34
I went to my room. How could it not be him? It had to be.
I’d been so sure.
By dinner, I’d decided that Tristan had lied, and I was right. The clues were too obvious to ignore.
By evening snack, I’d changed my mind. I’d made a colossal error. Tristan wasn’t the guy. I’d humiliated myself. Again.
By bedtime, only one thing was completely clear: I was a fool.
*
I didn’t tell anybody what happened between Tristan and me. When I woke up the next morning, I had the luxury, for a second, of having completely forgotten what had happened.
And then I remembered, and the day passed in a daze, until right before my Mary session. That’s when Simone caught up with me in the hall.
“Elizabeth?”
When I turned around, it was like Tristan’s eyes were staring at me from Simone’s head.
“This is for you.” Simone held out a battered blue iPod shuffle with white earbuds.
I didn’t touch it.
Simone held it out farther. “Take it. Please?”
“No.” I sounded like a stubborn toddler refusing to eat peas.
She pressed it into my hand. “It’s from Tristan.”
Obviously.
Next, she handed me an envelope with my name on the front. The handwriting was familiar.
I’d seen it on all the packages. “What’s going on, Simone?”
She ignored my questions. “Just listen. His playlists are really good. He used to make them for me all the time.” Simone tucked her hair back behind her ears. Then she leaned in closer. “You were right, you know. Tristan sent those packages.”
“What?” Relief flowed through me. I wasn’t delusional.
But he’d lied to me. What an asshole.
“Did he send you here to say that?”
“No. I’m actually not supposed to tell you anything. Look, I know he comes off as a grouch, but he’s an okay guy.”
“But why didn’t he just say it was him? Did he send me all that stuff to make fun of me? Was Heather in on this? I mean, the things he sent—”
“I don’t know, I guess he wanted to keep the whole secret thing going, but then when you figured it out, he kind of freaked and just denied it.”
“Well, why me, then?”
She smiled a sad, tiny smile. “Why not you?”
I didn’t respond.
She stood a little taller. “Look, I have to go. I’m going to be late for my nutrition meeting.” And then she walked off down the hall, the heels of her Doc Martens scuffing with every step. At the corner, she turned around. “Give him a chance, Elizabeth,” she said. “Underneath everything he’s a good guy.”
I opened the envelope right there. Inside were two folded pieces of lined paper. The first was a playlist, titled J-Curve. The second was a note.
Elizabeth,
Okay, so you’re right. I sent those packages. I’m not always good with words but I thought these things—things that mattered to you—might cheer you up. You just seem so … sad. And I don’t want you to be sad. Sad sucks. The world is tough enough already without a bunch of sad people walking around in it.
So I made you a playlist. Even if you think I’m a jerk, you should listen to it. Think of it as an anti-sad playlist. Put it on if you’re feeling low, or shitty, and keep listening. It’ll let you wallow for a few songs, then it will cheer you up. Like the letter J.
And, oh yeah, sorry about yesterday. Also, I accept your apology for not eating my doughnut.
—Tristan
With everything that was happening, I forgot about my session with Mary until she stuck her head out her door to look for me.
The minute I sat down, she said in a suspiciously perky voice, “Elizabeth, I’d like to talk with you about something.”
“What’s wrong?” I held my breath.
“Nothing’s wrong, Elizabeth. I met with your team about your discharge date.”
“Oh.” I sat up straighter. I’d had a feeling this was coming ever since I’d gotten my period.
“We are really pleased with your progress. Your health has stabilized, and you’ve increased the range of foods you are willing to eat. You don’t have as much anxiety. The fact that you’ve started to menstruate again is important. And your BMI is up. So, keeping all that in mind, we’ve set a date to get you home.”
“How much weight have I gained?”
Mary looked at me for a long minute. “You are currently a hundred and four pounds.”
“Oh.” I felt the panic set in deep, at the bottom of my stomach. I took a deep breath. Fourteen pounds. I could live with 14 pounds. Right?
“Elizabeth, we’re proud of you. You’ve worked so hard.”
A hundred and four pounds. A nagging voice in my head kept saying, Fourteen ugly pounds! Fourteen gross pounds! But I ignored it the best I could, because, in a weird way, I did feel proud.
Maybe I was ready to go home.
I thought of my bed first. My wonderful, comfy bed. I’d get to sleep in it again!
Then I thought of myself back in the school cafeteria, everybody looking at me as I carried my tray. I had no idea what I’d eat or how much.
And what would school be like? What about Priya and Shay? Should I act mad at them for totally blowing me off? Pretend nothing ever happened? And what about Charlie? And Heather? And Tristan? Would we still be friends outside Wallingfield? Suddenly, right where I was felt like the safest place—the only place—for me in the world.
“When am I leaving?”
“We’re looking at next Friday, November ninth.”
One week. Holy crap.
Mary watched me carefully. “I know this can feel overwhelming. We’ll take it a little bit at a time.”
A little bit at a time. No matter how little the bits were, it was only a week away. A week!
“One of the first things we do to prepare you is make sure our patients have at least one real-world eating experience before they leave.”
That’s what Lexi had skipped before she left. Nurse Jill sometimes took girls out to eat at a local restaurant, Finch’s Bar & Grille.
Unfortunately, it was the most popular dinner place in Esterfall.
“You’re on the list for dinner next Wednesday, the seventh,” she said with a big smile, like suffering through dinner with a bunch of other anorexics and a nurse was an honor.
“What? Do I have to go?”
“Elizabeth, we can talk it through. I think you’re ready for this.”
“Who else is coming?”
“Jean.”
That made me feel a little better. “Is she going home soon?”
“It appears that’s the case.”
Good for her. She’d been here for so long. I wondered if she was scared out of her mind, too.
“We’ll go over the menu ahead of time so that there aren’t any surprises. You can do this.”
No, I couldn’t. “Please, Mary, I can’t go. I’ll see people I know at Finch’s. It’ll be really, really, really humiliating.” Tristan, Charlie, and Heather ate there all the time. “And I … and I … I think it might make me less ready to go home.”
“Why do you think that?”
“If I screw up and order the wrong thing, I might have a relapse.”