Watch Over Me (14 page)

The memory fades and I quickly blink back tears, refusing to let them fall. Lifting
my hand to my mouth, I pause right before popping the pill and look at myself in the
mirror again. Who am I and what am I doing? What am I doing with my life and where
am I going? Is this pill really the answer? Is shutting everything off really the
solution to all of my problems? I don't want to feel everything, but I also don't
want to feel nothing. I don't want to be a basket case, but I also don't want to be
emotionless.

I take a deep breath and tip my hand over until the pill falls into the sink. Grabbing
the bottle, I dump the rest of them until little blue pills are scattered all over
the sink bowl. With a shaking hand, I reach over and turn on the faucet letting the
cold water wash them all down the drain. When the last one disappears, I turn off
the water, look back up at my reflection, and take a deep breath. I walk out of the
bathroom and go over to my computer desk, powering up my laptop and logging onto Facebook.
Going to her page, I stare at her profile picture. I click on
Account Settings
and then
Privacy
. My mouse hovers over
Deactivate Account
.

I should have deleted her page a long time ago. Every time I receive a notification
for her birthday or see when other family members have posted messages about missing
her I want to throw my computer across the room. Half of those people never even came
to visit her when she was sick or called to see how she was, and now that she's gone,
they suddenly miss her. They had all the time in the world to spend with her, but
they were too busy with their own lives.

I know it's not healthy behavior to keep her account active, but I can't do it. I
move the mouse away from the deactivation link and open a new message to her instead.
Shutting down this account feels like saying good-bye to her all over again, and I'm
not ready to do that. Maybe someday, but not now.

Dear Mom:

I wish I could talk to you again, just one more time.

I love you. I need you. I miss you.

Love,

Addison

"
I think you're making good progress, Addison. But you need to open yourself up to
new experiences. You can't keep letting fear of the unknown stop you from living your
life," Dr. Thompson explains.

"How am I supposed to do that? It's not that easy to just open myself up again when
circumstances beyond my control have forced me to be closed off for so long," I complain.

"I know, but the good thing is you can recognize what you've been doing to yourself.
You can easily admit that you've shut down your feelings and your emotions with other
people for fear of getting hurt. It's a big step that you're able to do that, Addison,
believe me."

I roll my eyes and laugh.

"The first step is admitting it? Are you really using the twelve steps on me right
now?" I ask sarcastically.

"Why not? They don't just work for people with addiction problems. They can work for
anyone who is struggling with something in their life. You've been struggling with
depression, anger, sadness, trust…all of those things take time to get over, and all
of those things require you to take certain steps toward overcoming those hurdles."

Dr. Thompson reaches over into the drawer of the table next to her and pulls out a
sheet of paper and hands it to me.

"I'm sure you've gotten a copy of the twelve steps before at the support groups you've
been to, but I want you to look at them again with fresh eyes. Think about how they
can help
you
, instead of your father. You don't have to follow them word for word. The beauty
of the twelve steps to recovery is that you can alter them to fit your needs. Step
one:
We admit we are powerless over our addiction—that our lives have become unmanageable.
You felt powerless over the loss of your mother and what it did to your family, so
you closed yourself off and your life became unmanageable."

I stare at the list, doing what she said and look at it with new eyes, reading the
steps and trying to apply them to myself.

"Admitting how powerless you feel about your life is a big step towards healing, Addison.
You can recognize the problems that forced you to become the person you are now, and
you can begin moving forward. It's all about taking chances and living outside your
comfort zone. You've become comfortable with the person you've become, but that doesn't
mean it's the best thing for you or what's going to make you happy again. Step outside
the wall you've built to protect yourself," she tells me as she reaches over to her
side table and grabs her cup of hazelnut Panera coffee. I'm listening to everything
she says, but all I can focus on is that stupid cup of coffee and I wonder if she
drinks it week after week just to mess with me.

"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.