Hear Me Roar

by Katie Cross

  “She has to learn responsibility somehow. I’ve given her ample opportunity.”

  He frowned. “What am I supposed to do for it?”

  “You are supposed to help. She is supposed to do it. Consider it guidance, if you will.”

  “But we’re going to be playing at the … you know…”

  “Good luck! Oh! I almost forgot.” I leaned forward. “Lizzy has a dentist appointment at noon on Monday. She can’t miss—she’s been on the waitlist to evaluate a tooth that may need to be pulled. Don’t be late, or you’ll have to pay half the appointment.”

  “But that’s in the middle of the day! We have plans.”

  “Sorry.”

  For a second, he glowered. Then he drew in a breath and nodded once. “Fine. I got it all. I can handle this.”

  You think that, I wanted to say, but I kept my smile pasted on instead.

  “Good luck!”

  The girls barreled out the door, arguing over whose turn it was to ride in the front seat. Daniel shuffled behind them, head bent over the pile of papers. I leaned against the wall with a smile as their voices faded away. For the first time, I didn’t even mind that they didn’t say goodbye.

  With a flick of my wrist, I shut the door, strolled back into my bedroom, and sprawled out on my bed with a delighted giggle.

  Now that felt like self-care.

  The Health and Happiness Society meeting started late.

  While getting snacks ready, I lost track of time in a new Southern cookbook Mira had loaned me. In fact, I’d been standing at the counter looking at the pictures for a long time.

  A really long time.

  The amount of time I would have expected of Rachelle, who bought baking magazines and made notes on frosting style and cake presentation for her career. Years had passed since I’d let myself really look at food. Appreciate the compelling beauty of a well-placed dinner dish. Glazed turkey. Fluffy potatoes dripping with butter. The pictures of homemade chicken and dumplings, coleslaw, and hush puppies gave me a pang of regret.

  Why didn’t I eat that anymore?

  It was hard to say. Surely, in moderation, those dishes wouldn’t kill me. Hadn’t Lexie said she used food as self-care—just with prudence and awareness?

  Why couldn’t I?

  My head popped up when the doorbell rang, breaking my concentration. Rachelle and Mira entered before I could open the front door.

  “We’re here!” Rachelle said.

  Panic rippled through me when my eyes flickered to the clock over her shoulder. I hadn’t even started up my computer! Lexie and Megan were probably waiting. No snacks were ready, either. Not even an article on some healthy topic I’d found online.

  In fact, I had no points of discussion planned at all.

  “Come on in.” I waved them farther into the house. Rachelle’s expression morphed into a sly smile. She grinned. Her eyes darted around my head.

  “The hair looks even better in person.”

  I fluffed it with a hand. “Thanks. I love how easy it is to get ready.”

  “Really. It’s … so you. I’m already forgetting what you looked like before.”

  Mira’s eyes sparkled. “Give me a hug. You look amazing.”

  “Sorry about the mess. I, uh … Lexie told me about this idea and…”

  The words faltered as they came out. It wasn’t really messy in here. Not by normal standards, but the lack of organization made it feel out of control. A unicorn book and GI Joe figures were scattered across the floor. Rumpled blankets lined the couch. One drape was half-open. Not to mention oatmeal still on the table, half-eaten.

  “Sure, Bitsy.” Rachelle rolled her eyes. “Sooo messy in here. Good thing you never come to my studio. Heaven forbid you go back to my mom’s house.”

  “How is your mom?”

  Rachelle waved it off. “Let’s not talk about it. To say that progress is slow would understate it drastically.”

  “How are you?” I asked, motioning to the couch with an awkward wave. Normally I had snacks out and a paper with the schedule detailed, right to the last minute. Going into it free was discombobulating.

  “Not bad.”

  Rachelle sank onto the couch, and Mira followed while I scrambled for my laptop in the kitchen. Of course—the laptop was almost out of battery. My lack of preparation was almost criminal. I plugged it into the wall while they discussed a new cupcake recipe. By the time I booted up the laptop and connected the video chat, they’d moved on to discussing a leak in the roof at Mira’s Shop and Vac.

