by Vivian Wood
“Too late,” he said with an unapologetic shrug.
Harper laughed. His countenance reminded her of P. “It’s okay,” she said. “If I’m not going to share here, then where? I was in the hospital,” she said.
Everyone nodded. They’d assumed that.
“I … I miscarried. Everyone there said it’s really common for women with eating disorders. Well, I mean, we all know that.”
“I’ve had four,” one of the girls said. Her oily hair hung in tired strands down her face.
“No competition,” the group leader said. “This is about Harper right now.”
“It was my first,” Harper said. “The good thing, I think, is that the doctors and nurses weren’t really adamant that it was because of my weight. They basically said it could happen for a million reasons.”
“And how do you feel about the pregnancy ending?” the group leader asked.
“Sad,” Harper said simply. She gave a short laugh. “That sounds juvenile, I know, but it’s true. I … I really love the man who was the father. But, we talked about it. He’s in recovery, too.” The group leader raised her brow. “Alcohol, not an eating disorder. We both know it wasn’t the right time or circumstances for a baby, so in a way I’m kind of glad I don’t have to be pushed into being a mom right now. I know that sounds terrible. And selfish.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being selfish sometimes,” the group leader said. “Our society reveres self-deprecation, false modesty, sarcasm—but there’s nothing good in them most of the time. For a lot of us, that rewires our inner voice, or self-talk. We face enough negativity in the world. If our inner voice doesn’t talk kindly to us, we start to believe it.”
“Yeah,” Harper said. “I know. But doesn’t that make me a bad person? For being partly grateful to not have a baby right now? Even though it’s a small part?”
“Nothing’s black and white,” Billy said.
“That’s right,” the group leader said. “Or at least, very few things are.”
“I don’t know,” Harper said. She began to tear up. “I read some things? About the importance of thought and will during a pregnancy? What if … what if the baby somehow knew he wasn’t totally wanted?”
“Harper, I can promise you that a lot of women aren’t one hundred percent sure about being a mother. Even the people who plan, who get IVF, who spent years and life savings on getting pregnant will have their doubts. If having doubts caused miscarriages, our species would be in serious trouble.”
She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I guess you’re right. I—this sounds stupid, I know—but I know Sean and I are meant to be together. And to have a family …”
“That doesn’t sound stupid,” the session leader said. “It sounds brave. And like you’re looking toward a happy, healthier future.”
“But it seems selfish, you know? To be so certain of him and our future together, but at the same time feel like it’s not time to start a family. Let’s be honest, we’re both kind of a hot mess right now.”
“You’ve talked about Sean before. You’ve known him, what, a couple of months?” the group leader asked.
“Yeah,” she said softly. She knew how unbelievable it sounded, to be so sure of a soulmate you’d barely known for a few weeks.
“You’ve certainly gone through a lot in a short amount of time. That can either drive a new couple apart or bond them closer together. It sounds like you’re heading down the latter path.”
Harper gave her an appreciative smile. “How did Sean take it?” Billy asked.
“Perfectly,” she said. “I was kind of out of it, with the drugs at the hospital and all. I mean, he was sad, too, but also relieved.”
“My last miscarriage was just last year,” the mousy girl said. “I know! I know, it’s not about me,” she said before the group leader could reel her in. “I just wanted to tell you, if you ever want to talk? Like, one-on-one? I’m here. Sorry if I sounded like I was trying to lessen what you went through.”
“Thanks,” Harper said. “I might take you up on that sometime.”
“Well, Harper, it’s great to have you back,” the group leader said. “Why don’t we take a short break from sharing and let’s open our food journals.”
Harper watched everyone else as they dug out their tattered Moleskines and composition books. Some of them had decorated their journals with sketches and stickers from favorite coffee shops, or outlines of their home state. Others had chosen nondescript journals that wouldn’t encourage anyone to pry.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t really keep a journal in the hospital. But I can guarantee you that I ate all my jello.”
