by Kaira Rouda
“Sounds perfect,” I said. “Relax. Enjoy yourself. I’ll keep Mel as long as you need. And, uh, are there bears in Montana?”
“Yep, we take these sticks and bear spray on our hikes to ward off grizzlies and black bears. Kinda adds an extra level of intensity to this back-to-nature experience. Oops, I think they’ve spotted me chatting. Gotta go!”
And she went, before I could say good-bye. I decided to try Sean on his cell, just on the off chance he’d not had it confiscated at camp yet. He answered on one ring, too. I was on a roll.
“Hi Mom,” he whispered.
“Hi baby! How are you? I can’t believe you still have your cell.” It was so great to hear his voice.
“I have it on mosquito; grown-ups can’t hear it ring. But I can’t talk right now; it’s camp craft. We’re making a huge fire. I love chopping wood,” he said.
“I miss you and love you tons.”
“Same here, Mom. Gotta go or they’ll take away my phone,” Sean said, and then hung up. His brother didn’t even take his phone to camp. But Sean, a true digital kid, can’t totally disconnect from technology, even when it’s banned. It made me feel good to know now I could at least sneak him a call or a text message every once in awhile. His to me last year were short: “Need pillow. Luv ya.” So far, this summer, he hadn’t needed anything, I guess.
So, with my sons still happily tucked away in the mountains of Maine and Kathryn tucked away in the mountains of Montana, it was time to get back to my life. I’d need a little warrior attitude myself once Melanie woke up.
The doorbell rang. Oreo was barking and growling; not a good omen.
I opened the door to find Rachel holding an empty bottle of what appeared to be tequila.
“I think this belongs to you,” she said, thrusting it toward me.
“I’m a wine drinker, Rachel,” I said in my best warrior tone.
“Are you aware the entire street, for blocks, is littered with filth from the party you hosted last night?” She pointed the tequila bottle at me with one hand; her other hand rested on her hip.
“We’ll get it cleaned up. Don’t worry. Here, let me take that for you. Have a good day,” I said, and slammed the door. That felt good.
When I turned around, Melanie was sitting on the stairs. Oreo sat next to her. Both of them were watching me, waiting for me to do something, say something.
Nope. Not this time.
Finally, after what seemed to be minutes but was probably seconds, Melanie said, “I’m sorry.”
I stood still. Quiet.
“I made a mess. I let you down. I’m not sure how it got so out of control?” she said, and then she started crying. Big sobbing sounds were coming from her rail-thin body, and well, I just couldn’t be the warrior anymore. I sat down next to her on the stairs and she moved into me. I put an arm around her and she gave me a hug. I gave her time to cry, and when she’d finally begun to calm down, I knew it was time for a real talk.
“LISTEN, MEL, I KNOW YOU’RE SORRY FOR THE PARTY AND all, but there’s more going on here. I hope the time you’re spending with Beth is valuable, and I hope you’re telling her the truth. It’s really important. It’s important for you and me, too.”
“I know, it’s just that …”
“It’s just that what?”
“I mess everything up. I’m a mess. Nobody loves me. They—my parents—put me with you like a dog at a kennel. I mean, that’s how it feels. I don’t even know where they are,” she sobbed.
“Yes you do.”
She looked over at me, but didn’t acknowledge the challenge.
“I just talked to your mom and she’s doing great. She said she’s talked to you, and that you knew she was in Wyoming, of all places. You know she loves you more than anything. I know you know that,” I said, looking intently at Melanie, who simply nodded. After a brief pause she said, “Montana.”
“What?”
“Mom’s in Montana.”
“Right. That’s me, being clueless again.” Melanie showed a flash of recognition, but she knew better than to say anything more.
We sat in silence for a moment. I’m not good at that, so I jumped back in.
“I told your mom, if it was okay with you, that I’d love to have you stick around until she gets back. That should give us some time to clean—I mean clear things up. Get better at yoga and stuff like that.”
“You didn’t tell Mom about last night?” she asked quietly.
I shook my head no.
