by Kelly, Hazel
I mean, if I was a normal girl having a normal end to a normal day, I would’ve been doing my homework. Or trying to figure out if anyone had confirmed whether Becca really gave Trey head on the train. Or icing my shoulder because I messed it up in the weight room.
Instead, I followed up a nice day out at The Secret Life of Walter Mitty with another predictable episode of The Secret Life of Kate.
I wasn’t looking forward to purging, though. I never did. Fortunately, I stopped and bought diet pills on the way home. So if I absorbed some calories before I got around to throwing up, at least I could give my metabolism a boost in the right direction. Just as soon as I emptied my guts.
I used to rely on laxatives to do that, but they made me feel horrible. I almost shat myself at lacrosse practice one day when I took too many. Plus, I’m convinced they screwed with my potassium levels cause I used to get these awful cramps in my legs when I would take them.
So I stopped. Because I like to believe I’m more committed to the lacrosse team than I am to my eating disorder.
Just as well I don’t have to choose.
But it is tiring trying to hide it from my friends and family. Especially my Mom. I don’t get how she doesn’t know. I mean, she does all the grocery shopping. So she knows better than anyone how quickly food goes missing around here.
Does she really think lacrosse could be burning off the insane number of calories I consume? She must be in denial. Or maybe she just thinks it’s Chris and his friends.
Regardless, sneaking around makes me feel so two-faced. And I’ve become such a compulsive liar to hide it. But I must be doing a good job because most of the time, I feel like I’m all alone with my eating disorder.
It’s like we’re handcuffed together, and I have to keep it alive by feeding it and making it throw up. It’s like I’m hosting a parasite. Except it takes a lot of effort on my part.
It’s gotten so out of control, the only time I forget about it is when I’m drunk.
But I can’t tell anyone how sick and unhappy I am. It’s too soon. I’m not ready. And even if I were, I don’t think my bulimia wouldn't let me.
Chapter 10: Dawn
Thomas was wearing a hunter green shirt with khakis when he arrived. As usual. I wondered if he was capable of more creativity when it came to saving his marriage than I’d seen him demonstrate with his dress sense.
So on my suggestion, he arrived alone to the session. I figured that was the only way I would ever understand his position. After all, neither of us could get a word in when Judy was there assassinating his character.
“Hello,” I said, gesturing to the leather couch opposite me. “How are you today?”
“Nothing new to complain about anyway.”
I laughed. “Well, we can’t always make progress, but as long as you aren’t going backwards, I guess that’s something.”
“And yourself?”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Thanks for asking.”
He took a seat on the couch. “Please tell me you’ve seen someone worse off than me and Judy in the last week.”
“Hmm.” I looked up out of the corner of my eye and pursed my lips. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen at least two couples with bigger problems than you guys.”
He laid an ankle across his opposite knee. “I’m probably a terrible person that that makes me feel better.”
“You’re not,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re just a regular person.”
“So you wanted me to come on my own today?”
“Yes.”
“Is that so I get a turn to talk?”
I smiled. “It is.”
“I was hoping.”
“Well, let’s start with whatever you’ve been wanting to say that you don’t feel you’ve had an opportunity to express.”
He cleared his throat. “Okay.”
I smiled and waited for him to find his words.
“I know that this is going to sound crazy. Especially because you’ve only gotten to know Judy recently. As she is now. But I really want to make it work with her.”
“That doesn’t sound crazy, Thomas. If that weren’t the case you wouldn’t be here.”
“Just hear me out.”
I nodded.
“She wasn’t always such a- a…” He looked around the room for a second and exhaled through his nose. “She used to be different, Dawn. She was kind. And funny. Really funny.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Are you trying to say that lately she hasn’t been the woman you married?”
He nodded.
“Can you be more specific?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess the best way to describe it is that she’s gotten really uptight. She wasn’t like that when we met. She didn’t keep score. She was like… helium.”
“Helium?”
“Light.”
“Oh. Okay. Sure.”
“But I know the woman that I love is still in there. But it’s like she’s overwhelmed by stress or something. It’s like she’s so stressed out that she can’t even take time to choose words that aren’t… hurtful.”
“Does that happen a lot?” I asked. “Her saying hurtful things?”
He shrugged. “I don’t take it personally because it’s so out of character.”
“How do you deal with it?”
He sighed. “I’m basically coping by pretending that she has some kind of tumor that makes her act nasty all the time.”
I cocked my head.
“I told her that, too.”
“That you think she has a tumor?”
He nodded.
“Wow,” I said. I didn’t know he had it in him.
“I’m willing to do anything, Dawn. I’m convinced that if she can just remember us- remember how we were- everything will be fine.”
“Okay.” I leaned forward and put my elbows on my clipboard. “Are you also willing to admit that you’re not entirely blameless in this situation?”
