12
An entire evening around a table of staring participants, with a dinner my stomach had no desire to digest, sucked.
An entire night of tossing and turning, while my stomach groaned and gurgled and cramped and cried sucked, too.
So did an entire day of more staring, of overly-friendly inquiring into my wellbeing, of food being served me because Thank goodness you have your appetite back. That had to be a sign I was feeling better, right? And food helped. Food always helped. In Beth’s book of rules, anyway.
I spent the whole next day yearning for freedom. Just a little freedom. Glancing toward the door and seriously f*****g wishing I’d forced my dinner down me the night before, just to convince Nate I didn’t feel as s**t as we both knew I did.
Because by the time the pickup rumbled o
