“Creative. Fun. Caring. Loyal.” I paused, almost not daring to say the next work. “Pretty, especially when I wear red lipstick.”

“And do you believe them when they say you look pretty?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I mean, I think they think I do.”

“Where’s that sketchbook you carry around with you?” She clicked her fingers.

“In my bag.”

“I want you to take it out and write something down for me.”

I reached into my bag unenthusiastically and pulled out my book. I walked over to the garden table and sat down. “What?”

“My goals,” she said, and I scribbled the words down.“Number one, to be your best friend.”

I wrote and then stopped. “I don’t know what you mean?”

“If I was your best friend and someone had just called me fat and ugly”—I cringed as she said those words—“what would you do?”

“Tell them to back off. Tell them to shut the hell up.”

“Exactly.” She nodded at me. “Now you need to do that for yourself.”

I finally understood what she was saying; I needed to shut those intrusive voices in my head down.

She walked over to the table and sat down. “So, this party tonight?”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head.

“I think you should go. In fact, I insist you go. In fact . . .” She pulled my sketch pad away from me and scribbled across the page in bold lettering and then pushed it back.

“‘Go to the party. Wear red lipstick! Doctor’s orders!!!!!’” I read out loud and chuckled. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

I looked down at my watch. It was almost time for the end of the session. “Okay. I’ll go,” I conceded.

“Good. Then I’ll see you on Tuesday again.”

“Tuesday.” I began walking away but she quickly ran up to me again.

“Here. Take these.” I held my hands open as she dropped something into my palms: succulent leaves.

“Lay them on some soil. Give them a little bit of water in a spray bottle, not that much, and watch them grow.” She closed my hand around the leaves. “We start small. A fine mist of water, a few good words to ourself, and we keep it up every day. And one day, we won’t believe what we’ve grown into.”

“What if I kill them?”

“You won’t. They’re very resilient. More resilient than they know!”

I chuckled. “You love your plant analogies, don’t you?”

Her face lit up. “Party! Wear lipstick! Look fabulous. You’re okay. You’re doing well. More than well.”

“I’m okay. I’m doing well.” I repeated the words, and for some reason, almost believed it when she said it. No one had said that to me in a while, forever maybe.

17