“Ugh,” Billy said. “If there’s anything that’s going to inspire a relapse into anorexia, it’s hospital food. They should market that as the ultimate diet.”
As she surveyed the room with everyone busily bookmarking pages and comparing cheat meals, a warmth settled inside her. This room, these people, it felt good. Everyone was right—therapy wasn’t easy. It was hard, sometimes almost impossible. Relearning how to think about her body, herself, and food was going to take a lifetime of management. But so far, it was worth it.
“How many calories do you think is in a fried egg made with just, like, a tiny bit of Pam spray?” somebody asked. “Like, the calories on the Pam can say zero, but it’s for a tiny amount. How can it be olive oil and no calories? And how can an egg gain calories just by being cooked? That’s so weird, and totally not fair. Raw eggs are gross. I never got that—”
“You know food journal shares aren’t for talking about calories or assigning a number to the food,” the group leader said. “We need to learn to look at, talk about, and think about food differently.”
“I know that,” the girl said huffily. “I was just wondering. It’s, like, a science question.”
“Honey, do we look like scientists?” Billy asked.
27
Sean
Sean stared at his phone. His thumb had hovered over Ashton’s name for the past twenty minutes. He probably won’t even answer, he thought. It was the first day Harper had driven herself to therapy since the hospital. She’d be gone the entire day. He’d tried to hype himself up for the call, but every time he went to press the green call button something inside him froze.
Don’t be such a pussy, he told himself. It’ll just go to voicemail anyway.
Finally, Sean pressed the call button. His heart began to race as he listened to the rings.
“What do you want?” Ashton asked coldly. “You know it’s dangerous—for you—to talk to me rather than have your attorney call mine.”
“Can we talk?” Sean asked. He forced out the question before he could second-guess himself.
“I believe that’s what we’re doing.”
“I mean in person. Can we meet up?”
Ashton gave a short, mean laugh. “What for?”
“Look, I just really think we need to talk. If you’re still mad at me afterward, you can kick my ass.”
“I don’t need your permission for that,” Ashton said.
“Maybe not, but can we at least be civil beforehand?”
Ashton sighed. “You’re lucky you caught me after my PT. I’m in a generous mood. Okay, I’ll give you twenty minutes.”
“Great, thanks,” Sean said. He hated himself for thanking Ashton, but it had been such a surprising win that he couldn’t find his right bearings. “How about Blackwood?”
“Blackwood?” He thought he heard Ashton take a long draw on a cigarette. “Didn’t know you were some basic bitch now. But alright. I can be there in an hour.”
Sean faced the windows of the coffee shop. He couldn’t stop his right leg from shaking violently under the table, a nervous habit from his childhood he’d never been able to get rid of. Finally, he saw Ashton make his way across the street. He had a bad limp, but that was to be expected. What he didn’t expect was just how fucked up Ashton looked in the middle of the day.
Ashton barr
eled into the coffee shop. The dark vintage Ray-Bans couldn’t hide the manic high he was on. The temperature hovered near seventy-five, but Ashton was sweating like it was a sauna. His skin looked pale and pocked, and as Sean stood up to greet him he caught a strong whiff of bourbon. “Hey,” Sean said. “Thank you for meeting me.”
Sean reached his hand out to Ashton, and when his old friend took it out of habit, he noticed fresh track marks on his arm. The cuticles had been chewed until they’d bled. Rusty, dried red streaks nestled into the fingernails. “Well?” Ashton said. His voice sounded strange, high and frantic. “Gimme your speech. I know you have one prepared.”
“I’m sorry,” Sean said. “That’s not much of a speech, I know, but it’s honest and it’s all I’ve got. I’m sorry for it all. For that night, for—”
“Sorry for fucking around with my girl? What about that, huh?” Ashton’s voice was tinged with anger, but his gaze flew around the shop like a madman.
“What?”
