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“You're a lost cause, brother.” I clap him on the shoulder in consolation. “A fuckin' lost cause.”
“Whatever.” He shrugs away my hand and flips another steak. “Got another question for you anyway.”
The early September sun beats down and mingles with the heat billowing from the grill. I dry my sweat with the back of my hand and tilt my head to one side. “Yeah?”
“I'm curious about how your relationship is gonna work now? Like, is she givin' up acting, or are you moving to LA to be with her or somethin', because Mama will be crushed if you do. She's already lost one son. Don't think she can stand to lose another.”
“Hey.” I grip his shoulder again, forcing him to look at me. Crew might present like a carefree, devil-may-care kind of guy, but he's been like a lost puppy without his twin. “She hasn't lost Clay. He isn't dead. He's just...sleeping.”
He levels me with a sorrowful stare. “He's been in a coma for over a year, bro. It might be time we start accepting that he ain't wakin' up.”
“Don't think like that, man. He's not gone, not yet, okay?” Crew nods, but he doesn't believe me. “And in answer to your question, we won't be doing either. We're stayin' here in Tupelo, but we'll probably move out of my shitty condo 'cause I'm pretty sure Thea hates knowin' I used to have India there. But she'll fly out when she's filming and other than that, this is where we'll be.”
“And you're alright with that?” he asks with genuine concern. “That she'll be away a lot?”
I nod. “Yeah, we're both okay with it. God knows we're used to spending time apart. So long as she always come home to me, then I'm all good.”
He offers me a slight smile that isn't laced with his usual cockiness. It might be small, but it's real and true. “Happy for you, dude.”
“Thanks, brother.”
He slides a steak onto a plate and holds it out for me. “Go on and give that to your chi—“ He pauses, then corrects himself, “…woman. Salad and shit is where it normally is.”
With another clap on his shoulder, I leave him to it and set about loading Thea's plate with food she'll be comfortable eating, which is basically only green vegetables since she still refuses to go anywhere near a carbohydrate. But at least she's eating and that's better than it was before, so I'm happy.
No, I'm more than happy.
I'm actually really fucking proud of her.
Eating disorder recovery is a long and complicated process. It requires a level of patience to support her that I didn't think myself capable of. But apparently, I am. Because even in the worst moments, when all I want is to stuff her mouth full of French fries, I'm somehow able to keep a hold of myself. To keep showing her the grace and composure she needs from me, because I know just how hard she's working to get better.
Every time she gains a pound and breaks down in my arms, I remind her how strong she is. Each time she tries a food she used to demonize or responds to her body's hunger cues on her own, I make sure she knows how brave she is and how proud of her I am.
People think there's a finish line to recovery, but I've come to learn that there isn't. Not really. Even those who want to get better are scared of what that will look like for them, of having to give up the coping mechanism they've always relied on and coming to terms with the weight gain that inevitably follows their body's re-nourishment.
It must be fucking terrifying.
And watching Thea go through it has been eye-opening. Seeing the courage she heeds every single day. Watching as she forces herself through every bite and chew of her food. And being there to witness the fallout from a setback, where she’s forced to use every ounce of strength inside of her to help pull her out of the darkness.
It's made me realize something I didn't see before.
People in recovery are stronger than anyone knows, stronger even than they know themselves.
Making my way over to where Thea sits at the outside table in the shade of the old oak tree, I set the plate of food down in front of her and take the empty seat beside her.
She's in the middle of a conversation with Leighton as Luella and my little sister listen in with rapt attention. Even Sadie has managed to make an appearance today, sitting in the chair beside Clover as she bounces my curly-haired nephew up and down on her lap. I wave at the little dude and Bentley sticks out his tongue in response. Cheeky little shit is looking more like Clay every day.
“I actually had so much fun being a lawyer for a while,” Leighton's saying, talking about what I assume is the Hammerstein trial. “We should take down more Hollywood perverts together. Oh my god!” she exclaims with sheer unadulterated excitement. “We should totally go after India. We could probably get her on revenge porn charges or somethin’ and get that bitch locked up for what she did to you.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Thea laughs and holds her hands out to steady Leighton. “Calm down, Elle Woods. Our court days are over.”
Leighton pouts and sags back in her chair. “Damn it.”
“To be fair,” I pitch in, “I think Mrs. Patchouli has got India's retribution well under control anyway. She's done a full one-eighty since all that shit happened and is now Thea's biggest fan.”
“Isn't that the truth?” Thea rolls her sparkling eyes and takes a bite of her steak and salad.
“God help anyone who feels the wrath of Mrs. Patchouli,” Sadie says, just as the ringing of her phone cuts through the noise of the party. She looks down at the caller ID with furrowed brows and dark, worried eyes. “It's the hospital.”
