July, 1986

Michael looked up from his homework at the clock again. 9:13. He could get everyone together now. She might get back from the gym earlier than usual. But they might leave if he made them wait too long. He couldn't remember her ever getting back before 9:30, but she'd only started going to the gym instead of swimming at home about three weeks ago, mostly likely to avoid him. And he hadn't been paying attention to when she got home until the day before, when he'd decided to stage an intervention.

Until now he'd been reluctant to involve his family in this, fearing that they would only make things worse, but he was feeling desperate. A week after their conversation in the car he'd tried to confront her again about her weight loss. He'd even gone to library in preparation and read all about how to talk with a friend with anorexia, but despite the care he'd taken to get rid of distractions and avoid "you"-statements, his attempt to convince her to see a therapist had failed miserably. Now every time he tried to get her to eat something she frostily told him yet again that she was fine, made some excuse to leave the room, and spent the rest of the day avoiding him. She'd been avoiding him all the time, actually. He was sad that the closeness they'd had over the last few months had been so short-lived, but he had to do something. She'd gotten even skinnier in the last month and it was starting to scare him. He hoped that seeing that everyone was worried about her would help, as he was starting to suspect she was partly doing this for attention. He hoped she wouldn't do that, but with Lindsay it wasn't entirely outside the realm of possibility. If she was, it wasn't working. Everyone had been surprised when he told them about her recent weight loss, something that made him more angry than surprised. But with varying amounts of convincing he'd gotten all of them to agree to participate in the intervention.

He looked up again and saw that it was 9:20. He got up and went to his parents' room and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Next he went to find Gob, who was home from college for the summer. He knocked on his door, but again there was no answer. He went downstairs to the basement where he found his parents watching TV.

"Hey, it's time to get everyone together," he said.

"For what?" George Sr. said.

"Lindsay's intervention," he said.

"Is that today?" Lucille asked.

"Yes, it's today," he said disbelievingly. "I told you yesterday…Whatever, it doesn't matter. Can you go wait in the living room?"

"Alright," Lucille sighed. George Sr. mumbled his agreement.

"Thanks," Michael said, though he wasn't feeling particularly grateful. "Do you know where Gob is?"

"No," George Sr. said unhelpfully.

"Me, neither," said Lucille. "Oh, wait, I think he said he was going to some magic thing."

"Seriously?" Michael said. "Did he say when he was going to be back?"

"No, I don't think so," Lucille said nonchalantly.

Michael sighed in frustration. "Okay, well, we'll just have to do it without him. Just, go wait in the living room while I get Buster."

He ran up the stairs. "Buster?" he called. Buster came out of his room.

"Hey, brother," he said. "Is it time for the intervention?"

Michael breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, thank you," he said gratefully. "You're the only one who remembered. We're all going to wait in the living room."

They went downstairs. Buster went to the couch and sat between his parents. Michael pushed a chair closer to the couches so that it was facing them and sat down in another chair.

"Okay, so when she gets back, I was thinking we could each take turns saying something to her, so please think about what you're going to say right now."

"Wait, we have to say something?" said George Sr.

"Yes, you have to say something," Michael said, feeling increasingly frustrated.

"Michael, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that," Buster said nervously.

"All you have to do is tell her that you're worried about her," Michael said. "That's the whole point of this, 'cause she won't listen to me. It's not that much to ask, guys."

"Alright, alright," Lucille said, rolling her eyes. Michael clenched his teeth. He glanced at the clock on the wall. 9:31. She should be there soon.

"How long are we going to have to wait, Michael?" Lucille asked.

"Not long, just please be patient," he snapped. "This is a good opportunity to plan what you're going to say. I really want this to work, so please just try to act like you care about her."

Lucille raised her eyebrows, but he was past caring. This whole thing was her fault anyway. He looked up at the clock again. It was 9:33. He hoped she would get home soon, before any of them decided to leave.

"Can we at least get something to read?" said Lucille.

"No, that will make it look like you don't want to be here. Just wait, plan what you're going to say."

Two minutes passed in frosty silence.

"Really, Michael," George Sr. said.

"Fine, you can get something to read!" Michael snapped. "Just make sure you hide it when she gets here."

But before they could get up, the front door opened and Lindsay walked into the room. She stopped when she saw them all sitting there.

"What's going on?"

"Can you sit down?" Michael said.

