57. Intervention
Intervention
Sheridan
Gasping for air, I slow down, letting my legs relax a little.
“Are you okay over there? You’ve been moving pretty fast.”
Ya’ think? I told you I’m falling in love with you. Why did I just blurt that out?
My body still shakes with the need to run more. But at this point, running any further might lead to a collapse, and I don’t have time for my body to give out.
“Sheri?”
“Fine. I’m fine. I just needed to breathe a little bit. How is your run going?” Hopefully, that distracts him from asking why I was moving so fast.
“Good. I’m planning a new path for us. This one will be about fifteen miles. But I want to make sure the views are perfect. Do you like to hike as well as run?”
Why does he constantly say the perfect thing? “I don’t know. I’ve never been on a hike.”
“What? With the amount you run, you’ve never been on a hike? How is that possible?”
Fly just doesn’t understand my life. That’s because you don’t let him in.
Why?
Why let him in when I’m going to leave in a few days, and all of this is going to go away?
Because I can’t stop…until the world forces us apart, I’m going to cling to the pretense that this is forever. “Because I don’t travel except for writer conferences and now my friends’ weddings.”
“Would you like to travel?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Ever since I got off the back of his bike, I can’t stop picturing the two of us traveling the country. “Impossible dreams are a writer’s specialty.” The lights are on in the house. “Gotta go. Dahlia’s up.”
“Can I see you for dinner?”
“I don’t know. Everything is going to be crazy for the next few days.”
“Try. Even if it’s just an hour, I’d like to see you tonight.”
“You’d be happy with just an hour?”
“An hour spent with you would never be a sacrifice.”
“Flatterer. I’m going now. Thanks for running with me.”
“See you soon, My Royal Highness.”
“Stop flirting, or I’ll never go.”
“Promise?”
Promises were made to be broken, My Prince. “I’ve really got to go. Have a nice day.”
“You too—”
I click off before he can say another thing that would turn my heart into mush. This man is determined to make me fall in love with him. Doesn’t he get how much it’s going to hurt when I walk away?
Tears start forming in the corner of my eyes…
Go shower.
Get yourself together before you talk to people.
“Sheridan, you're back.” Dahlia walks out of the kitchen in an apron and the cutest pajama set. It has rainbows and teddy bears.
“Yeah, I’m just going to go take a shower. When do we need to leave?”
“Why don’t you come eat? Everything is fresh and hot.”
It smells amazing. “I’m not hungry.” That’s such a lie. My suitcase pantry is hitting rock bottom. I need to find twenty minutes to run down to the corner market and grab something, or that pit in my stomach is going to be larger than normal.
“After your run, you’re not hungry at all?”
“No.” I’m starving, but I can’t eat your food. So just please let me go eat my last toaster pastry in peace.
My stomach rumbles loud enough to wake up the neighborhood.
“You aren’t hungry?” Dahlia’s hand goes to her hip. “Come with me now. We’re going to have a conversation, or I’m going to call all the women, and we’re going to have an intervention. Your choice.”
An intervention? Why? “Dahlia—”
“Choose now.”
“I don’t know why you would call them for an intervention because I’m not hungry.” My stomach growls again and starts to gnaw at me.
Dahlia walks over and places a hand on my arm. “Please come talk to me. I understand. I started to go through the same thing.”
How? Was Dahlia poor when she was younger? I thought she was always upper-middle class? “Um, I don’t know—”
“Come on, we’re going to talk.” She takes my hand and pulls me into the kitchen. “Sit down. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”
What I would like to do is fill my face with the smorgasbord you set up on the counter, like it is a lovely decoration, not just food needed to keep a person from starving.
My stomach pulls hard back to my spine, grumbling about the hunger pangs it’s enduring.
You’ve been hungry before more times than you can count. This is just one more time.
“Sit.”
I do what she says without looking away from the food. She probably thinks I look like a rabid dog without any kind of manners,
“When I was a teenager, I went through something very similar. I know no one’s journey is the same, but with the help of my family and an amazing therapist, I was able to make some real progress…”
Dahlia's words make no sense. I try to listen to her, but all I can think about is my empty suitcase and all the miles I’ve run, and all that's left to do today. My friends are bound to notice if I’m too weak to work.
But the guilt I’ll feel eating will outweigh the lack of hunger pains.
Who makes french toast, a mountain of fluffy eggs, a pile of bacon, sausage, blueberry muffins, and a massive bowl of fresh fruit for one meal?
Am I drooling? Please say I’m not drooling. Are those fresh croissants and whipped honey butter?
This feels like cruel and unusual punishment.
It had to have taken dozens of dishes to make all of this.
Jackpot! There’s a sink full right there. If I do the dishes after eating, I wouldn’t feel as guilty.
“Now, I don’t know if you two would be a good fit or not, but I made arrangements for you to meet with her, and you don’t need to worry about what it costs. Everything is paid for already.”
What? I really should have been paying attention.
“You can work with her as long as you need, and if therapy isn’t enough, there are some really great in-patient care places.”
“What are you talking about?” It’s so tempting to just go make a plate, especially after she offered me a meal.
“Your eating disorder.”
“What eating disorder? I don’t have an eating disorder.” What exactly was she saying when I was lost in the food?
“I know it’s hard to acknowledge the fact that you do, but my therapist can help.”
“Dahlia, I don’t have an eating disorder.”
“Yes, you do. You’ve run every morning that you’ve been here.
