Sins of the Flesh (Exposed Series Book 1) (12 page)

I smiled. “Go on.”

“It’s kind of embarrassing how I met him.”

“It can’t be that bad. When did you meet him?”

She turned a silver ring around her finger. “Last week I was
waiting to meet my Mom for lunch, and she was running late.”

I nodded. I wasn’t surprised. From what Courtney had told me, it
sounded like the woman would’ve been late to her daughter’s birth if they
hadn’t been attached.

“So I went in the bookstore.” She crossed her legs. “And I was
in the self-help section- that’s the embarrassing part.”

“That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I don’t know.” She raised her eyebrows. “There’s some pretty
weird stuff in there. Like pathetic stuff.”

“There’s nothing weird about being interested in your mental
health.”

She looked unconvinced. “Anyway, I was looking at this panic
attack book.”

“Yeah.”

“And this really cute guy comes out of nowhere and says he’s
read it but he can recommend a better one.”

“Cute, huh?”

“Really cute. Probably my age. Just in a regular t-shirt.”

“A regular t-shirt?”

“Yeah. I hate when guys wear trendy scoop neck shirts, yak know?
Like if I wanted to see their pec-crack, I’d ask.”

I laughed. “Okay. Got it. So was it a line or…”

“No. I guess he really used to get panic attacks, but he said he
hasn’t had one in five years.”

“Cool.”

“And then he asked if he could buy me lunch sometime.”

“Wow.”

“Then I had a panic attack.”

My mouth fell open.

“Just kidding.” She smiled. “I just took his name and number and
said I’d call him.”

“You didn’t give him your number?”

“No. Are you kidding? I had to Google the guy first to make sure
he’s not some sort of serial self-help psycho.”

“And?”

“He’s not.”

“Oh good,” I said. “And good of you to be cautious.”

“Thanks.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what things were like when
you were my age, but there are a lot of weirdoes out there now. You can’t just
give your number to guys anymore.”

“I’ll remember that.”
If my ancient memory allows it
.

“You never know if a guy is a pedophile or an ex-con or a member
of an embarrassing fraternity.”

I laughed. “Yikes.”

“So I’m meeting him for lunch next week. Instead of drinks, ya
know? Cause I’m not really supposed to drink with the medication I’m on.”

“Good thinking.”

“I mean, I probably will eventually, but I just want to help the
doctors get it right first. God forbid I want to kiss this guy and I have
incurable dry mouth or something.”

“God forbid.”

“And I’m kind of nervous anyway cause I’ve never been on a real
date before.”

“What do you mean a real date?”

“I mean, I’ve never gone out by myself to eat food with a guy I
just met.”

“It’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

She looked at me like I was eighty years old.

“Not the advice you were looking for?”

“No,” she said. “I was hoping you might have some real advice
for me? Like Do’s and Don’ts or something?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Anything you can think of.”

I pursed my lips. I didn’t want to blow it. It was pathetic how
validating it was to have a young person treat me like I might be able to give her
relevant advice.

“Please.”

“You know that the only advice I can give you would just be my opinion.
Which is totally subjective.”

She nodded. “That’s okay.”

I sighed. “Let’s see…Order something that’s not too hard to eat
so you can concentrate on the conversation. But not a salad. Real men like a
woman with a healthy appetite. So eat some real food. And don’t eat his food.”

“His food?”

“Yeah, like the fries off his plate, for example.”

She frowned. “I would never.”

“Good. Cause you can’t get away with that unless you’re dating.”

“Noted.” She nodded. “What else?”

“Ask lots of questions about him. It's polite, and it will keep
the conversation flowing. But more importantly, it’ll help you figure out if
you want to see him again. And smile a lot because it will put you both at
ease.”

“Okay.”

“And at the end of the meal, offer to go Dutch. If he insists
that he pay, let him. Chances are he wants to see you again. But if he lets you
pay half, forget him. He’s either a player or not that into you.”

“Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. But in my experience, if he doesn’t try to
impress on your first date, he’s not going to impress you on your second.”

Courtney pursed her lips and let my words sink in. “Thanks, Dawn.
I really appreciate it.”

I glanced at the clock.

She nodded and grabbed her fake Prada off the couch.

“And Courtney?”

“Yeah?”

“If he didn’t already think you were beautiful, he wouldn’t have
asked you out, so don’t wear too much make-up.”

“Yeah, right,” she said laughing. “Good one.”

Oh well. At least I tried.

She was actually too fat to cross her legs.

“Hi Kate.” She stood up to shake my hand. “I’m Nadine.”

Her brown hair was long like a horse’s tail and not nearly
pretty enough to distract from her obesity. I didn’t see how this woman was
going to be able to help me when it was obvious that she couldn’t say no to
food either.

Not that she wasn’t a nice person. I’m sure she was lovely. She
just didn’t exactly look like an expert on moderation and restraint.

I took a seat on the couch. “Nice to meet you,” I said, suddenly
aware that I could touch my knees together.

“So I understand you’re having some problems and your Mom
thought it might help if you talked to someone.”

I nodded.

There was a generic framed photo of a white lily on the wall
over Nadine’s head. Everything else in the room was beige. It felt like a
waiting room. I couldn’t wait to get out of it.