“Yeah. Of course.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I wanted to talk to you about that actually.”
“Shoot.”
“Well, you know how you’re always saying we should ask ourselves What can I do today to make my marriage better?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m at a loss.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Well, Judy is so impatient with me, and she’s annoyed by everything I do lately. Except, of course, when I leave the house to go to work.”
I nodded.
“I never know what’s going to set her off.” He took a deep breath. “So when I’m home, I try to stay in my office and lay low. I just do my best to keep out of her way.”
“I see. What if I phrase the question differently?” I asked. “What if you asked yourself What can I do today to make Judy’s life Easier?”
The new thought in his head forced his bottom lip out.
“Look. You want to make it work, right?”
“Right.”
“And you think her stress levels are part of the problem?”
“The biggest part.”
“Okay, so do what you can to mitigate her stress. It doesn’t have to be anything crazy.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just offer to do little things for her. Try to anticipate what she might be worried about getting done, and see if you can stay one step ahead of her.”
He furrowed his brow.
“I know this might sound crazy, but women equate being supported with being loved. So any way you can support her will make a difference.”
“Can you give me an example?”
“Sure. Take a minute to fold the towels instead of walking by the dryer a hundred times ignoring the little light that says the load is finished.”
He parted his lips to speak- perhaps in his own defense- but closed his mouth again.
“I know it doesn’t sound like much, but even a little thing like that will help her get ahead. Which will make her feel more rel
axed. And trust me. She’ll know you helped her get ahead.” I pointed straight at him. “Don’t say anything about it. Don’t say hey did you notice I did this or that? She’ll notice.”
“You really think that will make a difference?”
“I do.”
“I don’t mean to be difficult, but I don’t see how helping her with chores is going to fix my marriage?”
“Because it will soften her. She’ll see that you're trying to be helpful even though she hasn’t been her best lately. And she’ll think Maybe he doesn’t want me to feel like a crazy bitch all the time.”
“Of course I don’t want her to feel that way.”
“See, you say that now. But how often does she ask you to do something more than once?”
He shrugged. “A few times a week.”
“And how do you think it makes her feel when she has to ask you a second time?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look at it this way. She probably does lots of things she doesn’t want to do all day long without making a big deal about it, right?”
“I suppose.”
“And compared to all the stuff she does around the house, she probably doesn’t actually ask for your help all that often.”
“Probably not, no.”
“So when she does and you make a big deal about doing whatever it is in your own sweet time, you don’t exactly come across as a team player. Or someone with a lot of respect for her time and breath.”
"I guess I could see that."
“Look at it this way. Let’s say you act annoyed and drag your feet when she asks you to help her with something.”
“Sure.”
“Well in her mind, that leaves her with two choices, right? She can nag you which makes her feel ugly and horrible and unsexy. Or she can just do it herself which makes her feel resentful and makes her wonder if she’d be better off without you.”
“I didn’t know it was such a big deal.”
“That’s okay. Women aren’t meant to be understood, just appreciated.”
He squinted like he was trying to filter all the words I’d flung through the air into his brain. “You really think that will make a tangible difference?”
“I promise that if you are more helpful and considerate, the dynamic between you will change for the better.”
“Won’t I look like I’m whipped, though? I don’t want her to start taking advantage. Does that make sense?”
“Yes it does, and I’m so glad you asked that. Being helpful is only the first part of the plan.”
“What’s the second part?”
“I want you to find your voice and start wearing the pants in the relationship again.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that I want you to boss Judy around the way you would if she were a slutty princess.”
His whole face pinched around his nose. “Can you elaborate on that?”
“Sure,” I said. “I want you to say stuff like: put on a dress, I’m taking you to dinner. If she admires something in a store, I want you to surprise her by buying it for her. And I want you to get her flowers for no reason other than the fact that they were so pretty they made you think of her.”
“That’s a lot.”
“I’m not suggesting you do them all at once,” I said. “I just want you to remember how you treated her when she was enchanting to you. I want you to think back to when she was the woman you most wanted to woo in the whole world, and treat her like she’s that person again.”
“And what if it doesn’t work?”
I shrugged. “Then at least you will have tried everything.”
“I’m too tired when I get in most nights to do that stuff though.”
“Too tired to save your marriage?”
“Touché.”
I smiled. “Try it for two weeks. What have you got to lose?”
He sighed. “My wife. My best friend. The mother of my children.”
“So fight for her. You said you were willing to do anything right?”
“Yeah.”
“So help her find her way back by treating her like the woman you fell in love with.”
Thomas cocked his head. “You think I can pull it off?”
“I know you can.”
Thomas left that session with renewed hope, and I was happy for him. But I was jealous, too.