"What is this?" she said suspiciously.

"Well, we've all come together because we're concerned about you—"

"Oh no," she said. "Is this some kind of intervention or something?"

"No," Michael said quickly. "I mean, kind of, but—"

"Oh my god," she groaned, turning to leave.

"No, wait, please," he said. She stopped. "Just please sit down and listen to what we've got to say."

She hesitated, then turned around and sat down huffily in the chair Michael had set up for her.

"Thank you," he said, relieved. "So, as I was saying, we've all come together because—"

"Where's Gob?" she interrupted.

Michael's heart sank. "Uh, I don't know. I don't think I was very clear about when we were going to do this." In reality he'd been very clear, but he didn't want her to know that Gob had forgotten. "But he's worried about you, too, he probably didn't realize—"

"It's okay," she interrupted. She looked slightly amused. "Go on."

"Okay," he said gratefully. "Well, we've all noticed that you've lost a lot of weight lately, and we're concerned because we love you and we want you to be healthy. So, we're each going to say a few things. Dad, do you want to go first?" he asked, thinking his father would be the most likely to get through to her since she seemed to be the only one of his children that he liked.

"Oh, uh, okay," George Sr. said uncomfortably. "Well, like Michael said, we're all concerned about you and…and we want you to be healthy, so…just make sure you eat enough."

"But, we know it might not be easy," Michael said quickly. That was one of the things the book he'd read had advised against saying. "I think it would be good if you talked to a therapist. I can make the appointment for you and go with you if you want. Or, I'm sure everyone else would be happy to go with you, too, if you want. Right?" he said, looking around at his family. They all mumbled their agreement. "Yeah," Michael said, annoyed by this unconvincing display.

"This is ridiculous," Lindsay said. "I'm fine, I've told you so many times."

"Please, just wait," he said.

"Fine," she sighed.

"Thanks. Okay, uh, Buster, do you want to go next?" he said, nervous about getting around to his mother. He'd been uncertain about including her in this, but it would have been even worse if she wasn't there.

"Oh, okay," Buster said nervously. He turned to Lindsay. "I'm worried about you," he said loudly. Michael waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be done.

"Anything else?" he prompted.

"You said that was all I had to say," Buster said, breathing quickly and tugging at his collar, sure signs that one of his panic attacks was coming on.

"Michael, you're making him nervous!" Lucille said shrilly.

"Okay, fine!" he snapped. "Fine. Mom, you go next."

"Alright," she said. "Well, Lindsay, Michael's really worried about you."

"But…you're not," Lindsay said slowly.

"Well, I haven't noticed any weight loss—"

"Okay, that's enough," Michael interrupted. This was not going according to plan. He glared at his mother and turned to Lindsay. "Look, I'm really worried about you. It scares me to death to see you getting so skinny. I know you don't think it's anything to be concerned about, but sometimes it can be hard to recognize when you need help, especially with this kind of thing. I don't want to scare you, but there are serious problems that can come from not eating like this, like heart failure, kidney failure, osteoporosis—"

"Michael, really," Lindsay said.

"Please let me finish. You mean so much to me. To all of us. So, even if you don't think you need to, please just try talking to a therapist, at least once, for my sake."

He searched her face for some sign that he'd gotten through to her. She did look guilty.

"Michael, I know you're worried about me," she said, looking down at the floor. "But really, I don't need to see a therapist." She laughed forcedly.

"Please, just once," he pleaded.

"Sorry, but you're just imagining this whole thing," she laughed.

"I think she's right, Michael," Lucille said gently.

"No, I know I'm not imagining this!" he said desperately.

"I'm going to go," Lindsay said guiltily. Michael looked at her, trying to think of something he could say to change her mind, but he was out of ideas.

"Yeah, okay," he sighed.

"Okay," she said quietly, and got up and left the room.

"Can we go now?" Lucille said.

"Yeah, yeah," he said exasperatedly. As they got up and left he heard the door in the kitchen open. He went into the kitchen and found his older brother taking mustard and parmesan cheese out of the fridge.

"Where the fuck were you?" he said as Gob squirted the mustard onto a plate and poured parmesan cheese on top of it.

"What are you talking about?" he said.

"Lindsay's intervention, where were you?"

He shrugged and ate the mustard and parmesan with a spoon. "It's the first I've heard of it," he said.