13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter 13
Leslie
W hen I arrived at the hospital the day after Dot’s surgery, she was fast asleep. I took it as a good sign and I huddled on the window seat. I’d been chewing on my pen ever since.
My shift at Risto’s restaurant the night before was an unbridled disaster.
I messed up guest seating, spilled water on tables as I tried to refill glasses from a carafe, and left diners waiting to be greeted while I broke down crying in the linen closet.
It was all too much. The sights and aromas of the food made me want to throw up and devour it all at the same time. All the people looking at me. Whenever I looked up, I swore Risto’s face was plastered in that stupid porthole window in the swinging door to the kitchen.
Casting judgment from afar.
Probably calculating how much money I was costing him. And Dot.
I looked up to find my aunt watching me.
“Hey, you’re up. How do you feel?” I slipped the pen behind my ear to hide the gnawed end.
“I’ve been better.” Dot flinched. The simple act of speaking took effort, and my heart ached for her.
“Mind getting me some water?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure. It’s cold. They just brought a new pitcher.”
Crushed ice sloshed in the pint-sized pink container as I poured. Her unsteady hands almost spilled the water, so I grabbed the cup back. After slipping the straw between her waiting lips, she took a sip. When done, she gave me a weary glance.
“I feel the fool. Laying in this bed with you serving me.” Dot grimaced as she attempted to sit more upright. Her stink eye stilling me as I moved to help.
“I have to do this myself if they’re going to let me out of this place.”
“They also said to take it easy for the first 24 hours.”
“Well, I’ve given them that, plus some. Time for me to get up.” She pressed the bed controller to lift her head and flatten her bent legs so she could more easily stand.
I bolted around, but she was already standing by the time I grabbed her arm to steady her wobble. A wide gap in her hospital gown exposed her bare butt.
“Um…” A laugh gurgled up my throat.
She tossed a glance over her right shoulder. “Thought I felt a draft.”
“Let me tie those strings for you.”
We rotated her gingerly in her yellow, rubberized socks so her back faced me. But it was no use. The hospital gown was too small for her, and there was no way the strings would connect and not leave Dot mooning the ward. Seemed cruel to give her an ill-fitting gown.
I covered the upholstered recliner chair with a towel from the bathroom and got her settled, tossing a blanket over her legs. “Let me check with the nurse about getting you a fresh gown that fits.”
She nodded, eyes drooping closed as she nestled into her new resting spot.
As I stepped into the hall, the chaos of the central nursing station assaulted my senses. Two staffers talked loudly on phones cradled in their necks, computer keys clacking under their brutal assault. A doctor whisper-screamed in the corner, disagreeing over a chart he held. A gaggle of laughing voices burst through the open door of a kitchenette nearby. With everyone occupied, I meandered over to a navy roller cart where the rounded edges of basil-green paisley gowns peeked through the canvas flap. While clean, the frayed necklines betrayed their age.
God, they’re ugly.
I searched each gown for sizing, finding only smalls and mediums before the pile lurched forward against my chest. I tried to balance the stack and shift it into place, but the tower of cloth toppled sideways.
Shit.
“Hey!” a husky voice yelled as a nurse rushed to steady the falling gowns before they fell to the floor. Her skilled hands rescued me from catastrophe.
“Thanks. Are there any larger gowns? The one my aunt’s wearing leaves her exposed.” I stepped aside to clear the way.
“What color does she have now?”
“Like these. Green.”
She flipped the cart flap closed. “I have a stash in the back of larger sizes.”
“Contraband?” I joked.
“They go fast. Hold on.” She walked through a nearby door while I waited next to the gowns no one needed.
Why make folks jump through hoops to find the right size? Seemed unfair to keep some up front while forcing others to ask. Or maybe we were supposed to ask in the first place?
The nurse returned and handed me a version with a maroon color palette. “What room are you in?”
“232-A,” I said, hugging the prize to my chest.
“I’ll make a note on her record so we provide the right size.”
“Thank you.”
When I reentered the room, Auntie was dozing in her chair. I let her be and sat down to my computer, noticing an email from my editor, Viraj:
Strong ratings from the other night on The Kaelen Reed Show . He’s pissed you won’t be available for weeks. LMK if you’re open to trudging back for an appearance or two before you start in September.
The thought of my creepy colleague sent my anger boiling. But Viraj had a point about me not being invisible for so long. And it’d give me a reason to avoid the restaurant. Definitely something to consider. I replied, telling him I was open to the idea but would just need enough notice to get back and ready. Once again, I was using work to escape Risto, but he was the one who walked away, not me. Christ, being at his restaurant last night was misery.
Except for that moment in the hall.
Pleasure rippled through me at the thought of Risto’s earthy, musky scent. I caught a whiff when his hot breath caressed my face. It took me back to all the nights we’d laze tangled and boneless in bed after making love. My head on his chest, his heart pounding fiercely at first, then gradually settling down as sleep took hold. I’d often awake to a kiss being planted on my neck and his hand rounding the curve of my ass. Good God, that man made me feel some kinda way. And I craved it like air. Resisting that temptation was hard as hell, especially since I never wanted us apart to begin with.
His hungry look the other day left me wondering if he still had feelings for me. It’d be too much to hope. I hated myself for missing his scent, his deep brown eyes, and his rugged shoulders… Damn him and his gorgeousness. Another zing caught my breath, forcing my eyes closed to savor it. Remembering I wasn’t alone, I popped them back open. But not soon enough.
“So…?” Dot asked with a crooked grin. “How’d it go last night at Boricua?”
“Tragic. If I wasn’t volunteering, they would have fired me.” I rose to retrieve the new gown from the foot of her bed.
“You’re exaggerating.”
“If anything, I’m being generous. It’s just not my favorite place to be.”
