23. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter 23
Leslie
T he day after Viraj’s call, I hopped in the car and drove home to Manhattan. After shouldering the apartment door open, I stepped in and let it slam behind me. It’d been three weeks, and the eerie silence and stale air made me glad I wouldn’t be staying long. I only needed to pack up the camera, lighting, and sound equipment for shooting my YouTube videos.
I also owed my best friends an update. Try as I might, I couldn’t tell them about what was going on over the phone. The doctors. The tests. And my new awareness that I had an eating disorder. They deserved a face-to-face conversation, and I couldn’t wait to see them.
I kicked off my shoes and juggled the two paper shopping bags I hauled from the bagel shop around the corner. Garlicky goodness drifted over from the everything bagels I picked up for today. The second bag was stuffed with bagel requests from Dot, Gabriella, and her husband David. Stellar bagels like these weren’t available anywhere else. I didn’t bother Risto, who was too busy prepping for his food tasting tomorrow. Besides, I already knew he liked onion bagels and cinnamon raisin, so I scooped up plenty of both—in separate bags, of course. Otherwise, the cinnamon raisin would absorb the onion flavor, and all would be lost. A rookie move—I shot the dude behind the counter major stink eye when he tried to drop all varieties in the same sack.
Pint containers of flavored cream cheese awaited us: scallion, lox, and vegetable. Bursting with intense flavor, they were tasty beyond anything sold in grocery stores. Not that I went looking very often. But maybe now that’d change.
I opened my fridge and gasped.
Empty.
All that greeted me were two bottles of Heineken and a Ziploc bag of lemon wedges liquefying in the fruit drawer.
I slammed the door shut as tears streamed down my face. I clung tight to the handle, my head pressing against the slick surface. A barren fridge used to be normal, a safety measure to protect me against slipping. And by slipping, I meant eating. Over the last three weeks, I’d had shocking conversations about my illness and its implications for my health. But nothing brought it home for me as much as coming face-to-face with my past.
I gripped the two door handles and flung the French doors open.
Inside, the bare glass shelves frosted over with moisture. No food spills. No crusty milk residue. Those suckers were clean enough to eat off of, especially when compared to the debris I noticed in other people’s refrigerators. But why would I have that? Sticky spots meant food was present. Leaks came from having take-out containers, or the raw ingredients to cook meals. Without all those eating occasions, one was left with what I had: a pristine interior where food should be.
On the bright side, I now saw the emptiness for what it was: evidence of why I needed help and was working to change. Today was a harrowing reminder of how far I’d already come. In time, my life would be as full as my heart could bear, and I’d have a brimming fridge to match. That was all ahead of me, and I had to first crawl before sprinting.
I wiped my eyes dry with the heels of my palms and resumed my preparations. Cream cheese and fish went into the fridge to chill. Tomatoes were sliced and laid on a platter alongside an assortment of round, yeasty goodness. I knotted the top of the plastic shopping bag holding the remaining bagels to keep the steamy moisture within. With any luck, they’d still be fresh when I got back to Dot’s later.
Lost in my thoughts, I almost missed the faint ping of the doorbell. I hadn’t heard it in ages, since visitors typically texted from the lobby. Rebecca and Barbara must have snuck in behind another tenant.
Funny thing about West Beth. Sneaking into our building wasn’t the score it might appear to be. The trick was not getting turned around amongst many floors of identically mazed white halls. Brownie points to them for finding my apartment door on their own.
I scrambled down the stairs, eager butterflies fluttering in my chest. It’d been too long. I hadn’t seen my best girls in weeks and only now realized how much I’d missed them.
“Come here, you two!” I kissed their cheeks, giving each gal a tight squeeze as they entered.
Barbara wore her new uniform, dark-washed jeans and a loose T-shirt paired with holdover Christian Louboutin stilettos from her corporate days. Owning her own law practice meant she was more often barefoot in sweats than dressed up in suits, like she used to be. But then, when working from home with your fine specimen of a lawyer husband, Barbara got kudos for wearing clothes at all.
I turned to Rebecca. “Let me look at you! How exciting!”
Newly pregnant, Rebecca’s baby bump was super adorable.
“All those stories about people touching women’s pregnant bellies are totally true. The other day at the supermarket, my mom literally swatted a gross man’s hand away with a bunch of carrots.”
“For real?” I laughed.
“Wish I’d been there,” Barbara said, slipping off her shoes.
“There’s got to be a story in there, Les,” Rebecca said. “Some bizarre reason people are so drawn to fertile bellies? I’d click on that article.”
As co-owner of Dear Diary with Viraj, Rebecca often seeded stories from her daily life. She had a knack for it, and her instincts kept readers clicking. But my latest story would have all my attention for a while, and it was time I let them know about it.
And me.
We headed upstairs and huddled around the kitchen island to load plates from the bagel spread I’d laid out.
I felt so at ease with these ladies, friends since college who knew every intimate detail of each other’s lives. Had they ever guessed my secret? If so, they never asked about it. When together, I ate my fill and had for years. What was different about being with Barbara and Rebecca that made eating okay? Maybe it was because they loved me as-is and didn’t give two shits what I looked like. Well, except that time when I tried green hair. They rolled on the floor in hysterical laughter, calling me Grinch, which sent me running back to CVS for a dark brown shade to cover it up. But they’d only commented on my appearance in loving, supportive ways.
I could learn a lot from them.
“How’s it going at Dot’s?” Rebecca asked. “She feeling better?”
“For sure. She’s coming along.”
“Gabby must be home by now. Are you planning to stay out there for a while?” Barbara flicked her head toward my stack of camera equipment in the hallway.
Damn her ridiculous powers of observation.
“Let’s grab food and go sit. I have some news to share.”