  When the video chat connected, Megan was laughing while Lexie glared at her, deadpan.

  “I’m telling you, Megan,” Lexie muttered. “Me deadlifting is not sexy.”

  “It’s sexy as—”

  “Let’s not go there. My butt is…”

  “Awesome.”

  “Hey!” Lexie cried, seeing me on the screen. “You are literally one minute late. That has never happened before.”

  Megan sobered. “We thought you were dead.”

  “You’re always fifteen minutes early. I swear. Every time I log on early, you’re waiting. I’ve tested it up to fourteen minutes, which is about as much as I can handle showing up early. You’re kind of freaky, Bitsy.”

  “Sorry! I…”

  I couldn’t lie. Today hadn’t been a busy day. In fact, it was barely noon and I had just changed out of my pajamas.

  “Let’s get started,” I said, spinning the computer around to face the couch. Lexie waved at Rachelle and Mira, then peered around.

  “What are you guys having for snacks? Megan and I made bets that it would be a healthy version of Rice Krispies treats, which we’re convinced doesn’t exist. Bitsy would find a way. Probably with her own puffed rice and fake marshmallows.”

  Rachelle glanced at my empty coffee table, then at me. Another surge of panic swept through me.

  No snacks!

  “Nothing, I think,” Rachelle said.

  “What?” Megan cried. “No ice water or cucumber water? Ultra-pure popcorn? Is the world ending?”

  “You feeling okay, Bitsy?” Lexie asked.

  “Fine.”

  Lexie’s jaw fell open.

  Megan laughed.

  “She’s cracked!” Rachelle said. “I knew it.”

  “Check her for a fever,” Megan said.

  “I haven’t cracked,” I muttered. “I literally just … forgot. Let’s not make this into a bigger deal than it is.”

  “But it is a big deal,” Rachelle said. “You never forget.”

  “Bitsy, you remembered my anniversary when I had forgotten it,” Lexie said. “That’s pretty intense!”

  “Look,” I said, “it’s just a fluke, okay? I … just forgot because I was looking at a cookbook. For … a long time.”

  I kept apology out of my tone—I didn’t feel that apologetic. In fact, I felt like champagne bubbles were rising up from my stomach. A giggle came out of me, unbidden.

  “Oookay, Bitsy,” Rachelle said. “Now that you’re laughing, it just seems psychotic.”

  I laughed harder. Their wide-eyed expressions were so comical, I couldn’t help myself. Was it really such a big deal? Tears rolled down my face. Were they tears of laughter or joy or pain? I couldn’t tell. They mingled, expanding as I let go instead of holding back. Pretty soon, Mira chuckled.

  “Have they both lost their minds?” Megan whispered.

  “Is everything okay?” Lexie asked. “Have the zombies come?”

  I swallowed and wiped the tears from my eyes. Total release swept all the way to my bones.

  Self-care, for sure.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, then paused. “No. Wait. I’m not. I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry at all. In fact, I’m pretty damn not sorry that I didn’t plan the meeting today. Why don’t we just go and do it? Let’s wing it. There’s no article. No planned discussion. No snack. No recipe. Someone, just start. I don’t even care who.”

  “And this is how the world
ends …” Rachelle sang.

  “Sweet,” Megan said. “Go get ’em, Bitsy!”

  Lexie nodded. “Yeah, girl!”

  “This must be a sign of the impending apocalypse, but I’ve been looking forward to that for a long time,” Rachelle said.

  “I’ll go first!” Mira said, waving an arm. “I lost five more pounds!”

  Lexie whooped while Meg let out a series of whistles.

  I applauded. “Well done, Mira. That’s fantastic.”

  She gave me a side-eye. “You’re not mad that I weighed?”

  “Not even a little.”

  “You don’t like weight as an indicator of health.”

  A pang of guilt crept through me. Had I expressed my opinion so decisively that they really did fear me a little? “I think you should do what feels best for you,” I said.

  Mira beamed. “It does feel good to see that number going down! Anyway, that’s all for me this week.”

  “Someone else,” I said.

