by Tara Sivec
"If you didn't have to work there, what would you be doing?" Zander asks.
I don't even have to think about my answer. I tell him the first thing that always comes to mind whenever anyone used to ask me this question.
"I'd be in college studying English and writing a book in my spare time."
I can feel his eyes on me, and I glance over at him to see a huge smile on his face.
"A writer, huh? That's pretty cool. Have you written anything before?" he asks.
"I've written a ton of things over the years. Poems, short stories, a couple of plays… It's probably all complete crap which is why I should go to school for it. I don't know. There's just something about sitting down and creating a story from scratch. Imagining another time, another place, and putting yourself there. Making the characters do and say exactly what you want them to and having the story unfold exactly how you planned. Nothing else exists but that story. You can shut out the world around you and just live in this make-believe place. People don't have to die or drink too much. You can turn the story into anything you want. I'll take a story over real life any day."
I realize I've been rambling and quickly force myself to stop. When I think about my writing, I always get worked up and I can talk about it for days.
"Will you let me read something you've written?" Zander asks.
"You wouldn't want to read anything I've written, believe me," I tell him with a laugh, thinking about all of the notebooks filled with sappy love poems and romance stories stashed in my closet.
"I beg to differ. I would love to read anything you wrote because it came from you. It came from your heart and your soul and it would be amazing," he tells me, bringing his swing to a stop and angling towards me.
Reaching his arms out, he wraps his hands around the chains of my swing and pulls me over to him until my legs are in between his own.
"If you could only write one story, one story that everyone would read, what would you want it to be about?" he asks as he stares into my eyes.
"My life," I whisper. "Does that sound narcissistic? Writing a book about myself?"
He shakes his head at me and smiles. "Nope, not at all. It's life. It's the bumps and the bruises, the pain and the fear; it's messy and it's real and it's not some perfect little story that can be tied up in a bow. It's exactly what you should write about. And I damn well better be the first one who gets to read it."
I laugh at him and do something I've wanted to do since we first got here. I lean forward and press my lips to his. Sliding one hand around the back of his neck, I run my fingers through his hair and hold his head against mine. While he grips tightly to the chains of my swing to hold me in place, I take my time kissing him and touching his face.
"Eeeeew, you guys are gross. You know you can get cooties that way, right?" Luke complains from right behind us.
We break apart slowly and laugh at his disgust.
Zander lets go of the chains and I swing away from him.
"Why aren't you busy playing?" Zander asks Luke.
"I'm bored. I don't have anyone to play with."
Jumping off of my swing, I grab Zander's hand and pull him up, walking us over to where Luke stands.
"I have an awesome idea. Something we can all do together," I tell him.
"Are you going to teach me how to flip?" he asks excitedly.
"Not yet," I tell him. "That's something you need to work up to."
Grabbing Zander by his arms, I position him so he's standing right next to Luke, and then I move right in front of them so we're facing each other.
"Okay, boys, hands on your hips," I instruct.
They do as I say and I try not to laugh at how serious and cute they both look. Luke is like a miniature version of Zander with dark hair and light eyes.
"Repeat after me. Go, fight, win."
They both say the words together, and when Luke messes up and starts to say them a second time, Zander shoves him in the shoulder, and Luke punches him back in the arm.
"Wow, that really sucked. I couldn't hear you at all," I teasingly admonish them.
They don't hesitate to scream the words as loud as they possibly can, and Luke starts coughing because of how high-pitched his voice goes.
"You both need some work, but we're moving on. Bring both of your arms up above your head in the shape of a V, like this..." I show them, making fists with my hands and raising my arms above my head.
Luke copies my movements immediately, but Zander stands there staring at me.
"Wait, are you teaching us how to cheer?" he asks in shock. "We're dudes. We don't cheer."
Lowering my arms, I saunter over to him until I'm right up against his chest, going up on my tiptoes and sliding my breasts against him as I move. I place one palm on his chest and lean to the side, placing my lips right against his ear.
"Pretty please, Zander? It would make me really happy," I whisper, letting my lips gently graze his ear.
I pull back away from him, and he clears his throat and swallows thickly.
"Whatever the lady wants, the lady gets," he says in a daze as I smile at him and skip back to my spot in front of them.
I spend the rest of the afternoon teaching them cheers and showing Zander a little bit of who I used to be. I feel carefree, flirty, and happy. I've missed this part of myself so much. I've missed being able to let go and just live.
"Thanks for taking Luke to the park with me," Zander tells me as he holds my hand and we make our way to his car after giving into Luke and stopping off for ice cream on the way home.
"Thanks for inviting me. I had a good time."
As Luke clamors into the backseat and busies himself with his seatbelt, Zander pulls me against him and leans my back against the passenger door.
He stares at me without saying anything for so long that I finally can't take it and break the silence.
"What?'
He slowly smiles at me before resting his forehead against my own. "I'm just glad you're here," he tells me quietly.
"Me too," I whisper back.
