Oblivious

Rich moved into my apartment. In the first flush of love, I had not considered this would be hard for Catherine. She was sixteen. She was used to quiet evenings reading, and suppers of strawberry shortcake, our own ways. Catherine liked Rich, but she was not used to sharing her mother, or her bathroom, or the living room where suddenly a couple sat, not just her and her mother. This hadn’t been her decision, nor had she been consulted, and really, what could she have said? No? Don’t change my life? She was nicer than that, she wished me to be happy.

It was months later, when we were shopping for clothes, that I noticed how much weight she’d lost.

“Look at this interesting bone,” said Catherine, pointing to a knob visible on her shoulder where no knob should be. I panicked, but Catherine wouldn’t discuss it. I poured heavy cream into her tea. I added sugar to everything. Rich bought pork fried rice at the Cuban Chinese restaurant on Broadway, and left it on the counter for her every night. She would get up when we were asleep and eat it. Weeks later, I took her to Marvin’s, she ordered eggs Benedict, and I watched her eat every bite.