  We went around the circle in a haphazard fashion—I normally planned the rotation out in advance. A breezy feel overtook the room with an ease that wasn’t present before. I sank into it so deeply that the next words out of my mouth took me—and everyone else—by surprise.

  “I have an eating disorder.”

  The moment the words flew out, everything quieted. I scrambled for mental purchase through the bells pealing in my mind. Why had I done that? Why did I admit that to them?

  They were never supposed to know.

  Rachelle’s eyes widened. “What?” she whispered.

  Too late, I thought. No going back now.

  “Well,” Megan said. “That changed things fast.”

  I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. She was right—and I certainly couldn’t leave it there. “I’ve struggled with bulimia since I was twelve years old, when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. When she died, I was fifteen. It got worse. As I grew older, into my mid-twenties, I was dangerously skinny. That’s when I met Daniel.”

  With a sheepish gaze, I looked around. They stared at me with rapt attention, unblinking, mouths half-open. Now that the river was flowing, I couldn’t hold it back. The dam burst. What felt like years of teeming emotions flooded the room.

  “Sometimes it still pops up. And I … I guess I don’t know why I’m telling you, except it seemed like the right thing to do.”

  “Whoa,” Lexie whispered.

  My courage faltered, so I pressed on before it failed. “Mira is the only one who knows, aside from Daniel. And that has definitely blown up in my face recently.”

  Because I didn’t know what else to do, for the next ten minutes, I rattled off a frenzied explanation about Daniel, Lizzy, and the night Mira found me on the bathroom floor. When I finished, there was a drawn spell of silence.

  I swallowed hard. Did they hate me? Were they angry? For as long as they’d known me, I’d represented myself as a … fraud. The leader of a healthy group of women who always maintained control—because I had none. The entire experience felt like a lie.

  I would have been livid.

  “Do … do you hate me?” I whispered. “If you want to go, I understand. You can—”

  “Bitsy, stop.” Megan waved a hand. “Stop, stop, stop.”

  “What?”

  “We all have issues,” Rachelle said. “Why would we hate you?”

  “Because I haven’t told you this yet.”

  “We’ve all struggled,” Rachelle said. “All of us. You’ve always been there for us. It’s … actually kind of reassuring to know there’s a weak spot in your facade of steel.”

  “Agreed,” Megan said quietly.

  “I love you,” Mira said.

  Lexie stared at her keyboard, blinking. Her silence made my heart crack.

  “Lexie?” I whispered. She looked up, brow furrowed.

  “I’m sad you felt you couldn’t trust us … and I’m sad that we missed opportunities to help. But … mostly I’m … so proud of you. That couldn’t have been easy to admit.”

  Tears filled my eyes.

  “Honestly, I’m not that surprised now that I look back,” Megan said. “The signs were there.”

  Lexie gave me a smile. “I’m glad you told us, Bits.”

  Mira reached over and put a warm hand on my back. I drew power from her touch.

  “Thanks. I-I certainly hadn’t planned that to come out today.”

  “The best things often aren’t planned,” Mira said.

  Megan raised a hand. “Since everything is unraveling, can I be in charge of the meeting next week?” she asked, then leaned forward. “I want to talk about body-image issues in girls who lift weights. Specifically, intermediates who think they look stupid while doing deadlifts.”

  “Hey!” Lexie cried. “That’s so passive-aggressive. I know you’re talking about me.”

  “Sure,” I said. The thought of not having to prepare one more thing felt freeing. “Sounds good to me.”

  Megan grinned. “Sweet!”

  Lexie groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “This is going to go so badly.”

  “Hey!” Megan cried.

  I leaned back against the couch, a little weak with disbelief. They didn’t care. All these years that had passed—I thought they’d hate me. Resent me. Call me an imposter and a fraud. That they’d never come back.

  But now? They joked back and forth, already falling into discussion about whole wheat pasta and chicken pad thai recipes. How much energy had I wasted worrying about what they’d say?

  How much time had I spent trying to pretend to be something I wasn’t?

  No more, I thought with renewed determination. No. More.

  Chapter 12

  Responsibility

  Clouds rumbled overhead in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, bringing rain in droves. I awoke to a strange sound rising over the cacophony of rain. I stared at the ceiling.

