Between Starbucks and Malibu Yogurt

Eight of us sit in Sunset Plaza, sipping our lackluster decaf Americanos a little too slowly, savoring our last few moments outside The Center. The non-caffeinated version doesn’t taste the same as the real stuff, but caffeine is barred in treatment. Too many of us abused it as an appetite suppressant.

I catch Maritza eyeing the frozen yogurt shop longingly—another anorexic food group. In treatment, it’s either real ice cream or gelato, no low-fat, low-calorie substitutions. If you’re not getting your period, it’s full-fat ice cream for you. She sucks down the rest of her iced coffee. Black with two Splenda. No milk, never milk.

A man so tan I can make out white lines around his wrists where woven bracelets must have once been walks his golden retriever around the parking lot. The man is beautiful, and so is the dog. The dog’s coat looks show-ready, spun gold. I forget myself, where I am, and who I’m with, so I admire them, wondering what kind of life these two live and what kind of home they’ll return to.

Then, I hear Maritza whisper, Dog. Dog. Where’s Chloe? The word “dog” spreads around our circle, a panicked, high-stakes game of telephone. Get the message to the CNA before Chloe sees the dog. If we can warn the CNA, she can remove Chloe from the vicinity, we can avoid Chloe’s biggest trigger. We’re too late, though. Chloe sees the dog and thinks of her father’s hands. She puts her head between her knees and starts rocking back and forth, moaning long and low.

Two girls, late teens, walk out of Malibu Yogurt. They use their tongues to pick gummy worms, pieces of Oreo, and Heath Bar off the top of their curated dessert peaks. The girls see Chloe rocking back and forth, back and forth, and avert their eyes. I stare at them. I will them to look at me, I will them to look back at Chloe, I will them to walk away.

They quicken their pace when they reach the parking lot, giggling behind their palms. Once in the car, the driver rolls down all the windows, and the passenger takes her hair down. I watch them peel onto the 101 heading south. The passenger lets her hand dangle out the window, and I keep my eyes on their car until I can’t anymore, and I have no choice but to turn back.

Miranda Morgan

Miranda Morgan is a writer who proudly hails from Santa Fe, New Mexico. She has worked as a writer and producer for various docuseries and unscripted TV projects. Her TV credits include series that have appeared (or will appear) on networks such as History Channel, Animal Planet, Discovery, INSP, PBS, Fox, and others. In 2019, Miranda was awarded a Fulbright Grant to Bergen, Norway, where she taught academic writing workshops and the very first creative writing class at the University of Bergen. She earned her MFA in Creative Nonfiction from the University of Montana and is at work on her first novel. She is a Visiting Professor of English at Pacific Lutheran University.