Worry by Alexandra Tanner

Author:Alexandra Tanner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scribner
Published: 2024-03-26T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

I notice a paper towel on the floor near the fridge. I don’t remember dropping it there, so I don’t pick it up. Poppy doesn’t pick it up, either. It stays there all week, gathering our hair. Finally I mention it.

“You dropped that, like, two weeks ago,” I say to Poppy, nodding at the paper towel. “I left it there to see how long it would take you to pick it up.”

“I didn’t drop it,” Poppy says. “You dropped it, and I left it there.”

“Just pick it up.”

“You pick it up,” says Poppy, “if it’s such a big deal.”

“You’re saying you don’t care if it stays there forever?”

“Yeah, it could stay there forever and it wouldn’t bother me.”

“So why were you waiting to see if I would get it?”

“Why were you waiting?”

“I can’t do this,” I say, and stoop to pick the paper towel up. “This is, like, the stupidest Beckett play ever, us living here like this. It’s just never going to stop being stupid and petty.”

“Because you’re making it stupid and petty,” Poppy says. “I’m having a great time except for when you’re doing stuff like this. And you’re having a great time when you’re not laying traps for me and making it all harder.”

I crumple the paper towel in my fist. “I’m not laying traps.”

“You’re trying to sabotage our experiences of this, you’re trying to make our experiences of this weird and uneven—”

“Experiences of what?” I ask. “What the fuck are we experiencing?”

“The experience of living together,” says Poppy, looking at the spot where the paper towel was, “of—of having this year together. None of it seems precious to you, it’s like you don’t want me to feel that we’re sharing anything. I keep trying to do things and say things and create things that’ll bring us together, but nothing works, it’s like—it’s like—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “You sound like you’re on crystal meth right now.”

“You do know,” Poppy says. “You do and you’re pretending you don’t. You don’t want us to share happiness and I don’t get why. Why can’t you admit that this is fun, that you have fun with me?”

“This isn’t fun,” I say. “This is fucking torture.”

“Because you’re sick in the head, Jules,” she says, “because you hate everything, because you’re ill and depressed and you have an eating disorder—”

“I don’t have an eating disorder—”

“You have patterns of disordered eating that are incredibly concerning to me, and I’ve thought about talking to Mommy about it, but I don’t want to blow up your shit.”

My throat seizes. “I don’t have an eating disorder, are you fucking insane? I’m on the high end of my BMI, even. I don’t care how I look, I never weigh myself, I love to eat, I just only want to eat the things I want to eat when I want to eat them.”

“Eating disorders are spectrum disorders,” Poppy says. “You can have an eating disorder without stepping on a scale every day.”

“Stop

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