"I'm not saying you need to knock it down in one day so you're out there in the open, vulnerable to pain and fear. I'm saying just take a step around it. Poke your head out and if it gets to be too much, go back to the comfort of the wall. Eventually, if you step out from around it enough, you're going to realize that you don't need it anymore."
I reach up with a shaky hand to ring the doorbell and then rub my sweaty palms against the front of my jeans. Zander had offered to pick me up but I declined. I needed the quiet drive here to try and eliminate some of my nerves. I've spent every waking moment, since he sent me a text with the address to his parent's house, arguing with myself on whether or not I should come. Even though I can hear voices inside, and the chimes of the bell have already signaled my presence, I'm still trying to figure out how quickly I can jump off of the porch, start my car, and race out of here before anyone sees me.
The door flies open moments later, and Zander stands there in front of me in a long sleeve thermal shirt, worn jeans, and bare feet. His smile is contagious, and I quickly forget about running away as he grabs my hand and pulls me into the house. The homey smell of multiple candles lit throughout the modern colonial hits me first and reminds me of my home growing up. We had an entire closet in the spare bedroom devoted to candles, and they were always all over the house. The warmth of Zander's hand as he pulls me closer to his side as we walk toward the loud voices and laughter makes me feel a little less tense about meeting his family.
As soon as we enter the large kitchen, I'm overwhelmed by greetings, hugs, and pats on the back from aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings. They welcome me like I'm an old friend, and I wonder what Zander has told them about me. A fluttering of nerves flows through my stomach when I realize that he's obviously mentioned me to all of these people by now because they already know my name and gush over the fact that I work in a bakery. He talked about me to the people he cares about; he told them about me, and by the sound of it, he only told them the good parts. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be so happy to meet me if they knew what a freak I've been around Zander since the day I met him and that I'm one step away from breaking down just by being in a room full of family that is so reminiscent of my own.
The way we used to be at least.
His mother is the last one to walk up to me, and she's the one I've been dreading the most to meet. Not because I think she'll judge me or instinctively know I'm not good for her son, although that thought has crossed my mind on more than one occasion this week, but because being around mothers is just hard for me. Seeing mothers and their children together fills me with such anger and jealousy that sometimes, no matter how hard I try, I can't keep those feelings at bay.
"Addison, it's so good to finally meet you. I'm Mary," she tells me warmly as she wraps her arms around me and engulfs me in a tight hug. I hold my breath as she cradles me to her, and I try not to think about how long it's been since someone did something as simple as hug me. "My son has done nothing but sing your praises. I've never seen him as happy as when he talks about you."
She pulls away and holds me at arm's length as she studies my face.
"Zander, you failed to mention how beautiful she is. I would kill to have her gorgeous eyes."
Zander laughs uncomfortably and playfully bumps his hip against his mother's. "Stop embarrassing me or I won't let you eat any cake."
I step back out of Mary's arms and shove my hands into the back pocket of my jeans as I watch their exchange while other family members flit about around the room, getting plates set at the table and joking easily with one another.
"My job in life is to embarrass you. Don't cross me or I'll bring out your baby albums," Mary tells him with a wag of her finger.
I bite down hard on my bottom lip to keep myself together. The way they talk and the way they interact reminds me so much of how my mom and I used to be, and it's unsettling.
Zander looks over at me, laughing at something else his mother says to him and immediately steps over to my side and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close.
"I think it's time to bring out my masterpiece so everyone can tell me what an awesome baker I am," he says loudly.
As his mother walks away from us and over to the fridge, Zander leans down close to my ear. "You okay?" he asks softly.
It's uncanny how well he knows me and can read me. It should make me nervous that someone I just met can see what I'm trying to hide, but it doesn't. With anyone else it probably would, but not with Zander. I plaster a smile on my face for his benefit and nod my head at him.
His arm slips from around my waist and he laces his fingers with mine, leading me over to the table where his mother has just set down a cake on a huge glass plate. At least, I think it's a cake. It sort of resembles a cake. It's covered in white frosting and has globs of pink frosting dotted all over it that I'm assuming are supposed to be flowers, but that's where the similarities end. The "cake" is leaning so far to one side that I honestly have no idea how it's even remaining upright. There are so many bumps and divots on the thing that I'm wondering if he just cut up a bunch of cupcakes and glued them together with frosting. I don't want to laugh, but it's really hard to hold it in. Everyone is standing around the table staring at this monstrosity with a straight face. His uncle bends down until his face is about two inches from it and cocks his head to the side like he's trying to figure out what it is.
"What the hell is that? It looks like something the cat yacked up!" Zander's eight-year-old brother, Luke, is the first to break the silence.
"Luke Andrew! Watch your mouth!" Mary scolds.
She tries to keep a straight face so her youngest son knows she means business, but it's no use. She immediately bursts out laughing, and when everyone else sees that it's okay, they all join in.
"Oh come on! It's not that bad!" Zander complains. This just makes everyone laugh even louder.