“Did you ever screw up, Aunt Kelly? I mean, you know, get into trouble?” Melanie asked me after we’d sat in silence awhile longer.
“Oh my gosh, of course.”
“Really?”
Okay, so I’d read all of the studies that told me parents should lie to their kids about their own underage drinking and the like. It’s giving your kids permission to do the same the logic goes. Well, since she wasn’t my daughter, I figured I could go ahead and tell her a little bit of truth.
“My first time drinking was a peer pressure situation, like always. I hated the taste of beer, so my friends made me screwdrivers. Actually, Beth and I were the target of the party since neither of us had tried alcohol yet. We both ended up really drunk. I don’t remember much else. My boyfriend drove me home and propped me up at my door, rang the doorbell, and drove away before my mom opened the door. My parents were convinced I had done heavy drugs because I kept saying something about a white pill. Actually, I had a headache and wanted aspirin. I felt terrible. Probably about like how you feel right now?”
“I feel awful. It’s nice to know you aren’t perfect. It’s just hard to imagine you or Beth getting drunk together or being out of control. You seem like you have everything together, you know?”
“I’m far from perfect, my dear. The more you get to know me, the more imperfect I’ll be. The thing I’ve learned in life is that you grow more through the bad things that happen to you. You know the old saying: hurdles are for jumping. It’s true. Once you get past the mistakes, the bad choices, you can learn a lot from them. I know you’re a good girl, Mel. I want to trust you, but in turn, you need to be truthful with me. No more lies, no more hiding. I needed to know where your mom was. You knew where she was and didn’t tell me.”
Mel looked at me and nodded.
“It’s about time we stop walking on eggshells around each other, don’t you think?” I said, standing up and pulling her to her feet. “It’s going to be okay, it really is. Change comes in small steps. I’m learning that myself. I think, just maybe, we’re both at a crossroads and we’ll help each other through it. How about we give breakfast a try?”
“That actually sounds really good,” Melanie answered.
After our first real meal together, I suggested we call Beth and have her come to my house for a change. Melanie agreed, and headed outside with an extra large trash bag to start collecting party debris in the backyard. I called Beth and filled her in.
“She’s a really smart girl,” Beth said evenly. “I’m surprised that happened last night. But maybe it’ll make her more open to connecting with you. She’ll feel guilty instead of entitled for awhile.”
“We did have breakfast together for the first time, and she ate some scrambled eggs,” I said, proudly, although I knew Oreo ate most of them.
“Good for you,” Beth said. “That’s a good sign. I’ve been there; I know.”
“Has she opened up to you at all? She must have,” I said.
“We’re making progress, but I can’t talk about confidential discussions. I’ll be over in a little bit.”
“As I’ve told Mel, what helped me the most was finding someone to talk to, someone who’d been there, who understood,” Beth said calmly. She’d settled onto the couch in my living room, and she was nursing Sarah. For once, Melanie had agreed to allow me to sit in on their talks, so my only job was to keep my mouth shut.
“For me, it was a woman named Amy at a counseling center called The Bridg
e. I’d stumbled upon it while I drove to my summer job my junior year in high school. She’d had anorexia; she could relate. I went because it had gotten so bad that my boyfriend was threatening not to see me anymore. He couldn’t stand watching me starve to death. I went there to get help because of him, but it ended up being for me.”
“That’s why Gavin came over a few nights ago,” Melanie said. “But we had a fight. He said I wasn’t trying.” Melanie looked down. “I guess that’s why I agreed to have the party with Tom. Just to hurt Gavin, show him I didn’t need him. But I really do.” She had started crying, quietly. Oreo stood up from his spot beneath my feet, ran over, and jumped into her lap. “Gavin said we’d have to break up if I didn’t start eating.”
And at that, Beth smiled at me. I guessed we’d just made progress.
“I didn’t know you had the same thing happen to you,” Melanie said to Beth, almost the identical words I’d been thinking. I kicked myself again for not being there for her. “I guess that’s why you understand what’s going on with me.”
