"I love him." Telling someone, even if it isn't him, takes a huge weight from my shoulders. Spike's face reflects something akin to shock.
"Emma… you've been through so much the last three years. And Sean is someone familiar and safe that you used to know well. Are you sure that you're not just hanging onto his memory for some sense of security?" My lips purse and I feel heat rising to my face.
"You're right, mom, I do know Sean well. He's been in my life since I was twelve years old. I think I know him well enough to decide whether or not I love him." To my dismay, tears trickle down my cheeks. "Besides, it's not as if I've told him yet." Spike moves toward me, her hand outstretched. I hate the pitying glint in her eyes, the way she doesn't quite believe that I know my own heart well enough to decide when I'm in love with someone.
"Oh, honey--" I back away, shaking my head and crossing my arms over my chest in a defensive gesture.
"Don't. Just don't. I'm perfectly fine. You need to get to work," I say brusquely, hoping to put a neat end to the failed mother/daughter heart-to-heart. "Jack's going to be up soon, and if you're here during the morning it's going to be hell for me once you leave for work." There's a moment of tense silence, and then Spike nods stiffly and moves to the door. Her hand rests on the doorknob for a moment, and when she turns to me her eyes are full of an emotion I'm not familiar with.
"This is just hard for me… watching you grow up," she finally says. It's a struggle not to point out that I grew up years ago when Jack was handed off to me and my step father was diagnosed with a possibly terminal illness.
"Have a good day," I tell her, and after another moment's hesitation she's out the front door and the sound of our ancient Honda is receding down the street.
"How nice of you to grace us with your presence," Manny yawns, tripping up the steps. Her entrance is so conveniently timed that I wonder if she's been listening discreetly on the other side of the door. "You had me worried there for awhile. I suggested that maybe you and Sean took off for Vegas, but I guess my comedic skills need some work. I swear, Snake's eyes doubled in size. And he already has kinda buggy eyes, you know, so…" I roll my eyes in exasperation and indulge in a yawn of my own.
"Look, I don't really feel up to making breakfast this morning. Do you think cold cereal and toast will suffice?" I ask.
"Sure, that'll be fine. Anyway, sister, I think that you and I should give Jack a lesson on fashion and head out to the mall today. I have absolutely nothing to wear for my audition." A smile bursts across my face before I can stop it. Manny may be the only person in the world who can get me to smile when I'm trying my hardest to brood over something important.
"Manny, you do realize that your wardrobe rivals that of Paige Michalchuck's, don't you? I can't believe that there's nothing you could wear to your audition. Besides, you'd knock her off her feet in a paper bag." Manny points her finger at me playfully, furrowing her brow in faux consternation.
"You sound like Craig now. But seriously, Em, I'm already washing a good deal of my money down the drain over an impossible dream, so will you please let me go out with a bang?" I shake my head in defeat.
"Okay. BUT – you have to promise me that we'll get back in time for me to work on my English paper. Sean and I only got a chance to do the calculus homework last night." Manny rifles through the cabinet, Corel dinnerware clanking noisily as she searches for a cereal bowl and a plate before retrieving the Cocoa Puffs.
"How was that, anyway? I mean, spending the night with him."
"It was perfect," I reply, surprised by how assured and confident my voice is. "It felt right to be in his arms, you know? No pressures, no expectations…" Her lips curl upwards in a forced smile, and I can tell that she's dying to know what exactly falls into the parameters of spending the night with my boyfriend. Surprisingly, I'm not dying to tell her every last detail. Last night feels like something that I need to keep secret and close to my heart.
"Well, that's really great, Em. Now, I'm not sure how we're going to work out the sleeping arrangements at Craig's place, but…" I lift my eyes to the ceiling and cringe.
"Okay, I will take up residence on whatever living room furniture he has, just… try not to be too noisy, okay? I don't think my fragile psyche can take much more damage," I joke.
"See, this is why you're my best friend," she comments, bounding over to give me an exuberant kiss on the cheek. On a whim I pull my arms around her, resting my cheek on her shoulder as I squeeze her waist tightly. When I pull back she gives me a strange look. "You okay, Em?" I struggle for a long moment. Sometimes I forget just how much I depend on her and that she's been my anchor since I was five years old; but now seems like the wrong time to tell her so in a long, drawn-out speech.
