What I Lost

by Alexandra Ballard

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, her profile all angles. “Are you mad about something?”

  “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

  “I don’t know.” She dropped her arms and looked uneasy.

  “I guess I’m just surprised to see you here.”

  She placed her hand on my wrist. I stared at it like it burned and she removed it slowly. “Look,” she said, “I didn’t think I was coming back. It wasn’t something I planned.”

  “Okay.” I stared at the floor.

  “Elizabeth, do you think I did this on purpose?”

  I shrugged, still not looking at her. “No. I don’t know.” I looked her right in the eye. “Maybe.” And then I shut my door right in her face.

  She’d lied. In her postcards she’d made us think she was making it, that it was almost easy. And I’d believed her.

  One thing was for sure: I couldn’t share a room with her now. And since the bed next to me was still empty, there was every chance I’d have to.

  Nurse Jill was already at the nurses’ station window when I arrived. “What can I do for you?”

  I cleared my throat. “Nurse Jill, I was just wondering if you knew who Lexi was going to room with yet.”

  “Are you asking because you would like to share with her again? That’s fine. I’ll let everybody—”

  I didn’t let her finish. “Actually, can I request … Well, I mean, she’s nice and all, but…” This was harder than I thought. “I don’t want to room with Lexi again.”

  She put down her pen and pursed her lips. “Elizabeth, we only have so many beds here, and unfortunately we cannot allow residents to opt out of having a roommate.”

  “It’s just—” Come on, come on … think of something … “It’s just that, well, living with her isn’t good for me. I didn’t realize that until she was gone. She made me want to not eat. She taught me all sorts of tricks to hide food and how to exercise without making any noise.” I was a backstabber, but Lexi was a liar.

  Nurse Jill studied me for a long minute. I willed myself not to bite my nails or fidget. I needed to be calm and collected. Like I was telling the truth.

  “All right,” she finally said, “Lexi can room with Jean. However, this is not going to be a pattern, Elizabeth. You can’t expect to have a single forever.”

  I nodded. I’ll take anybody, I almost said, except a traitor.

  36

  Mary called me into her office in the afternoon and told me to take a seat. I kept my eyes on her black, ugly leather clogs. Hideous, I thought. We weren’t supposed to meet today, and I was in no mood for surprise therapy.

  “I heard you asked that Lexi not be placed in your room,” she said.

  “Yeah,” I said, chewing on my nails. “Maybe it was mean, but I can’t be around her right now.”

  “Elizabeth, it’s not a matter of being mean. I’m sure you had your reasons. But the fact that you chose not to room with her might be worth looking at together.” She leaned in. “I’m curious. When Lexi left, you said she was inspiring, that she made you feel good about your own recovery. Something has changed, yes?”

  My eyes met Mary’s for the first time. “Yes.”

  “What feelings did her coming back bring up in you?”

  “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.”

  “When do I have to go back to school?”

  Mom and Dad exchanged glances. Dad cleared his throat. “Well, everyone agrees that it wouldn’t be productive for you to sit home, so right now, since you’re getting out on a Friday, we’re all thinking Monday would be the best return date.”

  “Monday? That’s too soon.” I’d thought I’d definitely be able to push it back by a week or so. “Do I have any say in the matter?”

  Dad’s face twitched. “This is what Mary recommends—”

  “So you’re saying that I don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  He knew exactly what. “Have a say.”

  Mom leaned toward me. “Honey, Mary knows what she’s doing. Wallingfield has helped so many girls transition back to home.”

  Yeah, right. Wallingfield was so far from perfect. “Lexi is back, you know. She lost ten pounds in two weeks. So I wouldn’t totally count on Wallingfield for my full recovery.”

  Mom and Dad went quiet, and Dad paled a little. I’d unnerved them.

  Good.

  “Well,” Dad said, his voice not quite as strong, “I still think it would be great for you to get back into your routine.”

  “I don’t.” I never wanted to go back to school.

  Dad reached over for my hand. “Honey, that’s enough for now. Let’s not worry about this tonight. Let’s just focus on dinner.” I pulled my hand away, knowing there was no point in arguing. When Dad said enough, he meant it.

  So it was settled. In one week, I’d be going back to school. And I had absolutely no say in the matter.

  38

  Right when I wanted life to slow down, for the days to crawl, they sped up. It was Wednesday, dinner-out day, before I knew it. At five o’clock I climbed into the white van with the Wallingfield logo on the door. Nurse Jill and Jean were already inside.

  None of us talked on the way. Nurse Jill put on the easy-listening station as she drove. The evening was clear and cold. It wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet and Fierman’s Hardware already had its twinkly lights up. So did the used bookstore and the coffee shop. I thought I saw a freshman from the high school walking into Sam’s grocery store as we passed, but I couldn’t be sure. I ducked down anyway, just in case.

