Residential

Chapter 2: We Share Our Mothers Health

We share our mothers health
It is what we've been dealt
What's in it for me?
Fine, then I'll agree

-The Knife, "We Share Our Mothers Health"

Hannah's mom wanted to talk to Nicole. The therapist her mom had been emailing was in a session, Gaby explained, but would be out soon. Through the arched doorway to the kitchen Hannah saw a few girls stealing peeks at her.

"Water?" Gaby pointed to Hannah, then to her mom. "Water?"

"I would love a coffee," her mom said.

"Sorry, I can only do water."

Hannah and her mom both shrugged that they were fine. Vases of artificial flowers and twigs sat on the faux-distressed sideboard and coffee table. The blocky sofas had been upholstered in cream canvas and the framed artwork was vague and soulless -- commercial prints of beaches and sunsets that had managed to find the blandest midway point between Monet and Turner. She was reminded of an interior design catalogue or a model home.

"Hiiiiii," a singsong voice rang out. A forty-something woman in yoga pants and flip flops turned into the living room and waved with both hands.

"Oh!" Hannah's mom looked eager. "Nicole?"

The woman had a tinkling, full body laugh. "No, no. I'm Jess."

"Oh," Hannah's mom said again, scanning the woman up and down indiscreetly -- through her Lululemon bottoms and lace-trimmed camisole, Jess appeared precariously thin. "You're a..."

"Client," Gaby finished for her.

"Purge-type anorexic," Jess added with a wink. "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Uh, Hannah."

"Welcome, welcome, I think you're gonna be my new roomie."

Gaby kept her gaze fixed on Jess, and Hannah noticed she looked tense.

"Do you do AA?" Jess went on.

"Uh, no."

"Oh, you should come!" In a stage whisper she added, "They let us have coffee."

Jess had the energy of a fun aunt. Her swollen lips had an uncanny way of moving and the surrounding skin looked swollen. Hannah suspected she'd injected fillers.

"This is actually one of the better programs," Jess said. "I've been to all of them. Is this your first time in Res?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Hannah?" A dark haired girl with an extreme side part stood framed in a doorway. "I'm Dr. Nicole Ferreira."

Hannah's mom failed to disguise her astonishment, maybe even disappointment. For weeks she had rapturously relayed her emails with "Nicole," even skimmed the thesis she'd published on mitigating medical trauma in eating disorder treatment, and dug up an article she'd written in Salon about improperly regulated adolescent treatment programs.

"I mean this woman really knows her stuff," Hannah's mom had said.

The therapist gliding towards them now looked around Hannah's age. She wore a flowing black sweater and low-heeled boots, her thick waving hair unstyled, like a witch who was temping at an accounting firm. 

If she hadn't introduced herself as a doctor, Hannah would have thought she was another patient.

"Have they signed in yet?" She asked Gaby, and she spoke with an easy confidence that made Hannah suspect she was quite a bit older than she looked.