Mom and Karen are still at the table in the kitchen. An hour ago I could tell by the way Karen kept rearranging the rice on her plate that they’d end up sitting like this, Mom’s plate empty and Karen’s heavy with cold food. When she first got back from the hospital, I felt like I was part of a football team made up of all the people set on keeping her well. Her nutritionist. Her doctor. Her therapist. Mom. Dad. And me—the one that no one had asked to join the team, but who kept showing up to practice. I pictured us all in team jerseys standing firmly with arms crossed in front of us, daring Karen’s sickness to try to get past. I thought we’d be strong enough.
I’ve put all the dishes in the dishwasher except for Karen’s, which I left in front of her. I washed all the pots and wiped down the counters and the table, working around Karen’s plate and glass and napkin. I clean as long as I can, not wanting to leave, wanting to see if Mom will find a way to get her to eat. Finally, when I start to empty the crumbs out of the toaster, Mom says, “Donnie, please go do your homework.”
I leave because if I argue, it might give Karen a chance to escape upstairs and lock herself in her room. Keeping the attention on her is really important. I go to the den, where I can look over the back of the couch and listen to them and watch their reflections against the dark outside in the sliding glass door.
Neither one of them says anything for a long time. And then Mom says, “Oh, Karen.” And I can hear she’s crying.
“Mom.” Karen’s annoyed voice.
“It just hurts me, Karen, to see you like this.”
“So don’t look at me, then. Leave me alone.”
“You know I can’t do that. You’re my daughter, it hurts me so much, watching you do this to yourself.”
“So don’t watch.”
“Do you want to hurt your family, is that what it is? You want to make us suffer right along with you?”
“For Christ’s sake, Mom, not everything is about you.”
“Just tell me what I can do, tell me how to make you better, and I’ll do it.”
“You can’t.”
“Your brother is terrified. You see the way he watches you? If you’re not home after school, he asks me if you’ve gone back, if we had to take you back to that place.”
Karen doesn’t have an answer for that.
“He loves you so much, Karen. We all love you so much, but this is tearing us apart. I need you to help us help you, tell us how to help you. Just eat ten bites, eat ten bites so your poor mother can get some sleep tonight.”
Karen snorts at the “poor mother” part. I agree, it’s a little over the top.
“Please, Karen, ten bites. For Donnie.”
There’s a pause, a small sound of a fork against a plate.
“Good girl. That’s a girl.”