“It’s that she came back at all. I’m so mad at her. I’m mad because she let herself down. But I—” I didn’t want to say any more. I felt enough like an asshole already.
“It’s okay, Elizabeth. You know you can say anything here. This is a safe place.”
“Fine. I feel like she let me down too. She told me she was going to make it. She was so sure. And if Lexi can’t do it, how do I know that I can? That last part of her treatment, she did everything right. Everything. And now she’s here. Again.”
“But you’re not Lexi, Elizabeth. Just because she had a setback doesn’t mean you will. Or that she won’t get better this time. Recovery is a long process, one that’s different for every person. Anorexia has a high relapse rate—almost thirty-five percent for people who have been hospitalized once. Sometimes, people need more care. They just do.”
“What I don’t get, Mary, is how in school, you work hard, you get an A. Instant reward. Here, you could eat every single pat of butter and bowl of pesto pasta they throw at you and still fail.”
Mary sighed. “I don’t know, Elizabeth. I’ve asked myself that, too. I always do when a girl relapses. Lexi might not even know. But Lexi isn’t you. Let me ask you this: What voice is winning in your head these days—the eating-disordered one, or yours?”
“I guess mine.”
“Okay. And how does that feel?”
“Well, I feel like my head is clearer.”
“That’s good. What is it saying?”
“It’s saying that before, I wasn’t healthy. That when people said I was skinny, they weren’t necessarily giving me a compliment.”
“Okay. What else?”
“That if I want to be better I’m going to have to eat.”
“Those are all great thoughts to be having. You are taking good care of yourself. Is it saying anything else?”
“Well…” I paused. “I’m not actually fat. But I guess I always knew that. It’s just parts of me that are awful.” This conversation was excruciating; every word out of my mouth felt like a betrayal, like I was revealing just how weak I actually was.
“Elizabeth, what would happen if you were to talk to Lexi about your feelings?”
“I can’t!” I said, my voice breaking. “No way!”
“It’s up to you. I understand if it’s too much. But it might make you feel less twisted up inside if you speak to her. And I’m sure she could use a friend.”
I nodded. I’d think about it, but that was it. Think, nothing more.
From Mary’s office I went straight to dinner. I was early, but Lexi was already there. I paused. Mary’s voice flashed in my head. She could use a friend.
I sighed. Fine, Mary. You win.
I can do this, I told myself. I walked over to Lexi and sat down.
“Hi,” she said softly.
Lexi’s tray was loaded; she had stir-fried pasta and grilled chicken (in oil!), chocolate pudding with a dollop of whipped cream on top, and a carton of milk. She must have lost a lot of weight in two weeks.
“Ten pounds,” she said, watching me.
“What?”
“Ten pounds. That’s how much I lost. I saw you staring at my tray.”
I blushed.
“No weight talk, please,” Kay said.
I stared past her shoulder and watched the other girls filter in and sit down. Some picked at their food. A couple of them looked miserable; others were chatting.
“I think you should know,” Lexi said carefully, “that when I left I was determined to make it work. I had a plan all set up. I was going to go with Dad, because his refrigerator was always full. Mom’s never was. What I didn’t know was that his girlfriend, Lara, moved in while I was away. She’s a total bitch. Always was. Lara has three girls—eleven, fourteen, and sixteen—who moved in, too. She told Dad I was a bad influence, that she didn’t want them to ‘catch’ anorexia. So I ended up back at Mom’s, with her empty fridge. And my friends were all away at school. It was just so hard…” Lexi speared a piece of chicken and put it in her mouth.
Okay, fine. That sucked. But still, she’d lied to me.
“But what about Smith?”
“Ha, yeah, Smith. I wanted to go back as soon as possible, but they told me that after, quote, careful consideration, they didn’t think I was ready to come back. They said I had to wait until next fall, and then only if I was at a stable and healthy weight. And so now all my friends will be a year ahead of me.”
I could feel my anger ebbing away. “But, Lexi, why did you send us those postcards? You made it sound like you were doing so great.”
“Because I didn’t want to let you down. I knew you were watching me. I felt like if I failed, you’d think you would, too.”
“I wish you’d called me or something. We could have talked about it.”
“I know,” she said, slumping in her chair. “I should have. Well, I guess you can still use me as an example—of what not to do at home. Reach out for help when you leave, Elizabeth, or you’ll end up a failure like me.”
“Lexi, you can still recover. Mary says girls have setbacks all the time.”
“A setback. That’s what they always say. When someone says you’ve had a setback, do you know what they are basically saying?”
“No, what?”
She stabbed another piece of chicken and forced it into her mouth. Her nostrils flared, her lips locked shut, and she chewed it like she was eating trash. “That you’re screwed. That’s what.” Then, gagging, she spit the chicken out into her napkin. “I can’t eat this crap,” she said, and burst into defeated tears.
37
Mom and Dad showed up on Sunday night to have dinner with me in the guest dining room. I didn’t tell them about Lexi. Mom choked down more than usual; she ate almost half her bean burrito. She’d either taken our last conversation to heart, or Dad had given her a talking-to. I guessed maybe both because she kept looking at him, like she was asking if she’d eaten enough.
Then Mom said, “Honey, I wish you’d wear something other than that same ratty black sweater.”
“But I love this sweater.”
“I’m not saying you have to burn it. I’m just saying that it might make you feel better if you wore your nicer clothes from time to time. I’ve found that if you dress nice, you feel nice.”
I slammed my fork onto the table. “Thanks, Mom, for the fashion advice. Next time I pack for inpatient treatment, I’ll make sure to bring my prom dress.” But behind my sarcasm was hurt. I’d let her down, again.
None of us said a word. Mom kept her eyes on her plate.
“Sorry I lost my temper,” I mumbled.
She looked up. “I’m sorry, too. You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. Old habits die hard.” She took my hand. “You’re beautiful no matter what you wear.”
Maybe someday I’d believe her.
“Honey,” Dad said, breaking through the awkward silence that followed. “I just want you to know that we can’t wait for you to come home. We’ve been talking with Mary and she’s going to take you on as a private client in her office in Grantham. Isn’t that great?”
“That’s good.” I was glad I’d still see Mary. She understood me.
Then Mom chimed in. “Yes, and I am going to meet with your nutritionist and get your menus ahead of time.”