Love, Nat
Nine
There was millionaire spaghetti on the kitchen island again, but this time, Nikki was across from it, standing with her hands folded in front of her as Mom began to serve it.
“Actually, I can do it.” Nikki perked up.
“Sure thing.” Mom nodded and handed Nikki the serving tongs. When Nikki put a small serving on her plate, Mom and I shared a fleeting, uneasy glance, but kept silent. We moved to the table after we’d all served ourselves, and I realized it was the first time we’d actually eaten at the kitchen table since I’d been home from school.
Dr. D’Antoni outlined a few dos and don’ts for Mom and me when we were getting ready for Nikki to leave Otter House. Objectively, she was doing well—well enough to go home, obviously—but then we were cautioned that recovery was a long-term process that went well beyond her time at Otter House.
Dos:Express approval and affection (but not in a patronizing way, because Nikki would hate that), even when it comes to non-food-related things; make your communication meaningful; allow them to safely repair their relationship with food on their own terms.
Don’ts:Shame your loved one into eating; shield them from the natural consequences of their eating disorder; blame or guilt yourself.
While all that stuff made sense, it wasn’t exactly easy to remember them in the moment where she was pulling the guts out of her piece of bread to lower the carb intake. I swirled around my spaghetti as I watched her, but when she ate the bread, relief settled in.
“I made an appointment at the salon tomorrow,” Nikki said as she cut up her spaghetti. “If I have to go one more day with these grown-out roots, I might resort to shaving my head.”
“I can take you,” I responded, keeping my tone casual as I twirled around more spaghetti.
Nikki shot me a wary glance across the table. “I’m gonna be there for, like, four hours.”
“That’s okay.” I shrugged. “I’m not working tomorrow, and I’ve got no plans.”
Which wasn’t even a lie. I’d queried a few more agents in the last few days but wasn’t expecting to hear back from anyone so quickly. It was just going to be me, my struggling manuscript, and Gracie.
“Fine, then.” Nikki offered me the same shrug and squirmed a little in her chair. “If you say so.”
There had always been an agreement in our house that those who did not cook, cleaned—which was really Mom’s way of getting us to help clean up when we were kids, and because the skillful cooking gene was obviously not passed to Nikki or me. We kept up the agreement even as we grew up, and now, I relished the normalcy of it.
“Do you wanna catch up onLove Is Blind?” Nikki asked me as she handed me a dish to dry.
“Sure.” I nodded, running a dishrag over the bright floral-patterned ceramic dishes Mom loved so much even though they were older than I was. There was a chip on the edge of the dish I was drying, and I remembered dropping it once as a kid. I was so distraught about it, thinking I’d done something so horribly wrong, but Mom consoled me and insisted that now the dish had “character.” I must have been seven years old, but that memory had stuck with me.
Nikki and I settled into the couch to watchLove Is Blindwith Gracie, who seemed happy that Nikki was back as she steamrolled herself all over her. Nikki laughed as she riled Gracie up (as much as a senior dog could be riled up), and I felt that wave of relief wash over me again.
My phone buzzed in my sweatshirt pocket, and I tried to angle myself into the couch so Nikki didn’t curiously try to get a glimpse.
BROOKLYN KELLER (like the bridge):hey I know your sister’s coming home today. everything is gonna be fine. I’m here if you need me
My heart swelled in my chest, and as I was typing a reply, a pillow smacked me in the face.
“Hello? Take a trip to la-la land?” Nikki waved at me.
“Sorry, what?” I put my phone down in my lap.
“I said I’m going to the bathroom.”
I looked back up at the TV, which was now paused on Nick Lachey giving the spiel to the season six contestants.
“Sure.” I nodded, swallowing the knot that began forming in my throat. “I’ll be right here.”
Nikki sighed as she sprang out of the couch cushions and walked to the bathroom in the front hallway. I scooted forward and held my breath, as if that could help me hear better. I wasn’t even surewhatexactly I was listening for, but I was just going to trust my instincts—for better or for worse.
Only when Nikki came out looking exactly the same as the way she’d gone in was I able to exhale and lean back into the couch.
“You good?” she asked, dropping back onto the couch and sending a few throw pillows to the floor. Gracie sighed a very labored sigh before rolling herself back into Nikki.