"I guess spending so much time with Jack is turning me into a cuddlebug," I rationalize. A mischievous glint shines in Manny's eyes.
"Speaking of our little brother, shouldn't he be up by now?" I'm about to raise my eyebrows at the possessiveness of "our" when I realize that it is, in fact, a perfect way to talk about her relation to me and Jack.
"Well, considering you refuse to tell anyone else his 'special tickle spot,' you'll have to be the one to do the honors," I reply dryly, laughing as she nearly runs out of the room. "I take it I should turn on the Saturday morning cartoons?" I call; my voice raising as she hits the second story of the house.
"Find the Power Puff Girls! He needs to see some examples of strong females in the media!" I silently count under my breath, smiling at the sound of Jack's surprised squeal. The truth is I'll always be more than willing to share Jack with Manny as long as my little brother returns the favor.
-0-0-0-
"Emma, does this shade of green make my skin look like tree bark?" Manny asks, her face completely serious. With an equally straight face, I pinch my index finger and thumb and nod solemnly.
"Just a little bit." She shrugs her shoulders and rifles through the rack, trying to find the mini dress in a different print.
"Why does everything bohemian have to be so muted? I mean, I understand that they're going for the whole 'understated' look, but is it really necessary to make everything some shade of off white or green or brown? It's just so boring," she complains.
"Why don't you try some dress shorts and a blouse? Professional but fashionable, right?" I suggest, turning to pay attention to the insistent pulling on my pants.
"Emma, c'n we go t' the toy store now?" Jack pleads. I sigh and shake my head, pointing at Manny accusingly.
"Ask her. Really, Manny, it shouldn't take that long to find something for you to buy." She suddenly freezes in front of the shelf she's been perusing and stares back at me excitedly.
"Em, look at this! This mini would look absolutely perfect with your textured green top; you know, the one you wore to school last Monday with those awful khakis of yours?" I let out an audible sigh. It's well known that when Manny's nerves are frayed and she's headed for her shopping crisis mode she begins matching clothes up to everyone in a six mile radius – except herself, of course.
"Manny, we're here for you. I don't need anything new, and with all of my funds being drained it's not exactly like I have the money. I already stretched myself beyond my means for that purple dress." My best friend's eyes twinkle merrily.
"But the look on Sean's face when he saw you in it was worth it, wasn't it?" She's got me there, but I'm not going to admit that to her.
"Let's just focus for a minute. Okay, um…" I trail off, silently cursing my 'reserved' (non-existent) fashion sense. "… what kind of image are you trying to put forward?" Manny taps her fingers against the metal shelf in consideration.
"Well, the part is for a girl in her mid to late teens, fairly insecure, really reserved… oh my god, Emma! I just have to find something that you would wear!" After getting over the momentary sting of the correlation I huff indignantly.
"I am not that reserved," I argue.
"It took you forever to admit to yourself that you had feelings for Sean all three times. Guys have to bend over backwards to get you, which contrary to common belief isn't your way of playing games; it's just that all of your feminist crap doesn't automatically vanish your inbred shyness," she ticks off, obviously enjoying being on the winning end of an argument with me.
"Reserved? Manny, I'm the girl who marched around the front of Degrassi with posters protesting using GM food in the caf," I remind her, my brow wrinkling. Really, where does she get this stuff?
"Exactly. You always have to have some cause to hide behind, be it the extinction of fresh water baby seals or banishing Jay Hogart to the ninth circle of hell." Before I have time to question seals residing in fresh water a brand new wave of worry creases my brow.
"I'm actually not too keen on torturing Jay anymore than necessary. I've never seen him and Sean in a fight this long; never seen them in a fight period. Just because I'd rather not see Jay around doesn't mean that I'd accept the blessing at the expense of Sean's happiness." Manny rolls her eyes and moves to a rack of clothes decidedly more frumpy than anything I would ever even consider wearing.
"Sean and Jay are two sides of the same coin. Mother Nature is just compensating for lost time; you and I have had two major fallings-out in the last three years alone. It's what happens when friends are too close; they either become the same person or they fight like siblings. Jay and Sean are just going through separation anxiety now that Sean's shed his macho criminal exterior."
"He was never a criminal!" I snap, fingering the mini skirt she thrust at me moments before. It is kind of cute… not that it could draw anyone's attention away from my hideous legs.
