I'm Glad My Mom Died(68)

“Do you have a problem?” he finally asks.

“A problem?” I ask.

“Yes. A problem.”

“I’m not sure what you mean…”

“There’s vomit residue on the toilet seat.”

“Ooooh, that’s it?” I ask, trying to play it off casually. “Well, I wouldn’t really consider it a problem, it’s more of just a… thing I do.”

He’s not buying it.

“You know, like how you smoke.” I try to level with him. “You smoke cigarettes, and I make myself throw up. They’re just things we do.”

“No, they’re different,” Steven assures me. “Bulimia can kill you.”

“So can cigarettes.”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna stop.”

“Right. So am I.”

Steven sighs.

“I really just want you to be okay and healthy, Jenny.”

“Well I mostly am.”

“But you’re not.”

“But I mostly am.”

He gives me a long, hard look. He’s never looked at me like this before. It’s pitying and parental. I don’t like it, but there’s something to the depth of it that makes me realize he’s not going to budge. I’m not going to be able to convince him.

“Look, Jenny, you need to get help for this or I… I can’t be with you. I can’t watch you do this to yourself.”

I’m taken aback. Really?

His eyes answer back. Really.

Well, shit.





70.


I’M SITTING IN LAURA’S CENTURY City office. It’s my first time in a therapist’s waiting room and not at all what I expected. Aren’t these places supposed to be clinical? This room is anything but. It’s cozy and inviting. Granted, Laura is a therapist–slash–life coach, so maybe therapists that are multi-hyphenates do more decorating. I’m skeptical.

There’s a turquoise crocheted pouf in one corner next to a bookcase filled with rows of self-help books. I’m sitting in an orange chair with a cream knit blanket folded over the back of it. “Boho chic.” Maybe I would’ve known this if I’d read the Yelp reviews, but as soon as I saw those five stars, I booked an appointment and never looked back. Plus, who wants to read a review from someone who takes the time to write a review? Can’t trust ’em, too much time on their hands.

I’m in the middle of stroking the soft blanket draped over me and planning my opener. I wanna start this thing on a light note. I don’t want to be another sad sack who plops down in a therapist’s chair and whines about their troubles while the poor therapist regrets their degree. Laura comes out to greet me.

“Jennette?” she asks, even though I’m the only one sitting in this waiting room and the only one with an appointment scheduled for this time.

I humor her. “Laura?”

She smiles big, revealing one of the more beautiful smiles I’ve ever seen. Laura must be using Whitestrips too.

“Hi!” She moves toward me in a way that can best be described as a float. I’m not sure whether she floats because of her floral prairie skirt that flows across the ground with every step she takes toward me, or whether she floats because that’s just who she is. I’m intrigued by her.

She pulls me into a hug. I’m typically not a hugger, but there’s something about Laura’s warmth and immediate trustworthiness that causes me to surrender to her embrace. She smells like fresh laundry. I take a whiff, hoping it’s discreet. Gimme that Snuggle sheet scent, Laura.

Laura pulls away and holds on to both of my forearms while looking me in the eye, intimately. Everything about my interaction with Laura so far would typically put me on the defensive, if Laura were anyone else. But Laura is Laura. The regular rules don’t apply here.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” she asks with, I swear to God, a twinkle in her eye. Yes, we shall, Laura. We. Shall.

I sit down opposite Laura in her little office, which aesthetically resembles her waiting room. My opener’s gone after being so disarmed by her.

She asks me what brings me in, and I tell her about the Steven ultimatum, and how I love him and want things to work out between us, so I agreed to come here.

“All right, well that’s fine. But therapy is a thing we have to decide to do. We have to want to change, not for someone else, but for ourselves.” Laura takes a long sip of tea. “So Jennette, do you want to change?”

“Yeah,” I say, knowing that even though there’s more nuance to it than this, this is what I should say. It’s almost like Laura is the casting director and I’m the child actor, trying to say exactly the thing that will earn me a callback. Yes, I can swim. Yes, I can pogo stick. Yes, I want to change.

“Okay, good,” Laura says.

Laura asks me what I’m currently struggling with in life, why exactly Steven suggested I come here, and I dive right in—Mom’s death, bulimia, alcohol issues, the works. I try to give her the succinct elevator-pitch version. I figure we’ve got more sessions to unpack the specifics.

In her buttery voice, Laura gives me a rundown of how we’re going to work.

“I take a holistic approach to recovery, so our sessions will incorporate a lot of variety. Today we’ll focus on a life wheel so that we can gauge where you’re starting out and use this as a benchmark to track your progress over time.”