Slowly, with a hand that was mostly steady, Anne tipped the bottle’s contents into the sink. The drain drank greedily, and a thick, overpowering smell rose up from the off-white fireclay. “I poured out the first one,” she said, to herself as much as to Sadie.
“Keep going, sweetheart,” Sadie told her, soft approval in her voice. “You’re doing so well.”
Anne blushed, pleasure mingling with her self-consciousness. One down. Two to go.
It was near dinnertime. Soon she’d trade the bottles’ fullness for her own.
* * *
The Calabasas Erewhon was nearly empty; nobody did their grocery shopping on a weeknight. Thankfully, that meant no one else hovered around the hot bar while Anne surveyed the offerings in peace.
Mostly in peace. She was here to grab something to eat, since her fridge had nothing in it except nonfat cottage cheese and a three-day-old leftover cup of kale-and-white-bean soup. And that meant facing another exhausting choice: this time, between the kind of dinner she’d normally eat and the kind of food she’d planned on trying.
Anne didn’t have to push herself tonight. Honestly, she’d done more than enough of that for today. The stench of wine that still clung to her sink was proof enough.
Shopping basket in one hand, she picked up a pair of tongs with the other, ready to reach for a small piece of the plain, whole-roasted, sea salt-brined Alaskan salmon. It was a staple of her typical diet, pairing well with a scoop of steamed broccoli.
“Anne Lowell! My God, it’s been ages!”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
With the training of a lifetime, Anne immediately fixed her face into a polite mask of interest, then turned to face the voice’s owner.
Surprisingly, Tricia Stefanski seemed genuinely pleased to see her. Far more pleased than Anne was, although she’d likedTrish well enough back in the day. The woman had a decent head on her narrow shoulders, and a sense of humor, too, which was more than most of Anne’s former circle could boast.
“Trish!” she exclaimed. She leaned in for a quick air-kiss. “How’s things? Still at Paramount?”
“Can’t tell you why,” Trish said dryly. “I should do an adaptation of Dante’sInfernoand call one of the circles of hell ‘producing.’ Gosh, what have you been up to these last few years? I haven’t seen you since the divorce.”
Anne blinked. She hadn’t expected Trish to bring that up—certainly not so casually. “Oh, I’ve been—around,” she said vaguely.Falling in love with my best friend. Realizing I’m a lesbian. Deciding to change my entire life. “Still with Conserve Malibu.”
Trish smiled. She was thinner than Anne remembered, her cheekbones jutting out over recessed cheeks. “That’s great. You always did know how to manage a board. I remember James bragging about—oh.” She winced. “Probably shouldn’t mention him.”
Anne waved it away. “It’s fine. James and I, we’re doing all right now.” And as she said it, she realized it was true.
“Anyway,” Trish continued, and Anne recognized the strained expression on her face: that of a woman trying to get out of a conversation politely. “I should probably get going. Just ran in quickly to pick up a few things for Victoria—she’s home from Cornell this weekend. That girl just loves her whole wheat bagels.”
“Right.” Trish probably hadn’t eaten a bagel since1993. “Of course. I should get going, too—I’m grabbing dinner.” Anne gestured at the salmon.
Almost instantly, the strain on Trish’s face was replaced with a look of longing so naked that Anne nearly inhaled in reaction. “Oh, it looks wonderful. I can’t have anything like that—I’vebeen on an all-vegan, sugar-free paleo diet since January. You know what it’s like.” A little laugh. “I do feel so much lighter now, I have to say. Cleaner. Now that I’m not weighed down with all those preservatives.”
Trish wasn’t weighed down by much at all. Anne could see her sharp collarbones through her loose cotton T-shirt. “I’m, ah, glad it’s working for you.”
“It is.” Trish clearly wanted to convince more than one person. “Look, we should get together sometime soon.” She gave a little wave, scrunching her fingers. “I’ll call you.”
“Can’t wait,” Anne said brightly, which made them both liars.
Once Trish was gone, she turned back to the hot bar. The salmon pieces still waited there for her, pink and glistening.
Tonight, Trish would eat whatever meager serving her diet allowed, ignoring the call of Victoria’s whole wheat bagels. For dessert, she’d have the sour satisfaction of knowing she’d done it right. Stayed inside the borders of what she was supposed to have. Squeezed her appetite into a small, perfect, delicate nub. No wants or needs that couldn’t be perfectly contained.
To Anne’s surprise, a growing compassion inside her was pushing out any judgment. Trish wasn’t ready for her own version of a sticky booth at Burger Bliss; that was clear. But one day, maybe, if she was lucky, someone in her life might help her realize that she couldn’t run away from being human, no matter how hard she tried.
Anne put down the salmon tongs. And then, her reach swift and sure, she grabbed a short rib bowl, dropping it in her basket without hesitation. The heat from the container still warmed her hand, a little like a promise.
Chapter 18
She’d be very nice to Claire today. Even if Claire wasn’t nice. And Claire was almost never nice.