"So says the girl who accused him of stealing a laptop," Manny snorts. Before I can retort to that, Jack tugs at my pant leg again.
"Emma, I'm hungry. It's been a long time since breakfast." His voice has gained that familiar whining quality he uses before the onset of a tantrum.
"Jack-Jack, just give me a second, okay? I think I've found something that might work," Manny announces, finding a simple knee-length denim skirt and a basic tank top.
"You said that you needed something special for your audition. You have plenty of outfits like that at home," I say, barely holding back a snarl. Manny flashes me a smile before slipping toward the dressing rooms.
"That was before my lifestyle guru helped me get inside my character's head!"
Thirty minutes and a small screaming match courtesy of Jack later, we're in the middle of the food court. "Okay, what do you want for lunch?" Manny asks, eyes sweeping over the same ten places repeatedly.
"I want McDonald's," Jack asserts. My jaw drops and I can feel my nostrils flair.
"What did you say?" Manny doesn't bother trying to hide her snicker.
"I said I want McDonald's," he repeats, staring up at me defiantly. "Big Burt says meat's good for your health, and we never have any at home."
"Do you know where meat comes from, Jack? I'll tell you where it comes from: animals that have been brutally killed and butchered in slaughter houses then parceled off for our consumption. McDonald's in particular puts all kinds of unhealthy greases and fats on that meat while they're frying it, and half the time the burgers aren't even all the way done, so you run the risk of contracting E Coli!"
"Relax, Emma," Manny soothes, grinning to beat the band. "It's about time someone challenged you. Jack's beliefs are just a little different than yours." I don't like the condescending lilt in her voice.
"I jus' like the 'appy meals," Jack says, hands planted firmly on his hips. I notice for the first time that we're drawing curious glances from more than one person. Manny gets a wistful look on her face.
"It's been a loooong time since I've had a real burger… oh relax, Emma! I'm sure you'll make me feel guilty enough later, but I say that it's about time to broaden Jack's horizons. How else is he going to survive when his friends start shoving real food down his throat?"
"Real friends would not shove real animal carcasses down his throat," I hiss, turning on my heel and walking toward Panera Bread. Some soup might help ease the incessant growling in my stomach without piling on too many calories.
"Come on, Jack," Manny says confidently, taking him by the hand and leading him over to McDonalds. I watch in a muted silence as Manny waits in line with him, leaning down to him to point out something on the menu. She finally hands over cash at the register and Jack receives his (unrecycled) paper bag cheerfully. The sulky and somewhat frightened look she sends me a moment later tells me that I probably need a fire extinguisher to vanish the smoke pouring from my ears.
I hold up a silencing hand when they walk toward me and stalk off, hoping to find a table outside where I can simmer until my holier-than-thou pout has worn slightly off of my face. Moments later Manny is plopping down ungracefully across from me and Jack is dumping his chicken McNuggets into the trash bin. "I guess you were right," she offers. "He said that the chicken made him sick to his stomach." I stare at her moodily for a minute before I look back down at my hands. "Em, you're not eating," she notes, and the resignation in her voice is dull.
"I'm just not hungry," I snap, folding my arms across my chest. "This day has been a disaster from the start. First mom grounds me and I'm stupid enough to reward her with a declaration of my undying love for Sean; then I end up going shopping with you and Jack, the most high-maintenance combination ever; now I have to deal with my younger brother eating meat right under my nose…" Manny shakes her head from side to side, holding up her hand to slow me down.
"Wait, did you just say that you told your mom you loved Sean? More importantly, did you just say that you love Sean?" I squirm under her steadfast gaze and nod. The smile she favors me with is genuine, to my surprise. "Well, I can't say I'm not glad you finally figured it out. But still, verbal diarrhea much? I guess we can at least be thankful it wasn't Snake; now that would have been a whole other can of worms."
"You aren't surprised," I say, stating it more like an accusation. She rolls her eyes indulgently and smiles.
"Emma, you've been in love with him since grade seven. I didn't figure that out until he came back, but I think that had a lot more to do with me wanting to protect you than with me being oblivious. As for you, we all know that you like to live in a constant state of denial." Before I can protest that she pushes a plastic container filled with raw spinach across the table to me. "I noticed that your brooding didn't include food, so I figured I would get you something healthy and then watch you eat it. I didn't even get you dressing." I glance at Jack, who is contentedly eating his ice cream cone.