"I'm sorry we weren't able to make it to the decorating portion of our lesson the other night," I tell him with a giggle as his mom wipes tears of laughter from her eyes.
"Oh, honey, you are an amazing doctor, but a baker you are not!" Mary says with a laugh.
I glance quickly at Zander and see him wince a little at his mother's words.
"You're a doctor?" I ask him in shock. I immediately feel a little inadequate standing next to him. This is probably why I kept putting off asking him more about himself. I already knew he was a better person than me and this just proves it. Now I know why he always seems so together all the time. He's a freaking doctor. He's twenty-two years old and he's a doctor. Is that even possible? Is he a genius or something? He's probably been trying to diagnose me since we met. I can't help but feel a little betrayed by this knowledge even though it's my fault for never pursuing more information about him.
"No! I'm not a doctor," he quickly reassures me when he sees the obvious look of alarm on my face. "I'm an x-ray technician."
Mary scoffs and lightly shoves his shoulder. "Don't be so modest. It's much fancier than that. He's a specialist in rad-"
"Mom! Seriously, this is your birthday. For one day, you can hold off on bragging about me," Zander says with an uncomfortable laugh, effectively cutting her off. "Come on, everyone dig in. I swear it tastes better than it looks. I had a really good teacher."
He leans down and kisses the top of my head, and I close my eyes, savoring his closeness and pushing away the negative feeling of knowing yet another fact has been added to the growing list of things about Zander that make him more put together than I'll ever be.
Without hesitation, everyone grabs a plate while his mother slices up pieces of the leaning tower of cake. Some people sit at the table and others stand, but everyone eats the cake and agrees that it definitely tastes much better than it looks. The conversation flows easily, and I find myself being pulled into the happiness of their family and surprisingly have no problem talking and laughing with each of them. The ache in my heart at how many birthdays and holidays I spen
t exactly like this one isn't completely far from my thoughts, though. In the back of my mind is sadness and regret that my family fell apart so easily. The glue that held us all together is missing, and now we barely speak to one another, let alone gather in each other's houses like this to celebrate together.
"Oh, Zander, I forgot to ask you, did you hear about Tina Reddy's mom? They just found out she has Leukemia," Mary says sympathetically.
The bite of cake in my mouth goes down roughly, and I set my plate on the counter next to where I'm standing.
"You went to high school with Tina, didn't you?" his dad asks. "We just saw her parents a few months ago when we were out to dinner. Sad news."
Zander clears his throat uncomfortably and shifts his feet next to me.
"I guess it was a total shock. She's been feeling under the weather for a while and they ran some blood work. I feel so bad for that family. She's such a nice woman and now this. I should give them your cell number in case they have any—"
"Hey, we forgot to sing happy birthday," Zander says quickly.
The conversation about Tina Reddy's mom is forgotten as everyone gathers around Mary to sing, but the damage has already been done. I'm standing here in Zander's parent's kitchen thinking about that day a few years ago when we received similar news.
Mom had the flu for a little over a week now and when she called her doctor, he told her she might as well come in for some tests. "Better to be safe than sorry," he said. When I got out of school and finished with cheerleading practice, I sent her a text to see what was going on, and she said she was still at the hospital waiting for the doctor to come and talk to her. My dad ran to the bakery to close out the register for the end of the day, so she was sitting there alone, bored out of her mind.
When I got to the hospital, I went straight to the room number she sent me in the text and was surprised to see her in a hospital gown in bed.
"What are you doing getting all comfy and lazy? Shouldn't you be getting out of here soon?" I joked as I walked up to her bedside and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"I have Leukemia." She blurted it out in a shocked voice, her face void of emotion.
"What?" I whispered as I pulled back so I could see her face.
Maybe I didn't hear her correctly or she misunderstood what the doctor said.
"The doctor just left. I'm going to be transported to Metro Hospital as soon as they can get an ambulance here."
She said it so calmly, like she was talking about the weather, not a life-threatening illness. While I was driving over there, blasting Top Forty radio and worrying about a stupid Spanish test I had the next day, my mother was getting these test results and she was all alone.
I wanted to curl up in bed with her and cry. Cancer was serious business. A lot of people received treatment and went on to lead healthy lives, but it was still scary. My mother was a rock and rarely got sick, aside from the occasional cold. This was big and it was bad, especially if they wanted to transport her to the largest hospital in the state that quickly. I couldn't get upset now, though. She needed me to be strong. She needed to know that I trusted the doctors to get her through this and that we would look back on this one day as just a bad moment in time, something easily forgotten.
"Okay, good. You'll go to Metro, start getting treatment, and then you'll be fine. Plus, you'll get to ride in an ambulance, hopefully with some really hot EMT's," I told her with a smile, pushing the worry I had for her as deep as it would go.
"They better be good-looking. The oncologist that was just in here is fugly," she told me with a laugh, reaching for my hand and squeezing it tight.
I clutched onto her and put on the bravest smile I could muster.
"I love you, Sweets," she told me softly.
"I love you too. Everything will be fine. You'll see."
