Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“Not eating in the lunchroom?” he asks.
I feel my face burn, hard, as if I’ve been caught thieving or spreading malicious gossip. Without waiting for an answer Mr. Blomqvist keeps walking and heads through the door and disappears.
I sit frozen, staring at my lunchbox. He’s seen my weird ritual, and now all I want to do is crumple up in shame and be scattered to the four winds.
Chapter Five
Stian
I’m kicking myself when I get back into my office. The words just slipped out when I saw Lacey on the stairs. I don’t know much about eating disorders but she’s obviously sensitive about food, so I shouldn’t have said anything.
I’ve got a budget meeting in forty-five minutes, and I should go through my notes. Instead, I open up Google and type “recovering anorexic” into the search bar, because I suspect that’s what’s up with Lacey. She doesn’t drink coffee or eat fruit at her desk like the other office workers do. When I go into the lunchroom or to the museum café I never see her buying cold drinks or cake. She’s slender, though not painfully so, so she must eat. Now I’ve discovered where.
I read an account of a woman talking about the “anorexic voice” and how angry it is with her when she eats; how it tells her she’s disgusting and doesn’t deserve food; how overwhelming the mere act of putting food in her mouth is, and that she can’t do it with any pleasure. Only fear. Eating around other people, or being near other people when they eat, is torture.
It sounds fucking terrible. I think about the way Lacey was sitting on the stairs, all hunched over like she was being hunted by a monster. I’ve never seen her like that before.
I keep reading and find a chilling paragraph on an educational website. Anorexia has the highest mortality rate of any psychiatric disorder. As many as twenty percent of sufferers will eventually die from the disease. The most common cause of death is heart failure.
As I’m heading out to the budget meeting, I take some catalog proofs to Lacey and give them to her. “You can eat lunch in my office. I’ve got time for the gym again, so I’m out from twelve forty-five to one-thirty every day.”
I have time because of her. I’m not constantly battling to get on top of things. Her eyes are startled, and I see her blush creeping back. Before she can argue with me or tell me it doesn’t matter, I leave her to it. There’s a sofa in the corner of my office. She can eat there and at least feel a little normal.
When I come back from the gym the next afternoon, I’m pleased to see Lacey sitting on the sofa. There’s still food in her lunchbox, but she slams the lid on and tries to get up, her face flooding with color.
I put my hand out. “No, please. Stay where you are.”
I go to my computer, and reluctantly, she sits down again. It’s a big office and we do a good job of ignoring each other, but out of the corner of my eye, I can still see her. Most people eat without thinking, wolfing down a muesli bar while flicking through a magazine or taking bites of a sandwich while they scroll through their phones. Lacey eats painfully slowly, her eyes focused on her lunchbox as if she’s hyper-aware of everything her mouth is doing. It seems more like a chore than a pleasure, and she’s got that hunched, frightened attitude again.
Ten minutes later, she gets up and goes back to her desk.
Every day after that I find her in my office when I get back from the gym. We don’t talk to each other during this time. We don’t even acknowledge each other. To speak to her would be to scare her away, and I feel instinctively this is a big step for her, having someone else in the room while she eats. I like that I’ve been able to do that for her. I like that she’s done as she’s told, as well.
On the fourth day, I watch her retreating back, remembering how she’s said yes, sir and thank you, sir. It’s happened a handful of times now, and each time she does it I want to lean down and say quietly in her ear, Try yes, daddy. I didn’t expect Lacey to be such a good girl, but she is. Helpful, clever and sweet. Just my type, actually, which makes it frustrating that she’s my assistant, and quite a bit younger than me.
The eating disorder recovery, that’s less of an issue. It’s just that. Recovery. She’s obviously a strong person to face such an uphill battle, and I admire her for it.
Two days later, I come back from the gym to find she’s finished her lunch and is standing before my collection of bonsai plants by the window. I have twelve, all in glazed ceramic pots sitting on a specially made shelf. Japanese Maple. Chinese Elm. Ficus. Beech.