Page 61 of Never the Best

But then her eyes dropped again, and she shook her head. “I’m never going to be normal, am I?”

“You already are,” I assured her.

She gestured weakly toward the kitchen. “I couldn’t make myself eat all weekend. I tried and tried, and then I called Nina and told her I was sick. And tomorrow, it’ll beharder. And the day after that, harder still. That’s not normal.”

“Pearl.” I kissed her forehead. “I’m here today and tomorrow, when it’s harder. I’m going to take care of you.”

I didn’t know how because I hadn’t done enough research. However, I did know she needed to speak to her therapist.

“Have you talked to your psychologist?” I asked.

She looked at me with raw vulnerability in her eyes. “He’s going to be so disappointed in me.”

“No, he’s not. He’s going to help you. LikeI’mgoing to help you.”

“I don’t know how to let you do that. I don’t know what I need…want…I don’t knowanything,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then we’ll figure it out together.” I tightened my hold around her. She felt fragile, like she could break if I squeezed her too hard. “One step at a time. But first…you need to eat. Even if it’s just a little.”

She lay against me, and I got up, holding her, and carried her to the kitchen. She didn’t protest. I set her down on a barstool and kept my hands on her shoulders for a moment, steadying her as she swayed slightly. Her skin was pale, and she looked so drained it was like all the fight had been sucked out of her. But she didn’t argue. She didn’t push me away.

I opened the fridge, scanning its contents. It wasn’t stocked for anything elaborate—just the basics because Pearl didn’t eat much on a good day. I knew enough from the little research I’d managed to do to keep it simple, light, andnon-threatening. Nothing heavy, nothing overwhelming. Just food that’s easy to digest, that she could tolerate without panic setting in.

I pulled out a carton of eggs and a loaf of whole-grain bread. Scrambled eggs on toast—it was simple, light, and exactly what she needed. I’d read somewhere that soft, bland foods were best after a relapse, especially when her stomach had likely been empty for too long. This wasn’t about serving up a full meal, it was about getting some nourishment into her system—just enough to stabilize her blood sugar and gently ease her body back toward recovery.

I glanced at her as I cracked eggs into a bowl. She was hunched over slightly, her elbows resting on the counter, her face buried in her hands. She looked small, like she was trying to disappear into herself.

“Hey.” I whisked the eggs while looking at her. “You’re doing okay. Just stay with me.”

She lifted her head slowly, her eyes glassy. “I don’t know if I can eat.” Her voice was barely audible.

“You don’t have to eat a lot,” I told her. “Just a few bites. That’s all I’m asking. We’ll go slow, okay?”

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t argue, either. I took that as a victory.

I heated a nonstick pan and added a pat of butter, letting it melt before pouring the eggs in. I kept them soft and barely set, stirring constantly to ensure they wouldn’t dry out. Once they were done, I popped a slice of bread into the toaster and grabbed a small plate.

When the toast was ready, I cut it into triangles, andspooned the eggs onto the side of the plate. I wanted to give her simple, manageable portions.

I set the plate down in front of her, along with a glass of water. “Here,” I said, sliding onto the stool next to her. I speared a piece of bread and eggs on a fork and held it to her mouth. “Just one bite, Pearl. That’s all you have to do. One bite.”

She stared at the food on the fork like it was an impossible challenge, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. I could see the fear in her eyes, the hesitation.

“I can’t,” she murmured, her voice trembling.

“Yes, you can,” I coaxed. “Just one bite. For me.”

Her gaze flickered to mine, and I held it, willing her to believe me. After what felt like an eternity, she reached for the fork with trembling fingers. I let her take it from me, and she brought it to her mouth.

I held my breath as she chewed slowly, her movements cautious, as if she were bracing herself for a terrible thing to happen to her.

“You’re doing great,” I spoke gently, watching her swallow.

She set the fork down. I picked up some food with it and held it to her as I had before. “One bite at a time.”

She nodded faintly, and after a long pause, she took the fork from me.

We kept the rhythm going.

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