Chapter 24: Never The Best: Chapter 24

Rhett told me he’d be in the gazebo by the pond so I could talk to my therapist in private.

The light coming through the cottage windows was warm, golden, and alive—the kind of sunlight that felt like hope.

Gah! I was so maudlin these days!

It had been three weeks since the night Rhett found me crumpled and hollow in my bedroom. And though I was still shaky, today I felt steady enough to talk to my therapist.

I sat cross-legged on the couch, a blanket draped over my lap. My laptop rested on the coffee table, and my therapist, Dr. Bryan Allen, was on the screen. We’d been meeting virtually since I left California, and despite the distance, his presence grounded me. We’d been working together for nearly ten years, and he knew pretty much everything there was to know about me.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m so sorry,” I gushed. “I know it must’ve been weird for you to have Rhett cancel our appointments, but I just couldn’t, you know? And then…I just don’t…and⁠—”

“Pearl,” he stopped me from speaking in his gentle voice. “You have nothing to apologize for. And just in case you’re worried, I didn’t speak with Rhett or anyone else you know. He spoke to my assistant, and she conveyed to me that you were canceling your appointments.”

“Oh, I never worry about confidentiality with you,” I murmured. “And the truth is that, even if you spoke with Rhett, though I know you wouldn’t, it would be okay.”

“Alright.” He leaned back. “Let’s start there. Rhett is with you?”

“He’s out by the pond,” I explained inanely. “He wanted me to have privacy.” I shook my head. “But that’s not what you’re asking. You want to know what he’s doing with me.”

He waited.

“I don’t know what he’s doing with me,” I exclaimed. “No fucking idea.”

“Why don’t we back up, and you tell me why you canceled our appointments? Not that you ever have to explain, but I feel like there’s something here we should explore.”

I took a deep breath. “I relapsed.”

“Tell me about it.”

So, I did. I told him everything. I hadn’t talked to him since before I’d been in Newport Beach, so I meandered there in between—and I hoped that my word vomit somehow made sense to him.

“Why didn’t you want to speak with me?” he mused.

I bit my lower lip. “I was ashamed…I felt like I let you down.”

He smiled. “Pearl, you can never let me down. I’m always on your side, always there for only you. There is no judgment between us.”

“I know, but I’d been doing so well, and I was so excited to tell you how I went to The Peacock Lounge and ordered food and a cocktail. I didn’t think about it, I just ordered and ate. And then…I collapsed. So, I was never really doing well, was I?”

“That’s not how this works, and you know it. In that moment, it was your truth and reality.”

“And now?”

“You’re talking to me. You’ve been eating, albeit sparingly. You’ve allowed yourself to trust Rhett, even when you suspected he might have betrayed you. That, Pearl, is amazing progress. You’re trusting yourself and your instincts, and I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

Tears filled my eyes.

“It means a lot to me that you say that, Dr. Allen, because I don’t feel it. I don’t feel like I’ve done anything to be proud of. Rhett keeps saying that to me as well.”

“Tell me more about Rhett.”

I smiled. “He’s been…he says we’re friends, and he’s my person. I’ve never had a person. Well, except Aunt Hattie.”

“What does that mean to you? That he’s your person?”

I smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“He showed up. He was here with me and for me. He took time off work, and between him, Aunt Hattie, and Missy, I’m never alone. They keep trying to feed me but never pressure me. It’s…I’ve always done this alone, this recovery…stuff. But to have people is…it’s…. I don’t feel normal. But I feel better. It doesn’t feel like the world is caving in on me anymore because he’s with me. They are.”

Dr. Allen nodded thoughtfully. “What does feeling better mean to you right now? Can you name anything specific that feels different?”

I thought about the past few days. About the little victories that might not mean much to anyone else but felt monumental to me. “I ate breakfast this morning. Scrambled eggs and toast. And I didn’t cry afterward, or…or feel like I needed to punish myself for it.”

“That’s an important step, building back your relationship with food as nourishment and not a reward you have to deserve.” Dr. Allen’s tone was encouraging without being overbearing. “How did it feel?”

“Weird,” I admitted. “Like I was waiting for the guilt to kick in, but it didn’t. Not completely, anyway. It was still there, but it was…quieter.”

“That’s progress, Pearl,” he said gently. “It might not feel like much, but all these small moments add up. Every time you push back against the disorder, even just a little, you’re building resilience. You’re proving to yourself that you can do it.”

I nodded, though a part of me still doubted myself. It was hard to trust this fragile sense of peace I was making with my psyche; hard to believe it wasn’t temporary. “It still feels like a fight. Every bite, every meal. It’s like…there’s that awful voice in my head, telling me I’m not enough. That I don’t deserve to feel good or happy or full. And even when I tell it to shut up, it doesn’t go away. It’s exhausting.”

