Holding Out for a Zero

by Wardell, Heather

  She reaches over and takes my hand. “Every day for about the last nineteen years. That was why… why talking about the anniversary party at Gloria’s funeral was so hard on me. That you’d be worried about us instead of yourself at that point, it was just more proof we’d done you wrong and left you to be all on your own. I never meant for that to happen.”

  I look down at our hands, not sure what to say. But she speaks for me. “Valerie, thank you for being here. For trying long after other people would have given up on us. You’re a great daughter.”

  My eyes burning, I turn to her and hug her with everything I haven’t been able to risk expressing since Anthony died.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “And then Dad came back, and he’d obviously been crying, and we all hugged, and then they ate their dessert and I had my coffee.”

  Dr. Melton nods. “No dessert for you?”

  I shake my head. “Honestly, eating any of the chicken was hard enough.”

  “Good for you for doing that, then. And how did the night end?”

  I smile, remembering standing at the subway stop about to leave my parents when Mom and I both burst out at the same time to suggest we get together again the next weekend. “I’ll be seeing them on Saturday,” I say. “It’s still weird, but it’s getting better.”

  “Excellent.” She scribbles something in her notebook. “And the food? You said the chicken was a challenge.”

  I nod. “I didn’t eat anything at all the next day. I did try to, but I woke up miserable about Mom admitting she’d blamed me, miserable and wondering what would have happened if I’d told her right then what Gloria did, and the more I thought about that the more upset I felt and the more confused so…” I shrug. “So I didn’t eat.”

  We’ve already been through all the things I’d thought could happen if I’d told the truth about Gloria, so Dr. Melton doesn’t ask me for them again. Instead, she says, “You have control there. Not over your parents’ reactions. That’s tough.”

  I nod, then frown. “But I can’t ever control anyone’s reactions. So trying to is stupid, right?”

  “I’d phrase it as ‘a waste of time and energy’, but otherwise I agree with you.”

  I drum my fingers on my other hand beneath the soft blanket Nico provided to Dr. Melton. “So I can’t ever get the kind of control I want.”

  “The kind where your life goes perfectly and absolutely everything you’ve planned happens exactly as you planned it? No. I’m afraid not.”

  I study the blanket.

  “Can you think of a time when something you didn’t plan happened but it turned out to be good?”

  “The photo,” I say at once. “If I hadn’t had that to give to my parents I don’t know if I’d ever have had such a real conversation with Mom.”

  “The photo which you found by accident. Right?”

  “With Nico,” I say. “And meeting him was another accident.”

  Then I pushed him away, but that was on purpose. We’ve talked about him already today, about how I thought he was withdrawing from me, and as I explained his actions to her I realized that he wasn’t pulling away but was just trying not to pressure me since he knew I had a lot going on. I miss him, and I might try to contact him once I’m doing better and actually able to eat, but for now…

  I tighten the blanket around me, wanting its comfort even more since Nico has touched it. “But bad things happen by accident too. All the time.”

  “They do,” she says gently. “You’re right.”

  I sigh, knowing it’s the truth and hating it. “So we basically just flail our way through life and hope for the best?”

  She smiles and doesn’t answer.

  “Hope for the best and figure out how to handle the worst if it happens.”

  “Not a bad philosophy,” Dr. Melton says, and then her phone gives the soft chime that means our session is over. “Thursday still work for you?”

  I nod.

  “Your same homework,” she says, “stands.”

  Drink a fruit smoothie. “I’ll try.”

  She gets up, and I do too as she says, “Glad to hear it. Have a good few days until I see you again.”

  “You too,” I say, then leave the office and head out into the bright hot sunshine. I have no plans, so I just walk down Fifth Avenue because the warmth of the day feels good.

  Is that enough, for right now? Just to feel good?

  I do feel good until I pass the library where I’d met Remy to go see the painting. I never answered his email, and now I want to.

