Page 34 of Never the Best

"You called me Bumblebee."

I closed my eyes because I could feel emotions well up, and it wasn't fair for me to show her my tears and make this conversation about me when it was about her.

"I'm sorry." What else was there to say?

She smiled wanly. "Do you know what my Tinder handle is?"

I shook my head.

"Bumblebee1703."

March seventeenth was her birthday.

"I owned that name," she said proudly. "I had to work through a lot. I was never the best foranyone. My parents always thought Cash was better, and Birdie wished Josie was her daughter. I was too fat, too dull, too ugly. You…well…let's not belaborthatpoint. You know what happens to a young person who only hears about themselves in reference to their body?"

I could guess, but I didn't reply to her rhetorical question and waited for her to reveal her truth.

CHAPTER 12

Pearl

"I'll tell you what happens." My chest tightened, ready to eject all my unpleasant thoughts and self-loathing. "You start to believe that's all you are. A body. An ugly one. You become a collection of flaws for people to critique, to judge, to laugh at. You start to think,'If I can just fix myself, if I can somehow become smaller, prettier, better, then maybe…maybe I’ll finally be enough.'"

We stopped walking and stood on the beach, with the endless expanse of the Pacific Ocean in front of us.

"It started small. Skipping meals. Eating just enough to get by but never enough to feel full. I told myself that I needed to be more disciplined. I ate too much, ate the wrong things, ate at all—that was the problem. Not eating started to feel like I had control."

Rhett's brow furrowed. He put a hand on my cheek as if he was unable to temper his need to touch me.

"Soon, I was terrified of food. I checkedmy weight relentlessly. Even if I gained half a pound, I saw it as a personal failure."

I stepped away from him because his touchwascomforting, and I didn't want to draw relief fromhim. I couldn't. He was engaged to another woman, and no matter how much I'd loved him as a teenager and still wanted him now, the truth was that he wasn't mine. He hadneverbeen, even if my sixteen-year-old heart had fleetingly dreamed that.

He let me go.

"I was diagnosed with anorexia," I said the word with fear as if it would break meagainas it had in the past. "What do you know about anorexia?" I kept my voice casual as I started to walk again, feeling the sand under my feet. Even though it was summer, the evenings in southern California tended to be cooler because of the sea air. After the Savannah heat, it was delicious.

"I know that it's an eating disorder," he stated, his voice so low that I could barely hear him.

"I had…have anorexia nervosa. It’s not about food but about control. It’s about fear. And yes, depression and anxiety are a big part of it. They’re like background noise you can never turn off. The depression tells you you’re not good enough, and the anxiety makes you believe you have to keep proving yourself, over and over, even when it’s killing you."

I glanced at him, gauging his reaction. His jaw was tight, his hands fisted at his sides, but his eyes were soft and full of sorrow and anger—not at me but at himself.

"Did you throw up your food and all that?" he asked tightly.

I shook my head. "I don't have bulimia. I never purged. But I restricted my food to the point where it wasn’t just unhealthy—it was dangerous. And the worst part?" I chortled bitterly. "People praised me for it.'You look so good, Pearl! Have you lost weight? What’s your secret?' My secret was that I was starving myself, but no one cared as long as I was thinner."

"Jesus," Rhett whispered, running a hand over his face. "I…I never would've thought…."

"Of course, not," I snapped, a sharp edge creeping into my tone. "Why would you? People like you—the ones who always fit, who always belong—you never have to think about what it’s like to have your worth reduced to your reflection in a mirror."

I knew it wasn't fair to lash out at him, but I was opening old and new wounds so he could see me bleed. He was here, wasn't he? He was the only person I could express my anger at. The fact that he didn't respond with rage or defensiveness, just understanding, made me feel small.

"I…." He trailed off, shaking his head as if searching for the right words. "I can’t…I can’t imagine what that was like."

I nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words. "You can’t truly understand it unless you’ve lived it. But I’ll tell you this—anorexia isn’tmerelyan eating disorder. It’s a mental illness. It’s a disease that worms its way into your brain and convinces you that thinner is better, that food is the enemy, and that your value is measured in numbers:pounds, inches, calories. It’s not rational. It doesn’t make sense. But it’s so loud, Rhett. It drowns out everything else until it’s all you can hear."

He drew me to him and held me. I didn't resist. I needed his strength, and I drew on it. I leaned my forehead against his chest, took a deep breath, and filled my lungs with salty air.

---