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It was different compared to The Penalty Box. There, everyone was out to prove something—at least, the girls were all looking to land themselves a hockey hottie. But here, the vibe was more laid-back and casual. I didn’t feel as out of place in my leggings, and oversized sweater dress with the word bibliophile stamped across the front.
“Shall we get a table?” Dayna suggested. “I’m starving.”
Oh, God. A sinking feeling went through me. Ella hadn’t said anything about eating, or I seriously would have reconsidered coming.
“Sounds good.” Noelle drifted toward an empty booth, Dayna hot on her heels.
“What’s wrong?” Ella asked as I hesitated.
“N-nothing.” A pit churned in my stomach. “I didn’t realize we were getting food. I already ate.”
“Oh shoot. Do you mind if the rest of us eat?”
“I…” What could I possibly say without making things awkward? So I went with a simple, “Of course not.”
Jordan watched me, something like understanding in her gaze. But she didn’t say anything, and I didn’t ask her what she was thinking.
I was too busy freaking out about surviving a meal with them. Maybe a drink or two would help. Something to distract me.
Something to take the edge off.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” Dayna pushed her half-eaten bowl of loaded fries toward me. “I’m so full I can’t eat another thing.”
“Honestly, I’m fine.” I gave her a tight smile, sipping on my cocktail, trying to focus on the sweet sugary taste and not the plates of half-eaten food all over the table.
“Actually, I’m going to use the restroom. Excuse me.” I hurried out of the booth and made my way across the bar toward the neon sign for the restrooms.
The last hour had been pure torture. Not because I was hungry or even wanted to eat. But because of what me not eating with them represented.
Eating was a social thing, especially in college. But I’d manage to avoid it mostly or easily deflect the fact I wasn’t eating.
It felt different tonight. It was an unpleasant reminder that despite my progress over the last couple of years, I still had a lot further to go. The knot in my stomach had only twisted and tightened as the night wore on, the heavy weight of shame crushing my chest.
Something so simple—so vital—as eating, and even now, I couldn’t do it. The second Dayna mentioned getting something to eat, my stomach felt like it was in a vise, my throat turning dry, my palms sweating, and my heart trying to beat out of my damn chest.
It was frustrating, to say the least.
I rushed into a stall, dug my cell phone out of my purse, and contemplated texting Noah.
But I didn’t.
I’d already revealed enough of my emotional baggage to send him running for the hills.
Instead, I grounded myself, breathing in slow and deep. Over and over until I finally felt like I could breathe again.
When I finally exited the restroom, I didn’t expect to see Jordan outside, waiting for me.
“What is it?” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“I saw the way you paled when Dayna mentioned eating. And then again, just now, when she offered you her leftover fries. So, what is it?”
“I-I don’t know what you’re—”
“It’s BED for me.” I gawked at her, and she added, “Binge eating disorder. I’ve been in and out of therapy since I was thirteen.”
“Oh.”