  I sit on the library steps and compose a quick reply, telling him that it wasn’t his fault that I’d been so upset and that I understand why he kept his promise to Gloria and kept the painting a secret, and as I set off again after sending it I wonder why I’d waited so long when in the end the email was so easy to write.

  Continuing south down Fifth, I think about how things seem so complicated before I do them and then so easy afterward. In wanting everything to be perfect, am I just causing myself unnecessary stress?

  That thought takes me a good twenty-plus blocks further, and as I approach Union Square I’m beginning to accept that Dr. Melton might be right about how it’d be good to let things go.

  And then I see something going.

  A blue balloon drifts upward from the kiosk I’d seen with Nico.

  I’d been so horrified by the sight of that kiosk, before, and all its balloons that I’d almost lost what little dinner I’d eaten.

  Could I, literally, let things go?

  Not sure, but drawn to find out, I join the line of people awaiting their balloons. Everyone else has kids with them, of course, and I feel a few parents glancing at me but nobody comments. I glance too, at their children, and I wonder whether I could ever let go of so much control, take so much risk, as to be able to handle becoming a mother. Maybe. Maybe someday.

  When my turn comes, I have to clear my throat hard before I can say, “Two balloons, please.” One for Gloria and one for Anthony.

  “Color?”

  “Red,” I say without thinking, then my heart pounds. “No, wait…”

  The guy makes an attempt to look patient but his eyes flick past me at the waiting customers.

  “Red,” I say again. Red is the worst, the hardest. I can do it. Haven’t I proven how strong I am?

  In moments, I am walking away with two red balloons following along above me, bouncing lazily on their silver ribbons. It’s the closest I’ve been to balloons in forever, and my hand is shaking so the ribbons tremble, but the escaped blue one still floating in the sky is somehow giving me courage.

  I will set these new ones free, send them up to the sky too, and let Anthony and Gloria go with them. I won’t forget my siblings, of course, but I don’t have to carry the guilt any longer.

  Gloria didn’t carry her guilt like I did. She poured all of hers into that painting. I’ve spent so much time wondering what will happen if I show it to my parents, but now it occurs to me I haven’t considered simply leaving it in the past. Maybe I should. My parents don’t blame me any more, and I don’t blame myself, and maybe that’s the best possible outcome. Remy still has the painting, and I can ask him to keep it somewhere safe just in case, but for right now and I think for ever there’s nothing to be gained from sharing the truth.

  We’re more connected now than we’ve been in twenty years, my parents and me, and things are just going to keep getting better. How Anthony died doesn’t matter any more. What matters is that we’re becoming a family again.

  This decision feels right to me, and being so close to the balloons doesn’t feel quite so bad any more either. As I head down to the spot where I heard about Gloria’s assault, since that seems like the perfect place to do the release, I see a smoothie cart. Knowing Dr. Melton will be delighted, I stop and order myself a small orange-strawberry-banana drink while managing not to examine the cart for cleanliness and an inspection sign. Take a chance, Valerie. Hope for
the best.

  “Nice balloons,” the guy says, busily stuffing fruit into his blender. “For your kids?”

  “I… yeah,” I say, picturing me and my siblings in our youth. “In a way.”

  He gives me a ‘what does that mean?’ glance but just smiles and keeps loading the blender. He reaches for a final strawberry but it comes up frozen to its neighbor. “No worries,” he says, dropping it in. “The more the merrier, right?”

  Not even close. Distracted by the balloon talk, I didn’t keep track of how many calories this smoothie will be. He put in cut-up banana pieces, so it could have one banana or more, or less. I have no idea. Plus the orange slices, and the strawberries…

  I almost cancel the order, but he fires up the blender and the noise means I can’t say anything to him, and then he pours out the drink into its cup and I catch a whiff of that fresh fruit scent and my stomach refuses to let me run away.

  With the frosty cup in one hand and the balloon strings in the other, I find the exact spot where I’d been back when all of this started and stand wondering how to proceed. Do I just let the balloons go? Is that even legal? Getting arrested for littering or something doesn’t appeal.