And for the first time, I truly mean it. If I went through with my plans a year ago, I would have missed out on all of these moments with him. They are becoming important and special to me, and so is he.
I can almost feel some of the weight lifting off of my shoulders. I can practically see some of my worries floating away, and it feels right. It feels like it's time to finally let go of some of the pressure I've put on myself.
"You can't control everything, Addison," Dr. Thompson tells me. "Sometimes things just happen and you aren't responsible for them. I know it's hard when you want answers and you don't get them."
No matter how many times she's told me this, it's still difficult for me to understand. I want to know why my mother had to go so suddenly. I want to know why my dad couldn't be strong. I want to know why it's so hard for me to move forward.
"You just need to remember that none of this is your fault. Your father is an adult and makes his own choices. He didn't become an alcoholic because he didn't love you enough; he did it because he didn't love himself enough. That's the hardest thing for families of addicts to understand. It's not because of anything you did or didn't do. You've had a lot of responsibilities piled on your young shoulders, and it sounds like your father is trying to make up for that. He's trying to be a better person and prove that to you. Open yourself up to the possibility that maybe he's finally ready to be the person you need. You can't make him want to be sober. You can't control the decisions he makes. All you can do is live your own life and do what you can to make yourself happy again."
As the time winds down on our weekly session, I wonder once again if it's that simple. In my mind I know I can't control the actions of others, but it's still hard not to feel responsible sometimes.
"I know your faith used to be very important to you and that you've lost a little bit of it along the way. Maybe it's time to start utilizing that cheesy slogan you hate so much. 'Let go
and let God.' I know we're doing these a little out of order, but sometimes that's how it works. Step two: Come to believe that a power greater than ourselves can restore us to sanity. Hand over the reins, Addison. Let Him worry about the future and all the what-ifs. Just let go."
My dad has been back home for a few weeks now and surprisingly has spent every single day at the bakery. Unless he has a meeting or an appointment with his doctor, every time I come in, he grabs me by the shoulders, turns me around, and sends me right back out the door. The good news is I've had more time to spend with Zander. The bad news is I spend the majority of that time worrying about things at the store and wondering if everything is okay.
"Maybe I should call one more time before we leave," I tell Zander as I pace behind him while he loads a picnic basket and blanket into the trunk of his car. I don't worry too much when I'm just going to be out of cell phone range for a few hours, but today we're going up into the mountains to hike and have a picnic. That's an entire day of being away where he won't be able to call me if something goes wrong.
"We have a huge cupcake order for the Marshall wedding that's being picked up today, and I need to make sure—"
"Sugar, I'm sure everything is fine. You're dad knows what he's doing," Zander interrupts reassuringly as he closes the trunk.
I let out a huge sigh as he turns around to face me. He brings his hands around my waist, clasping his hands together against my lower back, and pulls me up against his chest. My hands slide up the front of his shirt until my right hand rests flat against his heart, and I can feel it beating, steady and sure, under my palm.
"I know it's hard to let go and put your faith in him, but he's been doing good so far, right?"
I nod my head in resignation and run my hands the rest of the way up the front of him and settle my arms on top of his shoulders. We've spent a lot of time together lately. We've done everything from dinner, movies, going for coffee, and building more Lego houses to just sitting on his front porch together watching the sun set. After he drops me off at my apartment each night, we spend hours texting each other back and forth, just talking about our lives. I know he always wanted to work in a hospital helping people because his grandfather had severe diabetes and his family spent a lot of time visiting him when Zander was younger. He loved how even when someone was gravely ill, the sight of a favorite nurse, doctor, or another hospital worker could brighten them up and put a smile on their face. I know he takes being a big brother very seriously. Even though he no longer lives at home, he spends a lot of time with his brothers, together and individually, giving them advice and making sure they stay on the right track.
I know so much about him, and I feel comfortable with him, but there's something in the back of my mind warning me that maybe we're moving too fast. Maybe we're too comfortable with each other too soon. There are still two very important parts of myself that I haven't shared with him yet: my mother and that day at the cemetery. I know I need to tell him. I know I need to lay it all on the line so he knows what he's gotten himself in to, but I just can't do it yet. I know that's the moment when I'll finally see the understanding in his eyes replaced by pity and maybe even disgust. I'm not ready for that yet. I'm not ready for him to look at me any differently. His support and friendship mean too much to me right now to taint them with any more of my problems and history. I'll tell him; I have to tell him. Just not right now.
"Let's just go have a nice picnic in the mountains, and then if you're good, I'll let you go to the shop and check on your dad," Zander says with a wink and a smile.