“I want to begin by saying that I’m not going to share anything
we discuss with your Mom.”

“Unless you think I’m going to harm myself or others?”

Nadine smiled without showing her teeth. “That’s right.”

“And you’ve talked to other people with eating… problems
before?” I still couldn’t say it. Not out loud.

“Yes,” Nadine said. “Unfortunately, it’s not as uncommon as you
might think.”

“And do people get better?”

“Yes. They do. All the time.”

I pursed my lips.

“Can you tell me how long your problems with food have been
going on?”

I shrugged. “A few years.” I didn’t think she needed to know
that it had been exactly four years next month since I first stuck a spoon down
my throat and made myself gag.

“When was the last time you purged?”

“The day my Mom caught me,” I said.

I had binged since then, but I hadn’t been able to purge because
my parents wouldn’t leave me alone long enough. But I wished they would. It
would make me feel a lot less shitty to throw up those extra calories than to
absorb them. It would probably be healthier for me, too.

I mean, I knew they were trying to help, but removing the lock
on my bedroom door hadn’t exactly felt like a vote of confidence.

Nadine continued in a soft voice. “Can you tell me how you feel
right before you binge?”

“Stressed sometimes, but mostly really hungry,” I said.
“Usually, it’ll be after practice, and I’ll be starving.”

“Do you feel hungry a lot?”

I nodded. “I try to. I mean, I like that growling sensation that
tells me my stomach is empty. That makes me feel like I’m doing something
right.”

“Do you know you’re going to binge before you take your first
bite?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“What about the other times?”

“Other times I start off thinking I’m just going to eat a normal
amount, but then something snaps and all of a sudden I’m binging again.”

“What does that feel like? When you snap?”

“It’s like I’ve strapped myself to a roller coaster, and I can’t
get off until I binge and purge.”

“What do you think causes you to cross that line?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s just a matter of taking one too many
bites and suddenly realizing I’ve had more than I should’ve. Then I
have
to throw up.” I pulled my sleeves over my hands. “And if I have to throw up
anyway, I might as well eat some more crap that I usually deny myself.”

“What do you usually deny yourself?”

“Junk food,” I said. “Chocolate. Carbs. Fast food.”

Nadine nodded and wrote something on the clipboard in her lap.
“And have you tried to stop?”

“Yeah. Every time I do it I’m convinced it’s going to be the
last time.”

“How much does it take to set you off?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s say I was eating some French fries and offered you
some,” she said, pushing her hair behind her shoulder. “What would you do?”

“I would say I’d already eaten or that I wasn’t hungry.”

“And if I insisted and said I couldn’t eat them all myself?”

I wouldn’t believe you
. “I might
eat one.”

“And would you want to make yourself sick?”

“Not if I just had one,” I said. “But if I ate a handful of
yours- or a whole order myself- it might set me off.”

“And then how do you feel?”

“You mean while I’m binging?”

“Yeah.”

I squinted for a moment. “Distracted.”

“Distracted?”

“Yeah. Like I’m so focused on the binging and purging ahead I
don’t worry about anything else.”

She swallowed. “So it takes your mind off everything else?”

I nodded.

“And then you throw up to…?”

“Avoid the consequences.”

“How do you feel after you’ve purged.”

“Good and bad.”

“Why good?”

“Cause I feel empty, and I know I’ve undone all the eating I
did.”

“And why does it feel bad?”

“Because I know it’s not healthy.”

“So you’re here because you want to stop the cycle?”

Of course I wanted to stop. I was sick of it. Eating, binging,
purging, starving myself, eating, binging...It just went on and on. Like
Groundhog Day.

But I’d come to the conclusion that adding “Nadine Time” to my
routine wasn’t the answer. Because as soon as I admitted how abnormal I was to
a complete stranger, I felt more fucked in the head than ever.

So I folded my arms and leaned back on the couch.

“I’m here because my Mom asked me to come.”

It would be easy for me to disappear. Depressingly so. Ten years
ago- when I had more obligations and boyfriends- people would’ve noticed if I
went missing. Maybe even cared.

Now it was simple.

I needed to find a home for Snarls and refer my clients
elsewhere. Tina would miss me, of course, but she would be fine. She had loads
of friends, many of whom were much more refined and easier to bring places than
me anyway.

In fact, the last time she invited me out with them was a
disaster. It was for dinner and the opening night of a play she and her husband
Ed helped fund.

She asked me to dress conservatively. None of my clothes made
the cut. In the end, she let me borrow an expensive beaded dress of hers and a
pair of satin high heeled shoes.

And I was on my best behavior the whole night. Until I got
caught with the bartender in the coat room. I never saw the play. Though I’m
sure I saw enough of the bartender to make up for it.

Anyway, as I searched for trips abroad where it would be fun and
cheap to die, it looked like Ecuador was the way to go. But something was
niggling at me. My family.

Though I pretended they were all dead to me most of the time, a
few of them were still very much alive. And it bothered me that they didn’t
know I cared. Because I was a coward. Because I was afraid of the rejection I
believed I deserved. So I kept them at a distance and told myself it was easier
that way. For everyone.