Dr. Allen leaned forward, his face filling the screen. “That voice isn’t going to disappear overnight,” he warned me. “And as you know, it may never go away completely. But what you’re learning to do—what you’re doing right now—is taking away its power. You’re not letting it control you. And that’s huge.”

I swallowed hard. “But what if it gets loud again?” I asked, afraid. “What if I slip?”

“You might,” he told me simply, not sugarcoating it. “Recovery isn’t a straight line, Pearl. There will be hard days, even hard weeks. But you’ve been here before, and you’ve come out the other side. You’re learning how to recognize the signs and how to reach out for help when you need it. And you have people who care about you, who want to support you. You’re not alone in this. That is the thing that is helping you heal faster this time.”

I thought of Rhett then, of how he’d been there every single day since my relapse. How he’d moved into the cottage without me even asking, quietly taking up space in my life as if he belonged here with me.

“Am I…am I foolish for letting him back in? Weak? Stupid?”

“You know how I feel about you using words like that to describe yourself,” he admonished. “Now, let’s change the question: how is Rhett?”

“What do you mean?”

“How is he to you? Who is he? What have you learned about him?”

I smiled faintly. “He’s…incredible,” I admitted, my cheeks warming slightly. “He’s been patient, steady. He doesn’t push me, but he doesn’t let me disappear into myself, either. He makes me tea at night and stays up with me when I can’t sleep. And somehow, he’s learned how to make scrambled eggs exactly the way I like them.”

Dr. Allen’s lips curved into a small smile. “It sounds like you feel safe with him.”

“I do,” I said, the truth of that statement settling warmly in my chest. “I feel like he sees me. All of me. And he doesn’t run away from it.”

Dr. Allen nodded, looking pleased. “It sounds to me that you’re letting yourself accept what he’s offering, which is another step forward. And regarding what you said earlier, no, I don’t think you’re weak or stupid or any of those things. I think you’re brave. You dare to forgive, accept that people can change, and give them a chance. A weak person would, out of fear, not let Rhett back in. You’re not doing that.”

Later that evening, Rhett was in the kitchen chopping vegetables for dinner while I sat at the table, flipping through a Southern cookbook that Rhett had brought home. He’d started cooking more since moving in, partly because he enjoyed it and partly because he knew I needed the structure. Eating was easier when someone else prepared the food, when it felt like an act of care instead of a battle.

“Did you know there’s a whole section in here dedicated to desserts that use bourbon?” I said, holding up the book with a raised eyebrow.

“Bourbon is a Southern staple.” Rhett grinned. “You can’t bake a decent pecan pie without it. That’s practically law in Savannah.”

I smiled broadly, and it thrilled me that I could. “Do you even know how to bake a pie?”

“Not really,” he admitted, tossing chopped zucchini into a pan. “But I’m pretty good at following instructions. Besides, isn’t that what you’re here for? To supervise and criticize my technique?”

“Oh, absolutely. It’s my favorite hobby.”

Talking to Dr. Allen made me feel almost normal, whatever that word meant. In addition to feeling calm and peaceful, the smell of garlic and olive filling the kitchen didn’t scare me.

Yes, Dr. Allen was right. I had come a long way in just a few days. Part of it was years of therapy, certainly, but the rest was thanks to Rhett, Aunt Hattie, and Missy—a true support system. I lived in constant fear of having a relapse, how I would recover, how I would keep my job, and how I would live. But Rhett made me feel like I could rely on him, that he’d always be there with and for me, and if I relapsed again, he’d be my bulwark.

“Rhett,” I said, and waited until he faced me, “are we dating?”

He smiled widely. “I fuckin’ hope so, darlin’.”

I chuckled then. “Really?”

“Absolutely.”

I swallowed. “Even though I’m fucked up?”

“I don’t like it when you talk about yourself like that,” he scolded me, sounding just like Dr. Allen had earlier. “And I’d date you even if you had two horns.”

I laughed then, and he just stared at me.

“What?” I asked, feeling self-conscious.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re happy. So fuckin’ stunning.”

I flushed.

“Dinner’s almost ready.” His eyes met mine, and he lowered his voice. “How are you feeling today? On a scale of one to ten?”

He asked me every day. I thought about it for a moment before answering. “A solid seven,” I said honestly. “Not perfect. Not fixed. But good.”

“That’s all that matters.”

As we ate the simple zucchini and pasta dish he’d made, I realized it truly wasn’t about being perfect or fixed. It was about moments like this—quiet, simple, and full of possibility. It was about building a life I could live, one small step at a time.

As Dr. Allen once told me, “You just need to get through one moment and then another, live in the present. The past is gone and the future isn’t here yet. Breathe, Pearl, you’re bigger than anorexia.”