We piled onto my sectional couch in the living room, and I filled them in about my article and how it led to my diagnosis. As I spoke, their eyes grew glassy until Rebecca hopped up to give me a hug.
“I’m so sorry for all you’re going through. I’ve always thought you were naturally slim, since you ate as much as the rest of us when we were together. I never realized you were secretly restricting.”
Barbara shifted to sit next to me, taking my hand. “I’ve wondered. But never knew how to ask. Your whole family is larger, except for your mom. I’ve heard how she talks to you, and how critical she is about what you put on your plate. I planned to bring it up but chickened out every time. I settled for ordering too much takeout and leaving the leftovers here. It’s a coward’s path, and I’m so sorry I never raised my concerns with you.”
Overcome, I nodded, my throat constricting as salty tears trickled into the corners of my mouth. I let them fall free. I’d held them in for far too long as it was. Part sadness for the pain I’d caused myself, part regret for all the experiences I missed because they involved food. Happy moments lost forever because of fear.
“Please, don’t blame yourself. There was no way you could have known. I hid it so well, I’ve only just put the pieces together myself. But a shift is happening already. When a mealtime comes, I eat. Sure, there’s a fierce battle in my head, but I’m winning those now. That’s huge for me. It’s like learning to be a human all over again.”
Barbara snorted. “Who says you learned right the first time? That mom of yours is a piece of work.”
“Yeah, she definitely got my head screwed on backward.” I took a bite of bagel and chewed. The three of us simmered in thoughts for a few beats. Mine were occupied by the odd scene of having an abundant spread in an apartment typically devoid of food. I’d wanted this countless times. Instead, I would stand over the kitchen sink, sucking ice cubes while pretending they were a succulent meal. I swallowed my mouthful and looked up to find Rebecca staring at me.
“Is that why you don’t want to stay here? Too many bad memories?” Rebecca asked.
“Yeah, a little. But it’s more about being near my treatment team, so they can help me through. And did I mention my aunt lives next door to Risto?”
Barbara’s hand froze, the bagel hovering before her lips. “You missed that juicy tidbit. Are you together?”
“Not officially, but we still care about each other. He’s made me breakfast several times this week, and I’m volunteering at his restaurant until Dot recovers.”
“Sweetie, is that a smart idea? I mean, given what happened?” Rebecca’s voice dripped with the same concern I had initially felt.
“I hear you, but I’m hopeful this time. I think my eating disorder had a lot to do with our problems. I’m dealing with it, and he’s helping.” I shrugged. “It’s been… a wonderful surprise.”
“Take it slow. I know you never got over him, but you need to be whole for yourself before you can show up for anyone else.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Barbara arranged a tomato slice on her bagel before snuggling into her raised shoulders for a delicious bite.
For most of our friendship, the three of us were at the same stage of life. Working, dating, and leaning on each other when things didn’t work out. Over the last few years, they’d leaped ahead of me on the adulting ladder. Rebecca and Kyle endured a lot, each slaying personal demons en route to a happy marriage, self-employment, and soon, their first child.
Meanwhile, Barbara plowed through a transformation of her own. She left the corporate world, started a business, and married Sebastian, the sweetest bad boy I’d ever met. I’d encountered my fair share of underworld types, and Sebastian’s clean break from that life was a miracle.
Witnessing my friends’ lives made it clear I was due for a fairy-tale ending of my own. One where I was healthy and had a thriving career but also had meaningful relationships. With family, friends—and Risto. Life was precious, and we deserved to be together. Instead of awkward silences, we should be making love, then waking each morning tangled in each other’s arms. Was that too much to ask? To be happy with the man I loved. Our lives were inextricably woven together, and that wasn’t changing anytime soon.
Did he feel the same way?
I wasn’t sure.
But he’d been completely acting like it.
Now that I had food coursing through my veins, I had the energy to dream. I wanted so much more than what I’d been allowing myself, and I couldn’t wait to get started.
“Tell us about the new story you mentioned.” Rebecca rose with effort, baby bump forward to counterbalance her arching back.
“Becca, you’re barely showing. What gives?” Barbara joked.
“Shush, you. I’m practicing!” Rebecca air-slapped at her while waddling to the kitchen.
Barbara turned to me. “Enough stalling. What are you planning for the videos? They’re always behind the scenes of your work. You doing that again?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk through. Since I’m such a part of this story, I was thinking of making it like a journal, chronicling my journey through recovery. I’ve been so afraid of gaining an ounce, but I now understand how much more I’m gaining from this process. Anyway, I’ll include the background of my investigations, as always. But I’m considering being more raw and vulnerable. Just speaking from the heart and letting it fly. What do you think?” I asked.
“You just admitted all this to us. Is it wise to blast it to your followers? You don’t want internet trolls to trigger a relapse so early in your recovery. Plus, you have a lot of media types following you. Anything you say will get a lot of airplay.”
Barbara had a point. I got enough shit from peers as it was. Either jeers from jokers, leers from people like Kaelen Reed, or outright jealousy. In cable news, the headlining stars rarely wanted to share the spotlight. They’d use my name to draw eyeballs but didn’t want the entire package. My Saturday night gig was a huge break. Would the network think I was trying to upstage my host? Or, as Viraj suspected, would they appreciate my efforts to stay relevant?
I crossed my legs on the sofa. “Making the videos would be a fresh opportunity to sidestep the narrow confines our male bosses make for us. I’ve been so concerned about being seen as tough, as the equal of any male reporter, that I’ve suppressed parts of myself. The vulnerable side. I wanted to be taken seriously as a skilled professional. But perhaps the persona I concocted only hides who I really am.”
“So who are you?” Rebecca asked.
Tingles fizzed up my spine. “I don’t know yet, but I’m dying to find out. And it’s happening live on camera.”