  Why didn’t I plan this out? Why aren’t I in—

  I take a deep breath and tell myself I can do the release however I want. No right way.

  I draw my hand down to bring the balloons to eye level and study them for a moment. When I let them go, I really will be letting Anthony and Gloria go too. I want that, and I need it, but—

  “Oh, mommy,” I hear a little voice breathe. “Balloons!”

  Startled, I turn to see a tired-looking redhead holding hands with two young children. The little girl has two bright red ponytails sticking out of the side of her head, and the older boy has wild curls like a fiery halo.

  The woman gives me a small smile and says to the boy, “No balloons today. Come on, let’s go see Daddy. It’s only a few blocks away.”

  I’ve never seen someone literally dig in their heels before. “But mommy, I want one.” The kid gives me a big grin, holding out his hand to me. “Please?”

  “Jayden! Behave.”

  The girl says, “Pwease? Pwease!”

  “Isabella, I said no. Jayden, don’t get your sister worked up. Honestly, you two, I don’t know what to do with you.”

  She gives the boy’s arm a tug, not hard but enough to get him moving, and they set off. I watch, waiting for them to be out of sight before I release the balloons, then wonder why the hell I’m doing that. Rather than send the balloons off into nowhere, why not make two children happy for a moment?

  “Excuse me, ma’am?” I say, hurrying forward.

  She turns back and I mouth, “They can have them.”

  “Oh, no,” she mouths back. “You must need them for your kids.”

  “I think,” I whisper, a sudden prickling behind my nose and eyes setting my face burning, “that maybe yours would like them more.”

  Her eyes narrow and she takes a step back.

  Realizing she’s afraid I’m up to something, I say, “No catch. No strings. Well, you know.” I wiggle the balloons’ ribbons at her. “No other strings.”

  She smiles and I do too, and she says, “Well, if you’re sure.”

  I’m not, at all. I’d been imagining watching the balloons ascend to the heavens, and now they’re going to go off with two kids who’ll probably pop them as soon as they’re out of my sight. If they don’t do it right in front of me.

  But the dawning hope on Jayden’s face reminds me of Anthony’s excitement on his last birthday, though they look nothing alike, and I say, “I am,” and hold out the ribbons.

  She takes them and carefully ties one around each of her children’s right wrists, prompting them with, “What do you say?”

  What they say, apparently, is ‘thank you’ over and over again.

  “You’re welcome,” I say, blinking hard. “Have a great day.”

  “You too,” she says, smiling and looking more peaceful than before, and the kids grin at me, then they all head off.

  I watch for a moment, as the balloons bounce up and down at the deliberate jerking of the kids’ wrists, and listen to their delighted laughter, and my tears fade away. Not at all what I’d wanted to do, but a great way to honor my lost siblings. Maybe they’re watching and enjoying the kids’ happiness too.

  I still hold the smoothie cup, and my hand is starting to freeze, so I switch the cup to my other hand then look at it. I haven’t taken in something of unknowable calorie count in I don’t know how long. Doing this, letting this food into my body, will be the beginning of the end of my attempts to protect myself from everything in my life.

  My heart racing, I put my lips to the straw, watch the kids’ slow progress away from me along 14th Street with the balloons, and suck in a sip of the smoothie. I hold it in my mouth a moment, shocked at how scared I am of losing even this much control, then swallow it.

  I feel like my cells are eagerly lunging at the nutrients and calories, and as the fresh sweet taste registers on my tongue my stomach growls and I feel my throat opening. I take another sip, and another.

  Such a tiny thing, for anyone else, to drink this. So huge for me.

  I see something on my right wrist below the cup, and I switch the cup to the other hand then pull off the rubber band that I’ve used to cause myself so much pain and drop it into a nearby garbage can. I don’t need to do that any more. No more pain. I’m moving forward. I’m letting it all go.

  “I miss you, Gloria,” I say in my head. “I love you. Goodbye.”

  I try to repeat the same things for Anthony, but the tears are rising again and I can’t control them. I haven’t cried in twenty years and I don’t want to do it now but I can’t control it. I can’t control anything.