"That's a shame. I really love their ranch dressing." Her face is graced with a bright smile as she leans in across the table.
"So… how are we going to get around this grounding for our trip to Vancouver?"
-0-0-0-
"I started keeping my journal." The trembling that had started in my legs travels to my hands and arms, and I can feel moisture gathering on my upper lip. Rosa crosses and uncrosses her legs, smiling at me interestedly. I clench the small notebook in my hands as if to hide it.
"That's wonderful, Emma. Do you want to share what some of your thoughts have been, or do you just want to go on with the session?" Brush her off, move on, and keep on your happy face. Don't let your guard down. Telling her that you've been keeping a diet diary is only going to make her send you to the nearest recovery facility.
"I – I purged twice in the past week. And I haven't been eating regularly." I look at the couch cushions while I speak and avoid her gaze entirely. "Two nights ago when Sean confronted me, I broke down and I had a panic attack. But it – um, it turned out okay." I swallow thickly, trying to rid the metallic taste in my mouth, but it is persistent. "I've been doing better since then. And I stopped writing down my food intake in the notebook and started doing what you told me – scribbling thoughts, jotting down feelings. It helps." I hardly ever talk during therapy unless I'm cornered into it, but now I feel like I could talk forever. My mind is numb, but inside I can feel a pressure valve slowly easing up.
"What have you been feeling?" her voice is gentle, and I fight back the questions and accusations battling to be voiced and answer her instead.
"I've been – I've been lonely. It feels like no one really understands me, like my parents are still treating me like glass and my teachers and friends still expect me to be perfect. It's different with Manny, of course – but I'm still so afraid of hurting her. I'm afraid of hurting everybody else or rocking the boat so I keep it all bottled up and I stop eating. My boyfriend had to sit there and watch me while I ate a few nights ago. The awful thing," I draw in a shaky breath, "I wasn't mad or defensive; I was scared. I knew that I needed him there, because I might have done something stupid otherwise. And I hate being afraid." Dampness surrounds my eyelids when I blink and I cringe at the thought of my mascara running.
"We're all afraid sometimes, Emma. It's a natural feeling."
"No." I shake my head vehemently, hating that she doesn't understand for a different reason than I usually do. "It's different. When I'm afraid I can't think, I can't feel, I can't do anything. I'm powerless. I'm helpless. I – I – bad things happen," I finish pathetically. I feel very like a three-year-old describing the monsters under their bed.
"You've been through quite a few traumatic experiences. Do you think that maybe you're transferring the emotions you blocked out at those times into your day-to-day life; feeling more angry than normal because of certain things, letting yourself be paralyzed by fear?"
My epiphany is instantaneous. There is a reason that people go to therapy, and it isn't to have their conditions diagnosed or to get a psychiatric referral or to hear themselves talk for hours on end; it is to be told what they already know about themselves. What they need to hear from someone else.
"I think," I say, "that's a huge part of the problem." She leans back in her chair and clicks her pen once, twice.
"So what are we going to do about it?"
-0-0-0-
Rosa calls my mom back when she comes in to drop off the check and tells her about the purging. She says that my parents should watch me carefully for the rest of the week, and if I'm doing well than it should be okay to let me go to Vancouver with Manny. I say a silent prayer of thanks for understanding mental health professionals when Spike relays this news, her hands clenching the steering wheel and her eyes fixed straight ahead.
I don't say anything to her. What is there to be said? I let her down (again), I'm messing up my life (again), and I'm hurting everyone else in the process (again). So instead of giving her a chance to voice all of this out loud I lean my head against the window and sigh deeply.
"Were you talking with Sean about this?" I swivel my head towards her face, surprised by the question.
"When?" The corners of her lips turn down.
"Friday night, when you stayed at Sean's all night. She said that you started writing in your journal and doing better around the weekend, and I just – is that what you two were doing?" Humiliation sweeps over me. Spike pulls into the driveway and kills the engine, looking at me searchingly. I slowly nod my head. She buries her face in her hands, and when she puts them down and lifts her eyes to me again I'm surprised to see how red and tired they are. "Emma, why can't you talk to me about this? Why don't you tell me what's going on with you?" The lump in my throat is too huge to speak over for a moment.