“Why is that?” An unmistakable challenge tinged her voice.
“You know very well.”
Dot rubbed her temples. “I’m groggy from the anesthesia. Remind me.”
Why was she doing this?
“I don’t want to be around a man who doesn’t want to be around me.”
“You’ve never enjoyed being there, even before you broke up. What is it about that place that makes you so uncomfortable?”
Oh, I don’t know? Being around food all the time and knowing I can’t eat any of it?
I unfolded the gown. “Let’s get you into this so we can stroll a little.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Yes, I am.”
After swapping gowns, I tied the strings at her back. This time, they closed easily, with lots of room for her to move comfortably.
“Much better. Thank you,” she said.
Dot shuffled toward the door, unsteady in her slip-resistant hospital socks. “You’d never know I taught yoga by the look of me.”
“You’ll be yogaing again, soon.” I kept a firm grip on her waist and arm as we trudged along.
“Did you walk Pepper before you came over?” she asked, pausing to rest.
“Yes, and it nearly killed me. I didn’t realize it was over three miles.”
She stopped to glare. “How do you live in New York and not walk? It’s impossible.”
“I walk. There’s just a lot of buses, cabs, and subways in between. I have a busy life and need to put my energy where it matters.”
“Did you eat anything today?” she asked, already knowing the answer. “I left the fridge stocked.”
I meant to eat. I really did. But it wasn’t part of my daily routine. I was so wound up about Risto, the last thing I wanted to think about was food. Hunger had become the background music of my life. Present, but never fully registering enough to prompt action. I promised to change, but I felt so full after breakfast with Gabby yesterday. I now realized I hadn’t eaten since.
“If you don’t want to end up in this place, you must remember to feed your body. It’s not the enemy. You live in it. It’s what keeps you breathing. You’re so up in your head all the time that you forget 98 percent of you is below your neck. Your body is part of you too, and it’s screaming for help. You’ve got to listen.”
Her face carried so much worry, I hated to disappoint her. Ashamed, I eyed the gray floor tiles, saying nothing. Better to not make promises I couldn’t keep. Though I would try to change. The hours I’d spent reading articles over the last few days left me more confused. Every article I read about the wrongs of dieting was countered by ten elevating lean living as the best lifestyle.
Dot resumed walking, now with more purpose. Wow . If my post-surgical aunt had more stamina than me, the anti-diet position might have merit.
“Talk to me about the idea of ‘diet culture.’ It’s a phrase I’d never heard before but am seeing all over the materials I’ve been reading.”
She looked at me sideways, a knowing smile on her lips. “Diet culture is the societal concept that prizes thinness above all else. It becomes the holy grail and leaves people thinking that there’s something wrong with them if they don’t shrink down.”
Made sense. I found a study of Miss America contestants and Playboy models that documented how their weights and sizes plummeted between 1959 and 1988. So much so that the newest contestants met the criteria for anorexia nervosa. If Playboy models and pageant queens were starving themselves sick, what did that mean for the rest of us?
We reached the end of the hall and sat on a window bench to rest.
“This diet industry data is the biggest shock I’ve had in years,” I said. “And I’ve seen dead people.”
Dot laughed, flinching as she pressed a hand against her stitches.
“Hey, girl!” a cheery voice said.
I looked up to find a Black woman with lovely goddess braids. Cornrows tight to her scalp that collected into a high ponytail of thick braids that cascaded down her back. Gold beads dotted throughout, matching the hoops she wore in her ears. A black pencil skirt hugged her thick curves, topped by a turquoise-and-black flowered blouse beneath her hospital ID badge.
“Tasha!” My aunt’s face glowed into a smile.
Tasha leaned in to whisper, “The surgery go okay?”
“Yes, but I’ve still a ways to go. Tasha, this is my niece, Leslie. She’s out to stay with me awhile from New York. Leslie, Tasha is my dietitian.”
Shame bubbled in me for thinking a larger-bodied nutritionist was a misnomer. I had so much to learn. My aunt often mentioned the rude women in her yoga class who were offended by having an instructor of her size. Here I was doing the same thing to Tasha.
“I’ve been telling Leslie about the truth behind diet culture. You’d be a great person for her to speak with. What do you think?”
“Yes, if you have time?” I said, trying to recover.
“I had a client cancel, so I can talk to you at 3:00 p.m. That work?” Tasha told me where to find her office and was off.
I sat biting my lip, but then just spat it out. “Forgive me, because I’m learning and I’m probably going to ask stupid questions. Maybe even insulting ones.”
Dot stood. “I’ll need to move for this.”
We shuffled back toward her room, and I spoke low to avoid sounding like the bigot I knew myself to be. “Talk to me about being a nutritionist at a larger size. I thought the whole point of going to one was to stay at a healthy weight.”
“That’s been the current standard, but there is a new generation of nutrition professionals who realize that their obsession with weight is wrong. These folks help people make lifestyle changes. Yes, to what they eat, but more about how they think about food and movement. It frees people to live their best life in the bodies they have.”
“It sorta makes sense, but it sounds weird. Like you’re only going partway to deal with our health.”
She shook her head. “If you live a healthy way, move as you’re able and enjoy, and get the nourishment your body needs, your weight will land where it’s supposed to. That could be large, it could be small. The idea is to decouple the concepts of weight and health. They’re not the same thing. Just because you’re fat doesn’t mean you’re unhealthy or have no endurance, and just because you’re thin doesn’t mean you’re healthy or fit.”
Those last words were a gut punch.
Just because you’re thin doesn’t mean you’re healthy or fit.
Shit.
I was a living example of that.
Dread clung to me like wet jeans.
What the hell was I supposed to say to Tasha at 3:00 p.m.?
Or worse, what would she say to me?