  What was that sound?

  Crying. Footsteps sprinted toward my room on the hardwood floor, bursting in seconds later.

  “Lana?”

  Her thin figure trembled where she stood. A little whimper escaped her pale lips. She pressed a hand to her stomach. I swung my legs over the bed, and she rushed to my side.

  “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

  “I … I…”

  Before she could get the words out, vomit splattered onto my pajamas. She doubled over and retched until it ran down my pants.

  Daniel. He’d warned me that the girls had eaten a lot this weekend, and his insinuation hadn’t been that it was healthy food. No heat on her face—not a fever.

  “Oh. Oh, honey. I’m so sorry you’re sick. Run to the bathroom.”

  Seconds after I directed her to the toilet, retching overcame her again. Vomit dripped off my clothes and onto the tile as I stood next to her, holding her hair. When she finished, I grabbed a washcloth, ran it under the sink, and pressed it over her face.

  “Not feeling well?” I asked with wry amusement. She shook her head, her face pale and clammy. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s rinse out your mouth. You can lie down in my bed, all right?”

  Once cleaned up, she shuffled to my bed—which had narrowly avoided the mess—and climbed under my covers. I stripped, shoved my clothes in the washer, and stepped into a quick shower. By the time I was dressed in a pair of sweats and an old shirt, Lizzy ran into the room.

  “Gross!” she whispered, pinching her nose. Lana had a hand over her stomach and moaned in misery.

  “Go ’way,” Lana mumbled.

  “Can’t! It’s almost time to go. I’m already dressed and ate oatmeal.”

  My head whipped around. “What?”

  “Yeah.”

  My alarm clock glared from the bedside table. 7:50. No! I must have overslept somehow. Today was Tuesday. Her carpool didn’t run today. I had to leave by eight to make it to the line by 8:20 so she could get through and inside. That meant I wouldn’t return to Lana until almost
nine. My first client was at 9:15.

  “Backpack,” I said to Lizzy, snapping my fingers. “Now.”

  Lana’s eyes closed, her face pale against my white sheets. I tucked the blanket around her while Lizzy disappeared. After a few reassurances, I slipped out of the room and rushed into the kitchen. Within seconds, I’d stuffed Lizzy’s lunch box with leftovers and shoved it into her hand. I snatched the keys off the counter.

  “Let’s go.”

  “What about Lana?” Lizzy asked.

  The ugly side of single-parent life—my girls had to be more resilient than most. Lana was resourceful; she knew how to find the bathroom. Still, I hated to leave her alone and miserable even for forty-five minutes.

  “She’ll throw up in the toilet.”

  Or my bed.

  My tone came out more hardened than I’d expected. Lizzy nodded, as if it made sense, and slid off her chair.

  The thought briefly occurred to me that I could call Daniel to see if he’d take Lizzy—he could leave, pick her up, and get her to school only a few minutes late—but I dismissed the thought. I’d never needed him before he’d moved back, and I didn’t need him now.

  Mira. I’d call Mira to come sit with Lana.

  Before I could reach for my phone, the doorbell rang. My head snapped up. Who on earth could be coming by at this time of day? When I yanked it open with a growl, Jim stood on the porch, frowning. He held some sort of metal tool in his hand.

  “Did I wake you up?” he asked, surveying me. I could only imagine how I looked. At least my hair was short and supposed to look tousled.

  “No. What’s wrong? What do you need?”

  He motioned behind him with a jerk of his head. “Your tire was flat.”

  “What?” I screeched.

  “I fixed it.”

  “Oh. Uh … thanks.”

  He shrugged.

  Lizzy ran to the door, breathless. “Mooom! We gotta go. I can’t be late.”

  “Just a second, honey.”

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  My eyes darted to Jim. “Ah … Lana is sick. I’m late getting Lizzy to school.”

  “I can tell.”

  His comment wasn’t lost on me—surely I looked like no beauty queen. My nose wrinkled at the thought that I probably smelled like vomit. I hadn’t seen Jim since I’d finished scrubbing out his attic, which had been almost pristine anyway, and then ate in his backyard. Cora had been a smashing success with the girls.