Page 146 of Call the Shots
The two of us gazed at each other and June bit her lip. “Frozen yogurt?”
“Hell yeah. Let’s do it.”
We stopped at a place on the outskirts of her neighborhood where I filled my cup with chocolate cake frozen yogurt. June stalled by the flavors.
“What are you getting?” I asked, dumping marshmallows and gummy worms on mine.
“Mm…strawberry.”
While I added as many cherries as I could, June stared at the toppings, holding her cup, only half-full. Her eyes wandered to the calorie information on the plastic guards.
I stepped beside her, my voice soft. “What’s your favorite?”
“Um…I like sprinkles.”
“Yeah? What kind of sprinkles are you getting?”
“I…I want rainbow sprinkles.”
I tried to pay for it, but June pushed her card instead and I shook my head. “Killer, you pay by the weight here, mine’s a thousand pounds?—”
“G&G card,” she said simply, swatting mine away.
We sat at one of the wrought-iron tables outside and June gazed into her cup. I took another bite of mine, watching her out of the corner of my eye until June took her first bite.
“Oh my god…” she whispered.
“It’s good, right?”
“It’ssogood.” She closed her eyes, savoring it. “So fucking good.”
“Can I try some?”
“You want some of mine?” she asked, amused.
“We can trade. One of mine for one of yours.”
Her smile faltered and I knew why, but I didn’t want her to think this was purely to get her to eat more. I wanted us to be at that point where we could hang out like this and not because of hockey, or Xavier, or our dorm. I wanted to spend time together.
I swiped at her bowl and shoved the spoon in my mouth. “We can trade next time.”
“Next time,” she murmured and took another bite. “I haven’t had sprinkles since January. Ilovesprinkles.”
That was only half a cup of frozen yogurt but in a few weeks, maybe it’d be three-fourths of a cup, or even two toppings. One day, I wouldn’t need to count. One day, she wouldn’t be sick anymore and she could just get what she wanted.
CHAPTER 54
JUNE
LOTS OF HUGS
Most of thepeople in my life didn’t need to know about my health issues, but my college family weren’t just anyone. I had to tell them.
My new therapist talked about making personal obstacles as physical as possible. I put up safeguards to make sure I didn’t cancel the dinner last-minute. I posted how excited I was—a tiny, white lie, I had to watch cartoons in Montoya’s room just to calm down—and I asked Bear to join again. Before I finished the question, he already said yes.
Twenty minutes before dinner, I waited for him in the living room. I had to keep relaxing my shoulders. I was more anxious to tell my friends than my own family. At least my blood family had the playbook. My parents sent me periodic updates about my room—it’s waiting for you!—and they blocked the cooking channels, put the ‘one more bite’ magnets on the fridge, and brought out the stack of painfully-dense eating disorder pamphlets that hadn’t been updated since the nineties. Those were forced upon my siblings as study material, who texted me to complain.
Everything that'd been unhelpful the first time.