“She fucking left me, man. She—”
“Wait, are you still hung up on her?” Sean hadn’t expected that. The so-called girlfriend had been a booty call for Ashton at best, and one of many. She’d been Sean’s girlfriend first, though he’d been more than happy to pass her along to Ashton. He shook his head at the memories. To think that’s what you used to think a relationship was.
“Of course I am! Fuck, man, what did you think?”
“Have you … have you seen her? Since, you know …”
“No. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. Not that you’d give a damn. Does that make you happy? Hold up, are you with her? Is that what this is all about?” Ashton slammed his palms down on the table and leaned toward Sean.
“What? No. I’m with—well, never mind. Why won’t she talk to you?”
“Because she’s fucking sober,” Ashton said. “Okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
“Getting sober is hard work. A lot of people will tell you not to get into any kind of romantic relationship when you’re—”
“I offered to get sober, too. For her,” Ashton said.
“Really?” Sean wished he could take back the surprise in his voice. He didn’t know how serious Ashton was about that, but simply saying it seemed like a big step. Of course, it was never a good idea to try and get sober for somebody else, but it was a common first step a lot of addicts in recovery took.
“You think I’m making this bullshit up?”
“Why don’t you sit down, Ashton?” Sean asked gently.
“I don’t want to fucking sit down! She said—she said even if I was sober, she didn’t want me back. Because she, you know, her and I got together while she was with someone else. Said it didn’t comment well on my character, or some shit.”
“Okay,” Sean said. “It doesn’t really reflect well on her, either. But … what if I call her? Put in a good word for you? I mean, you’d have to get clean—”
“You wouldn’t do that for me,” Ashton said.
“I would, if it meant that you were really going to call off this whole lawsuit.” Is that really what this whole thing has been about? Some girl, one that Sean could hardly remember? And if he could hardly remember her, and he’d been her alleged boyfriend, how much stock could Ashton really have in her? He’d always been more fucked up than Sean was.
But Ashton sat down and slowly took off the sunglasses. Sean willed himself not to wince at the sight. Ashton’s eyes were bloodshot and the dark circles under his eyes looked like they’d been dug by a gravedigger. “I look like hell, I know,” Ashton said. There was a hint of his old friend in the haggard voice. “Fuck, I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know!”
Sean wanted to say more. He’d beg, he’d do nearly anything to get all of this over with. He knew Ashton, though, and he didn’t do well with being pushed.
“Okay,” Ashton said finally. He said it with his head hung low, but he said it. “Okay.”
“I can’t … look, Ashton, I can’t promise anything,” Sean said. “But I’ll try. I’ll call her, and I’ll do my best. But I’m serious, you have to get clean, too. If she’s sober, then there’s no way she’ll take you back if you’re not on the wagon, too.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ashton said. “I know.”
“And here’s the other part of the deal,” Sean said. It was a risk, to push this hard, but he had to do it. “If you drop the charges, I’ll talk to her but you have to come to a meeting, too.”
“A meeting?” Ashton raised his brow at Sean. “Like some of that ‘my name is Dickhead and I’m an alcoholic’ type of bullshit?”
“Yeah, that kind of bullshit,” Sean said. “But, you know, if you take it seriously? It helps. I know it sounds really LA enlightening and all, but it works. The meeting I go to, it has a good mix of people. Not what you’d expect.”
“Huh,” Ashton said. Sean didn’t know what that meant, but Ashton pulled out his phone. “I can call my lawyer right now,” Ashton said. “If you call her.”
Sean blew out his breath but began to scroll through his own phone. He knew there was a reason he hadn’t yet bothered to delete all the numbers from his past life. He’d been worried that Harper might one day see his phone and wonder at all the names, but know he knew it was Ashton he’d held out for. Not anybody else.
“You first,” Ashton said. “Put it on speakerphone.”
“Speaker—are you serious?” Sean asked. “Here?”
“I won’t say anything.”