  Finch’s had a bar at one end and a dark dining room on the other with low ceilings and cozy booths and tables. The miniskirted hostess seated us at a big, old wooden table in the back of the dining room, the table surface soft and a little sticky from years of use.

  We were their first customers for dinner, and seventies rock music blared. At first Nurse Jill tried to chat over the songs, but gave up and asked the hostess to turn it down. She turned it so low we could hear the distant clanking of dishes in the kitchen.

  “So,” Nurse Jill said. “What are you all going to have?” Her voice rang out across the empty dining room.

  “The turkey sandwich,” Jean said.

  “Me too.” I was glad Jean and I were in this together.

  We knew because we’d seen the menu already. We’d each met with Sally, the nutritionist, in the morning to go over what we might eat.

  At first I’d thought it would be easy. “I’ll have the green salad, add grilled chicken, with oil and vinegar for the dressing,” I’d told her. That’s what I usually got when my family went to Finch’s. It came with six thin slices of chicken breast, and I’d always eat exactly one-half of one and most of the lettuce, sprinkled with a little plain vinegar. I’d use the extra lettuce to try to hide some of my uneaten chicken in case anybody noticed.

  But Sally didn’t like that idea. “Honey,” she said softly, “you have to order something as is from the entrée section.”

  I’d panicked. Hamburgers, pasta, fish. Fish! That sounded promising. I scanned the menu. There it was! Pan-fried halibut with panko breadcrumbs. My heart sank. No way was I ordering fried anything. The fish was out.

  I kept searching. Salads—spinach and blue cheese and walnuts. Nope. Steak fajita salad with guacamole, cheese, and sour cream in a taco bowl. Nope. Sunrise salad with avocado, bacon, goat cheese, and creamy— Nope. I was getting desperate.

  Then I reread the sandwich menu. Cheeseburger. Grilled cheese. Fried fish sandwich. Fried chicken sandwich. BLT. Egg salad. Cheesesteak sandwich. When I was younger I used to get the cheesesteak sandwich every time. It came with fries. I loved their fries. Correction—I used to love their fries.

  I almost cried out in relief when I saw the turkey sandwich with cranberry sauce, lettuce, and tomato. “I’ll have that,” I’d said to Sally, pointing to it.

  “Really? Okay, great. Done.” Sally had taken back the menu with relief. “So tonight we really want you to try to eat at least half of your meal as is. This way, when you go out with friends and family, you’ll be able to eat regularly, like they do.”

  “My mom doesn’t,” I’d said sharply, and then felt bad. Mom was right. Old habits died hard. I was trying to give Mom the benefit of the doubt more, but sometimes it was tough.

  “Well, most people,” Sally said.

  As much as I hated to admit it, Mary was right about one thing. Knowing what I was going to order in advance did make me feel better. In fact, when the waitress came over, I wasn’t nervous at all. “Hi, ladies,” she said with a big fake smile. “My name is Elaine, and I’ll be your server.” Finch’s had an agreement with Wallingfield—they always reserved this
same table when a group of us came. “Here are your menus.” She placed them on the table fast, like she was scared of us. I didn’t blame her.

  Nurse Jill opened hers. “Shit,” she muttered. She got out her phone, stared at it for a second like she wanted to make a call, then put it away. “Pass me your menus, girls.” Confused, we did as she said. She stood and walked straight to the manager.

  They spoke quietly, but the occasional word reached us anyway—“changed … I understand … winter specialties … We have an agreement … This won’t happen again…”

  The manager shook her head, made the universal nothing-I-can-do-about-it shrug, and said, “Sorry.”

  Eventually Nurse Jill returned and handed back our menus. “Girls,” she said, clearing her throat, “it looks like we hit Finch’s on the very night they are debuting their new winter menu. Isn’t that exciting?”

  My throat closed. Jean squeaked. I turned to the sandwich page. Please be there, I prayed. Please be there.

  It wasn’t.

  The roasted turkey sandwich was gone. The only item even remotely like it was a turkey melt, which was listed with no description. My calorie radar spiked, but the other choices were worse: burgers, fried fish on a bun, grilled cheese.

  Elaine returned. “So, ladies, what can I get you?” Nurse Jill ordered pasta, and then nodded to me.

  “I’ll … I’ll…” I desperately scanned the menu. “I’ll have the turkey melt, please.” The words alone made my stomach roll. I’ll just peel off the melted cheese, I thought. No one will notice.

  Jean ordered a hamburger, well done, with a side salad. Nurse Jill said nothing. I should have ordered what Jean had. She knew what she was doing. A hamburger wouldn’t have any cheese on it. And well done meant that more of the juices and fat would cook off. I opened my mouth to speak up and change my order, but Elaine took off before I got the words out.

  I jiggled my leg. The table vibrated. “Elizabeth,” Nurse Jill said, “would you like to process your feelings? You seem anxious. We’d be happy to support you.” Jean looked at me and nodded.