Too many miles for me to even think about it, but you do that and then come in and don’t eat a single bite of food most of the day.
When we’re out, you pretend to eat or ignore the food altogether.
The rest of us ate an entire meal, and you took two little tomatoes.
It isn’t healthy. You’re hurting your body not eating enough food.
While you’ve been here, you’ve lost several pounds that you can’t afford.
Don’t tell me you don’t have an eating disorder, because the symptoms are right there in front of our faces as clear as day. ”
“Dahlia, I don’t have an eating disorder.”
“Then why aren’t you eating? Are you sick? Do you have colon cancer or something?”
She won’t leave it. I know she’s trying to be nice, but she just won’t let it go. “I’m not sick. I don’t have cancer, nor do I have an eating disorder. I have a poverty disorder.”
“Huh?”
“I’m poor, and food is expensive. When we go out, I don’t eat anything, because I can’t afford to pay if I was asked.” It’s more than humiliating.
“Then why don’t you eat here?”
“I do. I just don’t eat your food when I can’t find some way to pay you back for it. I eat in my bedroom.”
“You eat in your bedroom.”
“Since I didn’t have to pay for an extra bag—” Or even a ticket. “—I packed a suitcase full of food.” It also helped me not waste food or leave it in my car for rats and squirrels to find.
“You’ve been eating food out of your suitcase.” Dahlia’s eyes fill with tears. “You helped save my life, and you’re afraid to eat food at my house.”
“I’m afraid to eat at everyone’s house.” But Fly’s…we won’t think about that right now.
“Do you remember the very first writers’ conference we went to?”
“The one when we met. How could I forget?” It went from this huge, scary event that I only went to because I won a scholarship to one of the best weeks of my life.
“No, do you really remember it?”
“Yeah, I remember every minute of it.” How could I forget something that changed my life and career that drastically? Not only did I go from barely making enough to pay for a granola bar to making thousands every month, but for the first time in my life, I made friends.
“Then where did we spend most of our time?”
What a weird question to ask? “We were supposed to sprint, but we spent most of our time in your suite talking and laughing.”
“Do you know why we spent so much time there and not exploring?”
I know I would have had to separate from them if they had. I didn’t have enough money to do anything extra. “No?”
“We didn’t leave because I was terrified of walking out of the hotel room.
I thought I would die just going into the conference classes, but with all of you around me, I was brave enough to step out a few minutes every day.
Before that, I was edging toward total agoraphobia.
That weekend, all of you became more to me than friends.
You became my family. And at every conference, every phone call, every group meeting, you became closer.
I don’t view you as a friend, Sheridan. I view you as a sister.
Anything I have that you need is yours…you don’t even need to ask. ”
“In my family, if you didn’t work, you didn’t eat. If you didn’t contribute, you didn’t have a place to sleep at night. So I hear the words you’re saying, but they don’t make sense to me.”
“Have you always been hungry?”
“I’m not hungry now. Not usually, things have just been a little tight for the last few months. But I brought food. I always ate.”
“I don’t know where to start, except to say, in my house, you eat at the table.
You don’t have to earn it because you already have just being my friend…
my family. You don’t need to help to earn anything here, because love is a gift given, not a payment made.
There will never be a surprise bill when we go out.
Because the most important thing is you being part of my life.
I need you in it. I need my friend to be happy, healthy, and having fun.
Not starving herself, not trying to pay me back when she already gave me the best gift she could—her friendship.
Do you know you’ve never put any restrictions on our friendship?
Never demanded I do or give you anything to remain your friend.
You just give your time, your kindness, and your heart to everything.
Have you ever had someone who loves you? ”
“Once…once, I thought my brother loved me. When we were little, he would protect me when our father got drunk and violent. He would hunt or steal food to give me, so my stomach wasn’t empty.
But it’s not easy to steal in a small town.
Once they catch you, you’re always a thief.
When he got older, he left. He told me he was going to go find a way to be rich so that he was never hungry again. So that we were never hungry again.”
“Did he do it?”
“Of course. You don’t know my brother, but if you did, you’d know he’s never failed at anything he’s tried to do. He’s smart and determined. He made it. Made more than we could ever imagine.”
“Then why do you have issues with money?”
“Because he never came back for me. He left and never came back. So I hope you can understand…why understanding…believing all of this is hard for me.”
“What’s your brother’s name?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to have a discussion with him.” Dahlia’s hand is fisted around her mug handle.
“Don’t hate him. He was only finding a way to survive.”
She shakes her head. “Real family finds a way to survive together. Just like they find ways to thrive together. Like we share our joys and our losses.”
“I don’t think my brother has ever had a real family.”
“Well, you do. From here on out, you have a family, one who will love and support you, whatever crazy thing you might do…”
“Like marrying a man you only knew for a few months?”
“In my defense, it felt like we'd been together much longer. And can you blame me? Maverick is the kindest man I’ve ever met.”
He does seem to be head over heels for Dahlia, but Fly is so much kinder…and thoughts like that are going to get me in trouble.
“I know it’s going to be a mental adjustment, but do you think you could start eating with us?”
“Will you be able to handle it that I need to do something not to feel guilty?” It feels so wrong asking that. Exposing myself like that.
“No, but I hope you’ll eventually feel less like you have to. Friendship and love should never be transactional. And I hope one day I make you feel secure enough that you don’t feel the need to.”
My relationships have always been transactional…except with Fly. He always gives. He never asks or demands anything, which makes me want to share more, to give more…to love him more.