“Anorexia sneaks up on you,” Beth said. “It’s a subconscious decision to exercise control over something—sometimes the only thing—you have total control over: your body. My parents’ divorce triggered mine. All of a sudden, everything I’d known fell apart. For you, Mel, the dynamics are sounding much the same.”
That was a revelation to me: Anorexia was not a conscious choice. “So you didn’t just decide to stop eating?” I asked Beth, but I was also asking Mel, I suppose.
“No. But I remember loving the control over food and over my body. It’s all tied to self-image, self-esteem. It was hard for me to talk to anyone, explain what was wrong,” Beth added, and Melanie nodded. “No two people with eating disorders are exactly alike. There are many triggers, many causes. It’s better to just look ahead, focus on getting better. I did. Mel will.”
Yes, she will, I thought. With that, I excused myself because I had to plan the open house that would introduce my new business to Grandville’s real estate professionals. Melanie and Beth smiled. I think they realized Kelly Johnson was becoming a force to be reckoned with, business-wise; at least I hoped so.
Patrick blew in from the office in a horrible mood. I’d been working in the kitchen since leaving the counseling session and was shocked to see it was already six o’clock.
“Hi, love, how was your day?” I asked in my best Kelly Johnson/Laura Petrie wifely voice. If only Patrick could be more like Dick Van Dyke and see the humor in the situation at hand. But then again, I don’t think Rob and Laura Petrie had teenagers around.
“Where is she?” he demanded in a gruff, husband-who’d-spent-the-previous-night-chasing-teens-from-our-house-and-yard voice.
“Who?”
“You know who. Mel.” Then he hollered. “Mel!”
It looked like Melanie was feeling the effects of the night before, too, as she walked into the kitchen. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hair, usually swept up, was hanging in strands all around her face. She looked like she’d been napping.
“Hi Uncle Patrick. I’m very sorry about last night,” she said. She looked even tinier to me than usual, and I felt the urge to stand up and run to her side. But I was practicing being Swiss. So I remained seated.
“Let’s sit down at the table with Kelly and talk about this,” Patrick commanded.
He was intruding on my business planning, but my desk was, after all, the kitchen table too. I tried to smile equally, calmly, at both of them.
“That party last night was unacceptable. Do you realize that if any of those friends of yours had gone off and killed themselves or somebody else while driving drunk we would’ve been responsible? Do you realize how hard I’ve worked to be respected, trusted as an attorney? I fielded I don’t know how many phone calls this morning from members of the country club complaining about the mess strewn all over the course.”
“I’m so, so sorry,” Mel said, and she started to cry. “I’ll clean it up.”
“No, you can’t. The club had to open today so they cleaned it. You will be cleaning our yard, though, and the entire neighborhood.”
I looked at my husband and felt so sorry I’d added this stress to his summer, to his life. “I’m sorry, too,” I said, reaching out to touch his hand. “Mel did get started on cleaning up the yard this morning, Patrick, before she had a long session with Beth.”
“Good, that’s a start. Look,” Patrick continued as he turned and faced Melanie, “you’re going to start pulling your weight around here. You’ll do chores, help Kelly get ready for this huge party she’s planning, and act like you’re part of this family. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she muttered.
“Kelly, give Melanie a list of tasks; I saw you have one started in your business plan. Melanie, you can finish cleaning the backyard before it gets dark. And, if any of those so-called friends of yours who attended the party actually are friends, they’ll get over here and help you,” he added before standing up and walking out of the kitchen.
Mel’s head was down on the table.
“I’m sorry,” I said to the top of her head. “Patrick doesn’t get mad often, but when he does, phew! Stay out of the way.”
“He’s right. I messed up. I need to finish cleaning the backyard. I’ll make this right Aunt Kelly, I will.” She stood up, grabbed a big trash bag, and headed out the door.
Watching out the window as Mel carefully maneuvered through my flower beds to pluck out trash and beer cans, I was glad Beth had come over before Patrick had erupted. Melanie had taken responsibility for her actions and she seemed okay with being given things to do around the house and for my party. Was it too much to hope that things would turn out fine?
