Page 96 of Guy's Girl
“It’s just—” Ginny cobbles the words together, searching for the right way to say it. “It’s a weird thing, having a sister. Genetically speaking, they’re the closest thing that exists to another version of yourself. So, if you’re vastly different from your older sister—if she’s effortlessly beautiful and thin and feminine and confident and successful, and none of those things come easily to you...”
Heather lays a hand on Ginny’s knee.
“Hold on. I’m not done.” Ginny inhales. “I’m not trying to blame my eating disorder on you. Obviously, it has far more to do with my own psychology than anything else. I just—I don’t know. When your older sister is already the perfect version of what you could have been, how can you explain to her that you’ve spent seven years killing yourself to attain that same perfection? It’s completely insane.”
“Ginny.” Heather moves her hand to take Ginny’s. “Itisinsane. You think I’m perfect? Jesus Christ, do you not remember all the fits I threw as a child? Do you not remember the times I ran away, the screaming fights between me and Mom, or me and Dad, or me and anyone, for that matter?” She leans in, squeezing Ginny’s hand. “Youwere the perfect one. You were the one who followedall the rules, and did all the homework, and got into fuckingHarvard, for Christ’s sake.”
“Yes, but—”
“Did you ever stop to think,” Heather interrupts, tilting her head, “thatImight be the one who’s envious ofyou?”
Ginny opens her mouth. She looks down at their intertwined hands, both pale and slim, though she could have sworn that her fingers were thickening by the day. “No.”
“Then you’re even crazier than I thought, Sis.” Heather lifts their hands and shakes them in the air. “Do you have any idea how perfect your life looks from the outside? The Harvard degree, the fancy job—”
“Which I haven’t been to in three weeks.”
“The unhealthily intelligent brain, the perfect skin, the face that could make men cry?”
“Now you’re just being obnoxious.”
“I’m serious. And your relationship with our brothers? How close you four have always been? Didn’t you ever think that I might be envious of that?”
Ginny’s mouth opens and closes. She stares at her sister. Her impervious big sister, who has never felt insecure or confused about anything in her life.
Or so Ginny thought.
Heather tilts her head. “That’s it, then? That’s the only reason you didn’t tell me about your bulimia?”
“Well, that,” says Ginny, “and the fact that I was terrified you would fly straight to New York, duct tape me to the bed, and force-feed me cupcakes.”
Heather nods. “Nowthere’sthat Ivy League intellect at work.”
***
It doesn’t take long for Heather to go full business owner on the entire situation.
“First things first,” she says, bustling around the living room and tidying up all the snack wrappers the boys left strewn about the floor. “We need to get you into a proper outpatient program while you pack up your life here. I know you leave in less than a week, but there’s no sense dawdling. We need your recovery to startnow.” She tosses the wrappers into the trash can. “It can even just be a Zoom thing. I did some reading on the plane, and it sounds like the best practice is to set up weekly meetings with a therapist and a nutritionist, plus maybe group sessions if we can find one in your area. Which, duh, it’s New York, there are probably eating disorder support groups on every block.”
Ginny follows Heather around the living room, not touching anything or helping in any meaningful way. “But how will I know the right therapist to sign up with?”
“You research and get referrals. Duh. How does one do anything in life?” Heather shakes her head, plucking a pillow off the floor and placing it on the couch. “I swear to God—you Harvard types. All book smarts, absolutely no common sense. Right.” She pulls out her phone and opens the Notes application. “Second order of business—your job. You took a leave from Sofra-Moreno, right?”
Ginny nods.
“Good. I know you love your job, but if for whatever reason the corporate tyrants won’t give you enough time to adequately recover in treatment, you can always quit. You’ll have no problem finding a new one when you get out of treatment. In the interim, I’ll update your résumé, just in case.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Ginny says quickly.
“Nonsense.” Heather waves a hand. “I need you to focus on recovery and recovery alone. And, of course, when you get out of treatment, we’ll need to find you a new place to live—”
“No.”
Heather looks up from her phone and raises her eyebrows.
“I don’t want to leave New York permanently. I want to move back in with Clay and Tristan when I return.”
Heather exhales through her bright red lips. “Fine. But we need to figure something out about this Finch boy. He is bad news, and I don’t want you living with a trigger like that.”