  Then I stop trying.

  I tip my head up to the sun and the clouds and the sky and I let the tears I’ve been fighting forever rise and overflow and pour down my cheeks. My throat tightens at first then loosens as the hot tears seem to take my pain with them.

  “Valerie,” a voice murmurs, and though it’s quiet I know it at once. I turn and find myself face to compassionate face with Nico.

  He holds out his arms and I fall into them, and as I press my face to his shoulder and cry I know another reason why I was drawn to this spot. I’d known he’d be here, like he always is on Tuesday mornings.

  But I did what I needed to do without him. I’ve eaten, at least a bit, and I’ve let myself cry. I did that on my own. I am strong.

  Which doesn’t mean I can’t draw comfort from his embrace too.

  He kisses my hair and rubs my back and holds me tight, and in time my tears slow then stop. I don’t try to stop them, I just wait for them to be finished in their own time, and when they’re done I step back from Nico and say, “I’ve missed you. I’m so sorry. I got angry with you because I didn’t want to hear the truth about my— my eating disorder, and because I was scared you’d leave me so I pushed you away. I don’t know if you can forgive me, but I am sorry.”

  Then I wait for his reply, knowing I can’t control it.

  He shakes his head and brushes my hair away from my face. “I understand, and I’ve missed you too.” His eyes flick to my smoothie cup. “You’re…”

  My face pulls into such a big smile it hurts. “I’m eating street food. Well, drinking it anyhow. And it’s delicious.”

  He grins. “That’s wonderful.”

  I nod and swipe my tears from beneath my eyes with my free hand. “I still need help, Nico. A lot of help. But Dr. Melton is helping me see things differently.”

  Nico blinks. “You’re seeing her?”

  “For a few weeks now,” I say, glad to realize she didn’t break my trust by telling him, then raise the smoothie cup. “Her idea.”

  He lays his hand along my cheek. “But you’re the brave one who’s drinking it.”

  “Brave? Hardly.”

  Nico looks dee
p into my eyes. “Aren’t you?”

  I glance at the cup, from which I’ve taken in I have no idea how many calories.

  Then I pull Nico’s head down and kiss him, trying to tell him without words that I know he’s right and I appreciate everything he tried to do to help me get here.

  He kisses me back, his hand cradling the back of my head like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever touched, and the tears sliding down my face now are all of happiness.

  When our kiss ends, he hugs me hard and says, “I was about to have lunch. Would you care to join me?”

  “I’m not—” I say automatically, then lean back so he can see me give him a sheepish smile. “I am hungry, actually. I think, anyhow. But I don’t know how much I’ll be able to eat. And if it’s not a buffet—”

  “Bring that,” he says, pointing at my smoothie, “and we’ll see what happens. You gotta problem wit dat?”

  I grin at him, knowing I’m supposed to say, “Fuhgetaboutit.” “Zero,” I say instead, reaching up to kiss him again. “I got zero problems wit dat.” The best kind of zero.

  THE END

  Warning about dieting

  Please do not try the 2468 Diet. It is not remotely a healthy way to eat. I did attempt it myself for five days as research, and I could feel my body and mind shutting down. Please, I beg you, do not take this book as a weight-loss manual. It is a cautionary tale, not inspiration.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks once again to Scarlett Rugers Design (www.scarlettrugers.com) for the great cover for this book. You’re a superstar and I’m so amazingly lucky to get to work with you!

  Beta readers are hugely important for a book, and I’m fortunate to have fantastic ones. Thanks so much to Samantha Stroh Bailey, Anna Galinski, Laura Kat, and Lydia Laceby for taking the time to read this book in second draft and find the places where I’d gone astray. (Any remaining errors, of course, are mine alone!)

  Bev Katz Rosenbaum, editor extraordinaire, did a wonderful job of telling me where the book needed work without making me feel bad for not seeing the issues myself. Without her expert guidance “Holding Out for a Zero” would be but a shadow of itself.