I’d like to never have it again.
But it’s not like I can talk about avoiding getting better.
“I’m glad no one else is up.” He takes the water back. Tilts his head back to swig. The same motion he makes when he drinks bourbon. “We only have three more days.”
“Yeah.”
“Then, what, a week, at home? And you leave for Berkley.”
“That’s still three days.”
“Yeah, but you’re not here to hang with me.”
“True.” I can’t help but laugh. Maybe this can be an easy conversation. Maybe we don’t need to discuss his drinking. Or Holden. Or my eating habits.
“You having fun?”
“A lot, yeah.”
“And Holden’s taking good care of you?”
So much for that. I look to the water. Try to steel my expression. “Yeah. He’s… fun.”
“He’s good at that.”
I nod.
“Nothing inappropriate?” Oliver’s voice is matter-of-fact. Like he’s asking what kind of tea I’d like. Not like he’s trying to figure out if I’ve fucked his friend.
I match his vibe. “It’s Holden.”
“True.” Oliver chuckles. He turns just a little. Just enough to look me in the eyes. “You know what I mean.”
Yeah. I’m not answering that question. Or lying. I just have to word this right… “He’s not crossing any of my boundaries.”
“Fuck, you sound like a shrink.”
“I feel like one. After all those appointments.” So many during inpatient treatment. Then one a week, every week, for the rest of my life.
“You talk to the therapist your shrink recommended?”
“The one in Berkley?”
“Yeah.”
“Well… only in email.” I’ve been putting off all my thoughts about moving. About leaving my life. And especially about needing constant therapy. But I have scheduled my first appointment. “I’m going to see her the week after classes start.”
“You promise you’ll stick with it?”
“Yeah.” What’s the alternative? I don’t want to be a mess. I just am.
His voice drops to a whisper. “And you’ve been eating enough.”
I try to swallow my irritation. “Can we not?”
He shoots me that typical Oliver look. Are you gonna make me drag out this conversation?
“Seriously, Oliver.”
“Say yes, and I’ll drop it.”
“What if I asked, ‘are you drinking too much’?”
“How’s that different than the look you give me every time I order a fucking drink?” His voice barely raises. Frustration barely seeps in.
But it does.
Am I that obvious?
Back when I was in the middle of it, when I was still trying to lose enough weight I’d disappear—
I didn’t think anyone could tell.
I didn’t think anyone cared enough to notice.
They certainly didn’t call me on it.
“I’m not going to feel guilty for worrying about you,” I say.
He shrugs fine.
“What if I gave you an ultimatum?” I leave the like you did to me as subtext. “If I said I won’t talk to you until you stop drinking?”
“Are you saying that?”
“No, but what if I did?”
His brow furrows.
“How is it different? Than last year? How would it be different?” So much for subtext.
“I have it under control.”
“I thought that too.”
His eyes fill with frustration. He shrinks back for a second. Then he nods like he’s realized something. “Are you trying to avoid a real conversation?”
“No.”
“Are you skipping meals again?”
“No.”
“Purging.”
I want to say fuck you, but it doesn’t help my case. “No.”
“Is that why you left dinner so early?” His expression is equal parts anger and concern.
“No. I’m good. I’ve been good for a long time.”
“Then it’s about Holden?”
“No… I just… I worry about you.”
“What did he do?”
“He didn’t do anything.”
Oliver scoffs yeah right. “If he touched you, I’ll kill him.”
“Grow up.”
“I will.”
I… am so not having this conversation. There’s nowhere to go. No way to avoid it.
My brother is right there.
Only.
Okay, that’s it.
I slip into the pool. In my pajamas. They’re nothing special. A tank top and shorts. Easy to replace.
“I need to grow up?” he asks.
I keep my back to him as I swim to the other end of the pool.
“Fuck it,” he mutters.
Splash.
My brother jumps into the pool.
He crosses it quickly. Stops at the wall, next to me. “You are trying to avoid something.”
“My brother dictating my sex life, yeah.”
His eyes turn down. “Did he—”
“Seriously, don’t.”
“I will kill him, Daisy. I will. If he hurts you, it will be the last thing he ever does.”
I focus on the blue sky. It’s almost sweet, how much Oliver is willing to kill to defend me. Even if he’s overly fixated on the whole he better not touch you part of that. “Noted.”
His voice softens. “Does he know?”
“Know what?”
He shoots me a get real expression.
Oh. I guess it’s always there. Like his drinking. There’s no hiding it. No changing the subject. No feigning ignorance. “No, he doesn’t know.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“Maybe… we’re just friends. I don’t know if he—”
“Me either.”
I turn toward my brother.
His blue eyes are filled with sympathy.
“You don’t have faith in him?” I dig my fingers into the concrete. The water is still cool and supportive, but that safety and peace is gone.