmas last year. I coveted that bracelet. “In high school, I felt like I didn’t have a personality worth sharing. I always thought of myself as this mousy girl no one noticed. It was a terrible feeling. I didn’t want you to feel that way.”
What? Grandma was full of stories about Mom from high school, about how she’d throw parties and get caught, or how she’d sneak out at night. “Mom, you were really popular in high school.”
“It might have seemed that way, but I always felt like an imposter, like no one knew me. It was a terrible loneliness, Elizabeth. Terrible. I hated who I was. I constantly compared myself to other girls in my classes, and I always came up short. For me, dieting helped. Looking better on the outside helped me feel more like I was a match for my friends. And as you got older, I worried that you’d feel the same way.”
I wanted to dismiss her, but the scariest thing was that I knew exactly what she was talking about. I wasn’t about to admit that, though.
“You thought I’d hate myself?”
“Oh, honey, no.”
“But you just said that you saw in me what you hated in yourself.”
“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I could never think that. My problems and my realities were never yours. I was projecting. That’s what I meant.” Mom reached into her bag. She grabbed a tissue and held it in one white-knuckled fist.
“How?”
“How what?”
“How did you figure all this out?” Mom wasn’t about the feels. Ever.
“Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve started seeing a counselor.”
“What?” Mom? Seeing a shrink?
“Yes, well, your father and I both have. At first, it was to understand what was happening with you. But as it turns out, the counselor thinks I have a few issues to work on, too.”
She put her hand on mine. I let it stay there. Her skin was soft.
“Do you agree?” I asked.
“Agree with what?”
“That you have issues?”
“Sure. Who doesn’t have issues?”
“But what about issues with eating? And your weight? Does your counselor think you have those?”
She brushed a piece of imaginary lint off her sleeve and didn’t look at me. “Oh, I don’t know, Elizabeth.”
“Well, does she?”
“Yes, but I’m not convinced. I—”
“Mom, you eat, but barely. You’re so picky; it isn’t normal.”
“It’s normal for me, Elizabeth. And I’m fine.”
She was in such denial, and there was nothing I could say to change her mind. I knew that, because there would have been nothing anybody could have said to change my mind. Until I got bad enough, that is. And Mom had never crossed that line. She’d straddled it, sure, but she’d never gone full anorexic. Lucky her.
“But one thing I know for sure, Elizabeth, is this. We need to focus on your recovery. Your dad and I want you to get well so much. You are our everything. And you shine, Elizabeth. So much. I’m so sorry that I didn’t help you to see that.”
I nodded. It was weird to hear Mom apologize. She didn’t usually do that.
“And I should never have said it would be great for you to lose a few pounds. Moms aren’t supposed to say that stuff.”
“But you said it because it was true, Mom. You thought I was fat.”
She wiped her eyes, but she didn’t deny it. “I’d take it all back in a second if I could.”
She couldn’t, though. The words were a part of me. But still. She was trying. “I know,” I said.
Then I reached over and hugged her. She felt like bones. Her clammy skin chilled me. She wasn’t comforting—or comfortable.
And that’s when I wondered if that’s what Charlie felt when he hugged me.
33
After Mom left, all I wanted to do was run. Or walk, at least. Through the window I could see a path that led into the woods, blanketed with pine needles. I hungered for it. But we weren’t allowed off the patio, so all I could do was head for the nearest chair in the sun. I lifted my eyes to the clear blue sky and felt my soul stretch. It was so, so cold, but I didn’t care. I’d barely settled in when Simone’s voice cut through the quiet. “Elizabeth! Hey.”
Please, not now.
Her voice turned bossy. “Say hi.”
“Hi, Elizabeth.”
Tristan. I froze, then slowly turned around.
His face matched the crimson color of Simone’s Boston College sweatshirt. He glared at his sister, who had a tight grip on his arm. “Get off me. Now.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Say sorry.”
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “About the doughnut. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s fine.” The whole doughnut thing felt like it had happened centuries ago. Screw the doughnut. We had bigger things to discuss.
I took a deep breath. Do it, Elizabeth. Just do it. “Tristan, can I talk to you? Alone?” Simone took a half step back in surprise, her eyes widening so much I could actually see them through her eyeliner.
“Okay.” His eyes darted between his sister and me.
Simone didn’t move. “Simone, get out of here,” he said.
“I’m going, I’m going.” With one last glare at her brother, she went inside.
A few girls smoking at the other end of the patio glanced over at us. Coral held court in the middle, telling a story that was eliciting shrieks of laughter. “Come on,” I said, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the opposite end.
I spit it out before I lost my nerve, talking so fast that my words jumbled together. “I know you sent me those packages in the mail.”
“What are you talking about?” He looked at me like I’d gone crazy. But I knew what I knew. Didn’t I?
“The packages with the tons of stamps? The jar of sand? The poster?” I pulled the brass ring out from under my sweater and waved it at him. “This? The journal? It was you.”
He just stared at me, his face blank.
“It was you,” I said. “Wasn’t it?”
“Not me. Sorry.” He pulled out his pack of cigarettes but put them away without taking one. Maybe he really was trying to quit.
I tried again. “But you highlighted the journal—where it said ‘college-ruled.’ It had to be you. Nobody else knew about that.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
I had a horrible sense of déjà vu. “Please, I—”
“Yeah, uh, no.”
I held myself together by wrapping my arms around my chest. “But…”
“You’re looking in the wrong place.” Then, without even saying goodbye, he turned and walked, fast, across the patio.
I’d done it again.