and sooner or later they get the better of me. Will I ever be able to safely eat a piece of cake? I don’t know. Not if I’m going for a mood-altering effect. Either way, it doesn’t matter because I refuse to risk it.”
She’d seen many people relapse on that damn “it’s just a small bite; what harm can it do?” Years off the wagon, dozens of pounds gained. Pain, misery, and tears. No fucking way. “Yet here I am, listening to that crazy voice inside my head that says I don’t have a problem, that searching for a sugarless, flourless chocolate cookie recipe is a good idea.”
“What did you tell your mom when she commented on the dress?” Cole asked.
“My mother? Nothing.”
“Baby, I understand you’re going for a nonconfrontational approach, but your smile-accept-and-walk-away technique will not work. Not as long as the problematic person follows you. You’re going to need to stand your ground at some point.”
She knew that, but she was no good at confrontations.
“If you can’t make her understand—and you won’t, because she doesn’t listen,” he continued, “you will have to make your position clear.”
“Is that your polite way of saying that I should call Martha on her shit and kick her out?”
“Absolutely.”
“I can’t do something that radical. I can’t change her, but I need to learn to live with her without it affecting me.”
Cole looked at her doubtfully. “Says who? You can’t change her, true, but you don’t have to learn to live with her. She messes your head up and drives you to eat. She’s a threat. You eliminate threats; you don’t learn to live with them.”
Christy smiled and cupped his face. Everything was so black and white for Cole. “You know what my mother would say if she heard me telling you about my food issues? She would glare at me, that mixture of disapproval and ‘God, forgive my child; she’s so dumb’ in her eyes, and she would ask me not to bother you with stupid stuff. She thinks you’re going to run out of patience with my food restrictions and stop humoring me. She believes I shouldn’t tempt my luck any longer and should quit testing your patience.” Martha had actually said as much when they were at Rosita’s and Cole had gone to the bathroom, after Paige had taken their order.
Her mom always got irritated going out to eat with Christy: if her daughter ate, Martha would tell her she was fat; if she didn’t, she bitched about her restrictions and how absurd they were. There was no winning with Martha.
Cole let out a bark. “You already test my patience, but not like that. Food means nothing to me. It’s a source of energy. That’s it.”
“You’re so lucky.” Fast-food places and bakery aisles were major black holes for her. She’d fall into one and find her way out two sizes later. “You know, no one says to alcoholics, ‘Come on, it’s just a small drink; what harm can it do?’ People respect their abstinence. What do I get? I get condescending looks. Like I’m being silly and exaggerating.” She knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t stop. “We get fat, we’re treated like pariahs. We’re sold gym equipment we’ll never use and expensive miracle diets that never work. Check the infomercials. Or better yet, popular shows. Half of them are about losing weight and the other half about cooking food.”
Cole chuckled. “You don’t have to convince me. I believe you.”
“She doesn’t. She believes I’m making up excuses for my lack of willpower and general inadequacy.”
“Why is her opinion so important?”
She sighed. “Because she’s my mother and I want her to accept me.” Which really bothered her. Her priority should be accepting herself and to hell with whomever didn’t like it. All those years of 12-step meetings and reading self-help manuals had taught her that much.
“What does she think this stands for?” he asked, caressing the inscription she’d had tattooed on her wrist after losing the weight and learning how to deal with her addiction. Numquam Satis. Never enough.
“This? She doesn’t know it’s a real language. She thinks it’s something from Star Trek or The Lord of the Rings.”
Cole shook his head. “Leave the laptop on the table and let’s go. I’ll take care of this.”
She looked at the screen, the picture of the chocolate cookie shiny and inviting. Calling to her.
“Not repeating myself, baby. You come voluntarily, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder. Either way, you’re done with this research.