"Mom, there are things I don't even want to admit to myself. And you've always wanted me to be so strong and independent, and I couldn't – I couldn't ask you for help. I don't know how. With Sean, he just reads it in my face and makes me tell him without even trying." I allow a small chuckle to escape my lips. "It's not just you, mom. I still feel awful talking to Snake and Manny about my eating disorder because I hate to disappoint them." This time the pain in her eyes isn't something I can brush off as lack of sleep.
"But I'm your mother," she whispers, and her voice is full of a pain that cuts right through me. She clutches my hand in hers, and I let her. Right now I need it just as much as she does. "I don't want to let you go," she says after awhile. "But it's seeming more and more like I let go of you a long time ago. I just don't want to lose you." Guilt curls in my stomach, but with it a steely determination that is foreign but not altogether uncomfortable.
"I think we both let go. But mom, I don't want to lose you. I still need you, and nothing is going to change that," I hesitate for a moment before deciding to take a risk, "even what I told you about Sean." She sighs and gives me a watery smile before gently running her fingers under her eyes.
"I'm glad that you've found someone like him. I have my reservations, but you know that Archie has always been close to Sean, and he's had a hand in convincing me that the two of you being together isn't the worst thing in the world."
"So… does this mean that I'm off grounding?" I say hopefully. She gives me a knowing smile, eyebrows raised.
"I'm still going to be keeping a tight leash on you, missy. If Snake and I decide you can go to Vancouver, Sean can come over to the house two evenings a week after you get back. The basement door will be left open during those visits."
"That I can live with," I reply. It's certainly a promising start.
-0-0-0-
"So my girlfriend tells me that I'll be seeing you in Vancouver this weekend," Craig says, a smile in his voice. I sigh, half-happy, half-wistful. I've missed him.
"Well, if I can convince my parents that my temporary downward spiral is over and done with than yes." He doesn't question me, which I'm grateful for. Craig and I have an odd understanding that enables use to use tact with each other where we wouldn't with anyone else.
"So after Manny mentioned that you were coming, I figured that I should rent you guys a hotel room," he says, voice excited.
"Are you kidding? Manny's going to kill me for ruining your romantic rendezvous!" I joke. He chuckles and I can hear him shaking his head through the line.
"No, no. My apartment is in the hotel, so you guys will be less than a floor away from me. That way I can keep an eye on you but you can still hang out at my place. And I have to admit, it'll be nice not having to worry about walking in on you taking a shower. Remember that incident at Joey's the summer before grade nine?"
"I resent that!" I say, grinning in spite of myself. "I was still in my bathing suit. Luckily for you – if you'd walked in on something else, I might not have been so forgiving."
"I knew that then and I know it now," he says. The line crackles a bit and his voice is lower when he speaks again. "Listen, Emma, I haven't told Manny yet, but months ago Ellie got a plane ticket to visit me this weekend. So since it's too late to cancel but I don't want Manny feeling bad, could you cover for me this weekend, make sure they don't run into each other?"
"No." I'm pleased by the firmness I my voice. "Craig, you have got to stop walking on eggshells around Manny where Ellie is concerned. If she's really just a friend than you have nothing to worry about." My heart sinks when he doesn't respond. "You and Ellie… you are just friends, right?"
"Yeah, of course!" His voice is a little too high, but more from nerves than dishonesty. "It's just… a complicated friendship. And Manny doesn't understand that. They're just two relationships that I prefer to keep separate from each other, you know? Things have a tendency to get awkward when they're in the same room."
"Awkward for who?" I grumble, glad when he doesn't hear me. "Look, Craig, you just need to be honest with her. I'll try to help you avoid awkward situations, but if you don't tell Manny that Ellie's going to be there this weekend than I will." Before he has a chance to talk me out of my stance I cover the mouthpiece and call Manny back downstairs. I rifle through my backpack, looking for the notes I took in English; we have a test tomorrow.
As Manny's voice rises steadily over the next few minutes I find my iPOD and turn up the volume. When Manny's off the phone and I've given her a chance to hash out their latest argument I'll call Sean. The thought of his sympathy while I relay Craig's latest drama makes me smile almost imperceptibly. Sean seems to be having that effect on me lately, and in truth it's a welcome change.