Because he still had time to make things right.
And because he knew what I didn’t. He knew how to reach out to the person he loved most and show her that he’s cared all along.
Chapter 11: Kate
I was so nervous the week before the dance I was sure my anxiety would manifest itself as some kind of monster pimple. But for once, I got lucky. My skin looked great, and I actually felt pretty. And my purple dress was only tight on top so I wouldn’t have to suck in all night.
Our group of eight couples met up to take pictures at the Hendricks’s house before the dance. And as soon as I saw Ian all dressed up in his tux in front of his house, I could barely contain my excitement.
He was the coolest guy I’d ever liked. And the fact that he was taking me to the dance meant that he was happy for the whole world to know he liked me back.
Of course, I was a little worried about meeting his parents. Especially since I’d already met the inside of their station wagon trunk. But they were nice, and his Mom even told me I looked pretty while I was pinning on his boutonniere. And when he gave me my corsage, it felt like the cherry on top.
I mean, I know the whole thing is a bit old fashioned, but I think there’s something kind of sweet about being decorated by your date. Plus, it’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to a guy giving me flowers. And Mrs. Hendricks went out of her way to say he picked the corsage himself. So I think it counts.
My Mom came along to take pictures, but I knew she was more interested in checking out Ian and evaluating his parents’ maturity. Fortunately, they assured her that they would be home for the duration of the after party.
I suspect they didn’t know there was a keg on ice in one of their garbage bins and several cases of beer hidden in bushes around their house. But that was for the best. The important thing was that my Mom seemed relieved after she talked to them.
Once everyone arrived, we stood in a line to take the pictures. Ian had his hand around my waist the whole time, and I was beaming.
And for a few minutes, I didn’t hate my Mom or think about my eating disorder. I didn’t worry about whether my bush was too bushy or whether Ian and I were going to have sex later or whether we were all going to be okay. I just enjoyed having a good looking guy’s arm around me while I wore a pretty dress.
When we finally arrived at the decorated school gym, Ian asked me to dance right away. I followed him onto the basketball court and draped my arms over his shoulders.
“I’m glad your Mom finally ungrounded you,” he said.
“No kidding.”
“I missed you a lot the past few weekends.” He pulled my hips closer and his eyes sparkled.
“Really?”
“Of course,” he said. “I wasn’t even going to come to this thing if I couldn’t take you.”
“You could’ve asked somebody else.”
He shook his head. “There isn’t anybody else.”
I smiled. His attention made me feel so special and wanted.
But things went downhill from there.
I mean, I don't know which faculty member was responsible for choosing the song list. But they were obviously determined to keep us from having any fun. It’s like they knew the room was full of hormones and they thought that playing the least sexy music on the planet was the only way they could keep us from copulating on the dance floor.
Or maybe they had consulted my Mom. I mean, the Macarena? The Chicken Dance?
It was so ridiculous. After all, it didn’t matter how hard they tried to keep us sober, upright, and clothed. Nothing could change the fact that as soon as
we left, we were going to get drunk, horizontal, and naked.
And listen to some decent music while we were at it.
So we killed a few hours sipping juice by the bleachers and gossiping about how much we were going to drink at the after party. Then we left and went back to Ian’s.
When we got to his house, a few of the girls and I took it upon ourselves to perform an enthusiastic and detailed retelling of the dance. This kept Ian’s parents in the kitchen long enough for the guys to sneak all the beer into the basement.
Once that mission was accomplished, everyone changed out of their fancy clothes. Then we spent the next few hours drinking and sneaking out the basement door for smoke breaks.
And Ian’s parents didn’t come downstairs a single time. Which was cool. It made me think that maybe they were teenagers with healthy social lives once upon a time.
Unlike my parents. The only time I’ve ever seen my Mom drink was two sangria’s at the neighborhood block party a few years ago. My Dad basically had to carry her home. Of course, she was mortified even though all the other housewives were trashed an hour later and no one gave a shit.
But she doesn’t have a clue. She thinks that anyone who’s ever gotten so drunk that they had the thought I’m never going to drink again is an alcoholic. Which means everyone I know has a drinking problem.
Anyway, I was pleasantly buzzed after a healthy amount of beer, and I really wanted to be alone with Ian since I hadn’t seen him in weeks. At least not outside of school. Or his clothes.
Eventually, he asked if I wanted to go check something out in his room. I think he thought he was being smooth, but everyone who heard him made whoo noises.
He told them to shut up and then took me by the hand and led me upstairs. We snuck right past the den where his parents were watching a super loud action movie with an open bottle of wine.
The first thing I noticed when I walked in his room was all the lacrosse trophies. Then I saw a pile of laundry in a chair that he obviously didn’t fold himself. It all looked pretty normal. Until he closed his bedroom door.