He tightens his hold on me and my breath catches in my throat. It's the same thing every time I'm this close to him. The feel of his body pressed up against mine sends a rush of excitement and tingles through my belly that make me want to forget all about our plans and just spend the day alone with him in bed. We haven't done much more than kiss and some light exploration with our hands, but each time it makes me feel alive and wanted, and I know he's the one I want to give everything to. He's the only one who has ever made me feel this way, and I know it won't be long before I give over another piece of myself to him that I've never given to another man. Every time we're alone he makes sure to tell me that he doesn't want to pressure me into anything and that it's up to me how far we go. I know it's insane to want to give him something this significant and special when I haven't even given him the most important part: the truth. I know taking this step with him is a way to make myself feel alive again and that shouldn't be the reason I want to move forward with him, but I can't help it. More than anything, I just want to feel something other than dead inside. And I will give him the truth. Maybe once I take this next step with him, it will give me the strength and courage I need to finally come clean.
As his lips brush against mine and I run my fingers through his hair and deepen the kiss, I know that my mind is already made up about just how far we'll go and how soon it will happen.
The ringing of my cell phone in my back pocket forces us apart, and I chuckle at Zander as he takes a few steps away and adjusts himself in his jeans, taking a few deep, calming breaths. I can't help but feel giddy knowing that I have that effect on him.
The smile on my face as I watch Zander quickly dies when I hear the panic in my dad's voice.
"Addison, have you talked to Meg today? She hasn't shown up for work and she's not answering her phone," he tells me in a frazzled voice. I can hear the clanging of pots and pans in the background and the hum of customers giving their orders.
"No, I haven't spoken to her in a few days," I tell him. A wave of guilt washes through me when I realize I haven't even seen her in a week since my dad continues to banish me from the bakery.
"Do you need me to come up there?" I ask him as Zander comes over to stand next to me and gives me a questioning look.
"Meg didn't show up for work and my dad hasn't heard from her," I whisper to him as my dad curses loudly into the phone after I hear a crash of something falling to the floor.
"No, I've got it under control. I don't want to ruin your day," he reassures me.
"Why don't we drive over to her place and check on her?" Zander asks.
I nod at him and mouth a silent "thank you" and let my dad know what we're doing and that I'll get back to him before ending the call.
"I'm sorry. I'm ruining our picnic lunch."
Zander takes my hand and leads me over to the passenger side of his car and opens the door for me.
"Nonsense. Nothing is ruined. We'll go check on her and then continue on with our amazingly romantic lunch in the park where I can rest my head on your lap and you can feed me grapes and tell me how awesome I am," he tells me with a wink.
I get into the car with a roll of my eyes and a laugh as he closes my door. I hope that I can have a million more days exactly like this.
"Meg, come on, open up," I yell through the door.
We've been standing outside of her apartment pounding on the door for five minutes, and she has yet to answer.
"I know you're in there. I saw your car out front."
Zander casually leans his shoulder against the wall next to the door and crosses his arms over his chest. "Want me to check with the super and see if he can let us in?"
I sigh in frustration and continue staring at the door, willing it to open.
"I don't know. She's probably just in there sleeping with her ear buds in and her iPod cranked as loud as it will go. She'll kick my ass if we just walk in on her."
I pull up her number again on my phone, and just as I get ready to hit send and call her for the fifth time, we hear a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass from inside. Zander quickly pushes off the wall and moves next to me.
"Stand back, Sugar," he tells me, and I get behind him.
With a powerful thrust of his leg, he kicks in the door and it flies open, banging against the inside wall of her apartment. Rushing around him, I race inside shouting Meg's name as I go.
"MEG! WHERE ARE YO
U? MEG!"
Zander is close on my heels and bumps into the back of me when I come to a dead stop in her bedroom doorway.
"Meg? Oh Jesus, what the hell?"
I can't force my feet to move even though I need to.
No, no, no. Please, God, no. She wouldn't do this again. She wouldn't.
I need to go to her and check on her, but I can't. My friend is crumpled in a ball on the floor of her room, surrounded by broken glass, and there's blood covering her arms in several different places, and I can't make myself go to her.
Zander pushes past me and races to her side, crouching down next to her, not even caring that he's stepping and kneeling in glass and blood.
"Hey there, sunshine, wake up. Come on, look at me, wake up," Zander tells her softly as he puts both of his hands on either side of her face and turns her head towards him.
I don't even realize I'm holding my breath until her eyes slowly blink open and she smiles up at him.
"Hey there, hot stuff," she slurs weakly.
Something's not right. Aside from the obvious, she's lying in a pile of broken lamps, picture frames, and God knows what else, her voice is off. I glance quickly around the room and my gaze zeroes in on several empty prescription bottles on top of her bed.
"Addison, call 9-1-1," Zander tells me quietly as he gently moves Meg's hair out of her eyes with his fingers.
I hear him, but I can't do anything other than stare at the bottles of pills. I count three bottles, and I don't see any stray pills anywhere. Did she take them all? What did she take? Why would she do this? I know she's done this before. Jesus! We met in the psych ward of the hospital with matching wrist bandages to cover our matching vertical scars, but she's fine now. We're both fine now. We're both living our lives and know that single weak moment in time was a one-shot-deal. We aren't going to do it again because we don't really want to die.
