Darling Rose Gold(45)

Well, what do you know? My daughter is hiding something from me. That something appears to be an eating disorder. I’ve turned a blind eye to it this long, but the facts are slapping me in the face. Her shrinking frame, granola bars for meals, hiding the food she’s throwing away: I can’t deny it anymore.

All these years, I’ve been telling people she was sick.

Look who was right after all.





12





Rose Gold


January 2015

I eyed the cartons of Chinese food. Alex and Whitney were already digging in, chopsticks between their fingers. I had never tried using chopsticks. My first attempt would not be in front of them.

“Can I have a fork?” I said to the space between them.

Alex didn’t stop eating. Whitney mumbled, “Drawer to the right of the fridge,” while continuing to scroll through her phone.

When I came back, they’d started discussing plans for the night, calling out options that materialized from their screens.

“Jenna wants to go to the Hangge Uppe,” Alex said.

“Dollar bottles at Kelsey’s,” Whitney volunteered. “Some of the basketball team is going.”

“Tyler and the guys are going to Kirkwood.” Alex took a sip of pink wine from her stemless glass. I examined the bottle label—Sutter Home White Zinfandel—and made a mental note to buy that wine on my twenty-first birthday. Less than a month now.

My pocket vibrated. I pulled out my phone and took a bite of Mongolian beef. The meat was lukewarm, but still tasty—both savory and sweet, which I’d come to realize was my favorite flavor combination.

    Dad: Anna can’t stop talking about her ear piercings. She said all the girls at school love her earrings



Two months had passed since I’d stayed the night at Dad’s house in Indiana. I’d seen the Gillespies a handful of times since then. On my last trip, I’d convinced Dad and Kim to let Anna get her ears pierced, thinking cute earrings might help with her self-consciousness. After some hemming and hawing on Dad’s part, he’d finally agreed. Kim, Anna, and I had piled into their car and driven to the mall, where we’d found the Claire’s boutique and requested one set of pierced ears, please. Anna and I had painstakingly weighed the pros and cons of pink versus purple studs. In the end, she chose pink. When the technician brought out the gun, Anna squeezed Kim’s hand with her left and mine with her right. But she didn’t cry, barely even flinched. Afterward, she was ecstatic.

    Dad: She let Kim put her hair in a ponytail for the first time in a year

Dad: Thank you so much, Rose



I smiled, proud to have had the answer for once, to finally belong somewhere. I had never fit in at school, but because of me, Anna would.

    Me: I’m just glad I could help

Me: Also, I made it to Alex’s okay. She says hi



I took a photo of Alex while she wasn’t paying attention and sent it to him.

    Dad: Tell her hi back. And make sure you take it easy this weekend, okay? Be safe



He’d become even more attentive since I’d told him about my cancer diagnosis, offering to come to chemo appointments with me. I said no, of course, explaining Mrs. Stone would be crushed if she couldn’t take me. The few times Dad and I had gotten together since then, at his house or at Tina’s Café near me, he’d been surprised by how healthy I looked. I pointed out not everyone loses their hair during chemo. I was nauseated and fatigued, I told him, and had no appetite. To prove it, I had two measly bites of a breadstick when I met all the Gillespies for dinner at an Olive Garden one Sunday. They’d watched me with pity, but still no one mentioned the camping trip. When I brought it up over dessert, Dad patted my back. He said being that far from medical care wasn’t a good idea.

Didn’t see that coming.

Still, I insisted I’d be done with chemo well before the trip. I told them my doctor said I’d be fine to travel this summer. Now, as a show of good health, I’d come to stay with Alex. If I could already handle a weekend with friends, Dad and Kim would have to let me go with them six months from now. Road trip games, stargazing, Dad putting his arm around me by the campfire—this vacation would be the best two weeks of my life.

“I’m sick of Kirkwood,” Whitney was saying.

“I want to see Tyler,” Alex pouted.

“Who’s Tyler?” I asked.

Alex jerked her head in surprise, as though she’d forgotten I was there. She probably had.

“The guy I’m seeing,” Alex said, swinging that long blond ponytail off her shoulder. She turned to Whitney. “We’re going to Kirkwood. You owe me one.”

Whitney didn’t argue. Based on my observations of her and Alex’s friendship, she was constantly repaying Alex for invisible good deeds.

Whitney sighed and started clearing away the Chinese food. “Fine. Then I’m borrowing your new leather jacket.”

I followed Alex to her bedroom. She began applying makeup in the dresser mirror. I sat cross-legged on her bed. “What kind of bar is Kirkwood?” I asked.

“Sports bar.”

“So I shouldn’t get dressed up?”

“We always get dressed up. But you don’t have to.” She paused, lipstick tube in hand, to study me. Then she went back to her makeup.