Sean knew he couldn’t trust an addict, but it was the only shot he had. As the rings began, he put it on speakerphone and placed his phone on the table between them.
“Hello?” she sounded wary, as she should. He didn’t know if she’d looked him up at all since the accident. For all she knew, he could be drugged out and sleeping on the street.
“Hey, hi,” he said. “How’s … how’s it going?”
“Sean? Uh, fine. Why are you calling me?”
“Honestly? It’s about Ashton.”
She gave a deep sigh. “What did he do now? You know I have zero contact with him, I don’t know why you’re calling me.”
She was angry, and maybe rightfully so. “Look, I’ll just lay this out straight for you. I … I know he wants you back. And I heard you’re sober now, which is great. I’m in AA, too—I mean, I don’t know if that’s part of your recovery. So I know it’s discouraged to date someone who’s an alcoholic, but … I just wanted to tell you he’s cleaning himself up. He really loves you. And, well, I just wanted to say you should think about giving him a second chance.”
“Did he put you up to this?”
Ashton gave him a look. “No. I mean, he’s talked to me about you, yeah. But I’m being real. He’s a good guy, deep down. And he cares about you.”
“Ugh, Sean, I don’t know. This is weird! You and I used to be together. Kind of, you know. And he’s really fucked up. Like, really, really fucked up. More than you and I ever were. With the drugs and all, you know, that’s a whole other element.”
“I know, I understand,” he said. “But can I be honest with you? I’m with someone now. She’s not an alcoholic or a drug addict, but she has her own issues, too. We all do. But when you find someone who really gets you, that you connect with? That’s hard to find. I just, you know, I wish you’d give Ashton another chance.”
“You really think he’s a good guy?” she asked. “For real.”
“I do,” he said. And realized he meant it.
“Okay,” she said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, if he gets clean and stays that way, who knows? If I’m being honest, I’ve never stopped caring about him.”
“Well, that’s great. Thanks. Take care of yourself, okay?”
“I’m trying.” She hung up without saying goodbye.
“Thanks,” Ashton said. Sean thought he heard a tightness in his voice. “I, uh, I’m going to call my lawyer, then.”
“Thank you,”
Sean said. “So … I guess if that’s that, I’ll get going. I have a girlfriend waiting at home.”
“Lucky you,” Ashton said. “Hey, Sean?”
Sean turned around with his hand on the door. “Yeah?”
“I wish you luck in the future. I really do.”
Sean smiled. “I don’t need luck. I’ve got my girl, got a job. That’s all I need. But thank you, anyway.”
As he walked toward his car, there was a lightness in him he hadn’t felt in years.
28
Harper
“You look great,” Sean said. He came up from behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Like a serious girlboss.”
“Hah,” Harper said. “I’ll be thrilled at assistant, gofer, coffee-getter or any other menial title Sophia might feel inclined to throw my way.”
“She’d be insane not to hire you,” he said. “Especially in this outfit, goddamn.”
“Stop it!” she said with a giggle. “This is couture.”
“Whatever it is, it’s working,” he said.
Harper pulled delicately at the hem of the fitted dress. It had been a gift from a designer after she’d headlined his spring runway show. At the time, she’d been excited to get it, but had also considered it just another perk of the business. If I’d only known this would be the last couture I’d walk in.
“You want me to drive you?” he asked.
“No, I’m okay. No offense, but I don’t want her to see me being dropped off like it’s my first day of school.”
“None taken. But I think the dress is missing something.”
“What?” She scanned herself in the mirror, but didn’t see anything missing.
“Maybe a little accessorizing?” he asked. Sean held up the rose gold collar he’d gifted her what seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Sean,” she said with a blush. “How’d you find that?”
“You didn’t exactly hide it,” he said. She lifted up her hair to let him attach the thin clasps together.
“It’s perfect,” she said. Harper ran her hand across the wisp of a collar. Anyone else would think it was a feminine choker. She liked this, a secret in plain sight.