The sound of singing comes to a close, and I force myself to join in on the last few bars of Happy Birthday.
"Oh my gosh, did you hear about Josh Mendleson?" Zander's uncle asks around a mouthful of cake.
"The town drunk? Has anyone not heard about what he did?" Mary says with a roll of her eyes.
"Wait, I must have missed this, what happened?" one of the cousins pipes in.
"That idiot should just live in rehab. Why they even let him out anymore is beyond me," Mary states bitterly. "He just got his fifth D.U.I. and threw a punch at the sheriff who pulled him over."
Groans echo around the table as I listen to them complain about a man who is the father of Loren Mendleson, someone I went to high school with. I only met the man once when I was in tenth grade and dropped Loren off after school. I don't know much about him, but he sounds like he could be my father's twin. I have to force myself to not show any reaction to the words they're saying.
"What a waste of space that guy is. How can someone turn into such a loser like that? Can you imagine being in his family? They are probably completely mortified. I don't know how they can even show their faces around town. They should just move. There's obviously no hope for him. He's going to keep screwing up, and his family is going to pay the price," Zander's dad says with disgust.
I wasn't that close with Loren in school, but I know what she's probably feeling, and it isn't mortification. She doesn't care that the whole town is talking about her father over cake. She cares that her life is most likely spiraling out of control and she has no way of stopping it because of her father's actions. She looks at the person who raised her and loved her and wonders why he would do something like that and hurt everyone in his life. She wonders why he didn't love her enough to stay sober. I suddenly want to knock on Loren's door and tell her I understand, but most of all, I want to get out of this room and away from the talk of town drunks. It hurts to hear people I just met and genuinely liked judging someone they know nothing about. It breaks my heart to think that if they knew half the things my father has said and done, they'd look at me differently and judge me.
It was bad enough having to think about the day my mother was diagnosed with Leukemia, but this is too much. I suddenly feel claustrophobic being in this room, like the walls are closing in on me and I'm running out of air. I turn and walk quickly from the room, ignoring Zander's voice as he calls to me. When I'm out of view of the kitchen, I take off running through the house until I reach the front door, throwing it open and charging out into the warm sunshine. I run down the steps of the front porch and out into the middle of the yard, stopping when I get far enough away from the house that I can breathe. Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I hold myself together as I turn my face up to the sun and close my eyes, letting the bright rays warm my face and heat up the coldness that washed through me while standing in Zander's parent's kitchen.
I had stuck my head out beyond the wall, just like Dr. Thompson suggested, and now I just want to run back behind it. I want to crawl back to the other side where I know no one can hurt me with their words and actions; where I can listen to people complain about drunks and not let it affect me; where I can hang out with a happy family and not hate what's become of my life because I don't have that anymore.
Dr. Thompson lied. As soon as I left the comfort of my wall, the bricks I carefully put in place began crumbling. As soon as I took one step forward and let Zander in, there was nothing left of my protection but a pile of dust and debris.
"I know we've touched on this before, but in light of everything that's been going on lately, do you feel like the new individuals in your life are people you can talk to when you're feeling particularly down or confused about a situation? Do you now feel like you have someone in your life that will listen and support you?" Dr. Thompson asks me.
A sharp pain shoots through my chest, and I rub at the ache with the heel of my hand when I think about how easy it would have been to answer these questions a year ago. I wouldn't have had to even contemplate trusting new people because the old ones were all I ever needed.
"Addison? Do you feel like you have a solid support group surroun
ding you now?" Dr. Thompson asks me again, bringing my focus back to her. I move my gaze away from the Snowbabies figurine she's using as a paperweight on her desk and look at her.
"I don't know anything about them, so I don't know if I trust them or not. I feel close to Meg because we've been through similar issues, and something about Zander makes me feel comfortable and like I could trust him, but I just don't know. I don't know if I want to trust him. I don't know if I can trust him…I just don't know anything," I complain.
"I know you've had a rough year, especially with those that you were closest to. Why don't you tell me a little bit about how you feel those people let you down," she asks, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap.
"I had a lot of close friends and one girl I called my best friend. I haven't heard from them since the funeral, though. The week she died they called every single day to check on me," I told her, picking at my cuticles. "My aunt told me at the funeral that even though she could never take the place of my mother, she would still call and check up on me every single day and tell me that she loved me. She called twice. I haven't spoken to her in months."
I grit my teeth in an effort to keep the tears from falling. It's easier to deal with resentment than sadness.
"I can hear the irritation in your voice. Does it make you angry that your friends and your aunt haven't called? Haven't checked in to see how you are?" she asks as she makes notes on the legal pad in her lap.
I shrug without looking up at her. "I guess. I mean that's how it goes though, isn't it? The same thing happened with all the other family members. Once the main event was over, they went back to work, back to school, back to doing whatever it was they were busy with before it happened, and they just moved on. It doesn't occur to them that there are people who aren't able to do that."
Dr. Thompson puts her pencil down and we make eye contact. "And you're one of those people."