TWO DAYS LATER, I WAS COMPLETING THE FIRST ASSIGNMENT for the home staging designation online course I’d enrolled in when Melanie came into the room wearing a broad smile. I was making progress and so, it seemed, was Mel.
“I’m going to Beth’s,” she announced. “She’s picking me up in a few minutes.”
“Okay,” I said, trying not to feel hurt. In the past forty-eight hours we’d started to get attached, my troubled teen and I, helped along by doing yoga together after a huge workout picking up all the party rubbish that was strewn throughout the neighborhood. She and Patrick had done a great job of avoiding each other, so far, but she had cleaned up and she was helping with the party. He hadn’t seen her in action, but I made a point to tell him about her helpfulness whenever I could, as a good Swiss Miss would.
“Aw, don’t look sad, Aunt Kelly. It’s just that Beth understands what’s going on with me. She’s been there, really been there. Thanks again, by the way, for helping me find her, and for helping me clean up the mess,” said Melanie, giving me a hug: a bony, gangly, beautiful hug. “Did you know Beth specialized in eating disorder treatment when she got her doctorate?”
“No, I didn’t. I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t even know she had a doctorate. I’m so glad. I am. You know I’d do anything for you, and now you know Beth would, too. You aren’t alone, even though you sometimes feel like it,” I said. “Oh, and the Gavin situation?”
“Better, too. He knows I’m talking, getting help,” she said. “He’s going to stick by me. Just maybe not the way he did before.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, before, we’d go to lunch at school every day. I’d chew gum and he’d eat. That’s just what we did. He said he wouldn’t do that again; just sit by and watch me hurt myself.”
“You’re lucky to have him as a friend who’s practicing some tough love, Mel. And that also means there’ll be no more backyard rendezvous with Tom Thompson, right?”
“Uh, right. You know, he’s the one who said it would be okay to have a few people over. He’d lived in this neighborhood and knew you and Patrick, so I trusted him. And I was so mad at Gavin. It didn’t seem like a big deal. But it was. I’m really sorry I let that party happen.”
I ga
ve her a bear hug. It felt really nice to be needed, but I knew I could stand alone, too. I wasn’t really sure what I was supposed to do next for her, but I was pretty certain Melanie and Beth had this figured out. I was just along for the ride; the chauffeur, so to speak.
“So, tonight for dinner, would it be okay if I sat with you and Patrick? Hopefully Patrick isn’t still super-angry with me. And, would you mind if Gavin joined us?” she asked, knowing the answer would be yes.
“My only question is what will you eat?”
“Can we make it simple and easy to digest? That’s what Beth recommends. Soup. A casserole. Pretty much baby food. Baby steps; that’s what we’re working on.”
“Your wish is my command,” I said. “I know just what to make. We’ll have some tomato basil soup, Caesar salad, and some crunchy French bread. Maybe Patrick will stop by La Chatelaine on the way home. Sound okay?”
“Sounds perfect. Thank you. Just don’t be sad if I don’t eat a lot. And Aunt Kelly, can you find out before dinner if Patrick’s still mad? If so, maybe we should wait for another night.”
“Nope, he’s fine and tonight’s a perfect night. As for the food, I get it. Baby steps.”
Dinner began as what can only be described as a perfect meal with two teenagers. We all talked naturally and Melanie ate—not a lot, but a respectable amount. I was really warming up to Gavin, too, and realized that David was just a few years away from having his own girlfriends, and the problems that went with them. This was good practice.
Patrick seemed to have gotten over his anger, but not her betrayal of our trust. He covered it well, but I knew he was wrestling with it. For me, the party fallout had brought us closer, Mel and me. We were talking. Patrick and Mel just needed to get to know each other better, I reasoned.
Next week, Melanie turned fifteen-and-a-half, old enough to get her temporary driver’s license. Shocking. I couldn’t picture her driving, couldn’t imagine that responsibility right now. Gavin, a year older and already driving, would be her teacher. Sometime between the soup and the Caesar salad, I asked if Melanie had heard from her parents—either one.
