“Oh, her,” I say flatly.
“So spill the tea. What’s he like?”
“You know I can’t talk about my clients with you, Pat.”
“Are you kidding me? You brought him up first!”
As usual, she’s a hundred percent right. I should have never mentioned that he’s a client. I’m breaking all sorts of privacy rules by telling Pat about any of this, but I couldn’t help myself. He’s been on my brain since we met.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Yeah, but you did, which is not normal for you. Have you been morning drinking?”
“Again, it’s called hair of the dog and no, I haven’t. I told you, I’m not touching the stuff again. I haven’t had anything since the margaritas last week.”
“You haven’t had one drop of alcohol?”
“No, but guess what I did have?”
“What?”
“I had pancakes and bacon this morning.”
“What the hell?”
Pat’s dogs begin with their high pitched barking, probably reacting to the rise in her voice.
“I know,” I say almost shamefully.
“You never eat breakfast, especially a heavy one like pancakes and bacon. Did you actually cook it yourself?” she asks satirically.
“Obviously, Patricia,” I retort. “Last time I checked, I don’t have a cook.”
“So, what time did you get up this morning to eat this meal?”
“Seven.”
“AM?”
“Yep, I know. It’s crazy.”
“Up in the early morning and eating a big breakfast. You know you’re just trading one addiction for another. Instead of drinking, I think you’re stress eating.”
There was a point in junior high school when I was being bullied by two girls I thought were my friends. I dreaded going to school. I didn’t know how to manage the stress of having to face those two bitches everyday so I ate. I gained about fifteen pounds in seventh grade and no one in my house could figure out why until Pat cut school and came by during lunch period to spy on me. It took her all of twenty minutes to figure out what was going on. She dealt with those girls like big sisters handled things in the old days…she threatened them.
Even though Pat is a minute 5’ 2” in stature, everyone in my grade feared her. She was mean as hell to little kids, which is why my so-called friends never bullied me again. She’s always been my champion and the biggest worrier.
“One morning of pancakes and bacon is not stress eating, Pat. This isn’t seventh grade.”
“Then why even bother telling me you had them like you did something bad? I’ll tell you why, because you can’t skip to the end of healing. Those are your words, little sis’. Call Aaron’s family. Tell them who you are and tell them you are very sorry for their loss. Get the damn closure you need before your entire life implodes.”
You can’t skip to the end of healingis advice I’ve given people many times before. Advice I’m in no mood to hear from Pat or anyone.
“Stop throwing my words back at me. I’ve got this. I’m perfectly okay.”
At this point, Pat’s dogs are barking incessantly in the background. Even Butters can hear them and cocks her to the side and gives me a curious look.
“Will you please quiet those mongrels down?” I say. “They’re upsetting their cousin.”
