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.
Chapter Ten
"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 surrounding 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."
It's a statement, not a question. She knows why I'm here and what I did to stop the pain so there's no reason to be obtuse.
"It's very hard when you don't have people to rely on. People you can call when you're feeling sad or lonely."
Her words make my eyes sting, and a lump forms in my throat that is impossible to swallow. Most people probably wouldn't understand the bond my mother and I shared. Daughters typically hate their mothers through most of their teenage years and sometimes into early adulthood, but I never did. Maybe it was because I was her only child, or maybe it was because it was so difficult for her to get pregnant with me. Whatever the reason, we had a relationship that many envied. Our bond was forged through years of it just being the two of us. My father had always worked the night shift. By the time I woke up in the morning, he was already asleep after working twelve hours. My mother and I did everything together. She took me everywhere, did everything with me, and there wasn't anything we couldn't talk about.
Everyone has at least one individual in their life that they know will always be there for them no matter what. They will be your rock, your shoulder to cry on, someone to laugh with and confide in, and someone who will call you on your bullshit and tell it to you straight. My mother was absolutely that person for me. And my person is gone and never coming back.
"I want you to do me a favor before next week, Addison. I want you to confide in someone. Whether it's Meg or Zander, it doesn't matter. I want you to reach out to one of them and tell them what you're feeling. Talk to them. Give them a chance to earn your trust and support you. This can correspond with Step Five: Admit to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. And remember, we're tailoring this to meet your needs. So, admit to another person the exact nature of what you're struggling with."
After standing in the middle of the front yard for several minutes, I move over to the shade of a huge oak tree. I sit down at the base of it, crossing my legs in front of me, and begin picking individual blades of grass and tearing them down the middle. I have a nice pile going in my lap when a shadow falls over me. I don't pause in my methodical hand mowing of the grass as he sits down next to me and leans his back against the trunk of the tree.
"Soooooo, what's new?" Zander asks in a singsong voice, breaking the silence after a few minutes.
I can't help but laugh at the casual way he asks that question. I just ran out of his parent's home in a snit without saying a word to anyone. If they didn't know it before, they sure as hell know now that I'm a freak with issues.
"Oh, nothing much. Just tending to your parents' lawn. It's gotten a little overgrown," I reply as I finally look up and meet his eyes.
The thing I like most about Zander is that I never see any judgment in them—just understanding and kindness.
"I've been meaning to talk to them about that. Lawn mowers are so last year. What they really need is someone to hand pick their yard."
I stare at him quietly for several long minutes. He reaches over and gently brushes my bangs out of my eyes, his fingers trailing down the side of my cheek before cupping my chin and holding it in place. He places a soft kiss on the tip of my nose, and I blink back tears when he pulls away and lets his hand drop to mine, stopping my manic grass pulling. He tugs my hand over to his own lap and flips it over so my palm is up.
"I'm twenty-two years old and I make a living taking pictures of people's insides," he begins speaking as he lightly traces the lines on my palm with his fingertips. "I have an eight-year-old brother who has no filter and a fifteen-year-old brother who has no morals. I'm obviously the best big brother in the world, and they both look up to me immensely."
I chuckle a little as he verbally pats himself on the back and continues on.
"I've lived a pretty good life, and sometimes that makes people think everything has been easy for me. I'm not saying I have a dark, hidden past or anything, but my life hasn't always been roses," he explains with a shrug. "I struggle every day to be honest and to not hurt the people I care about. It's a fine line between doing what's right and doing what you think is best. My mother likes to call me a know-it-all, and sometimes it gets me in trouble. My dad cheated on my mom a few years ago, and it's been a bumpy road. They worked everything out and things between them are better than they've ever been, but I'm still struggling with hating him for what he did. It's exhausting to hate and love someone equally."
My heart stutters as he laces his fingers through mine and pulls my hand up to his mouth, placing a kiss on the top of it.
"I know we haven't known each other long, but I hope you realize by now that I'm not a stalker," he says with an easy smile. "I like you. I care about you. And I want you to trust me."
How can I not trust him? He opened up his whole world to me by letting me meet his family and telling me personal things about himself. He did all of this without me asking. It's like he instinctively knew I needed something from him so I could feel comfortable enough to do the same.
"My father and I have had a rough time of it lately. He fell apart one day, and he's been in and out of rehab so many times I've lost count," I ramble. I speak so fast that all of my words run together, and I don't really know if anything I'm saying makes sense, but Zander sits there quietly and listens—just listens. I realize suddenly that it's something I've needed for a long time, someone to just listen. It's different with a therapist. They're paid to listen to you. When it's someone who is in your life for the sole reason of just wanting to be near you, it means so much more.
"You sort of met my father the other night. He got out of rehab early, and it scares me to death. I don't want to go through this again with him. I've gotten so used to picking up his pieces, and I'm just exhausted. I don't want to do it anymore. I don't know how to do it anymore when I feel like I can't even pick up my own pieces."
I finally stop talking and take a deep breath, looking away from Zander and over at his house where one big happy family is gathered. I hope he knows just how lucky he really is.
"Wait here for just one second, okay?" he asks, getting up off of the grass quickly. "I have something I want to show you."
I nod my head in reply, and he's about to leave but stops suddenly. He turns back around, squats down, and kisses me. His lips press gently against mine, and then they're gone all too quickly. When he kisses me, I forget about my problems and the world around me disappears. I want to feel his lips on me again so I can close my eyes and just forget.
"Two seconds," he tells me again with a smile before jumping up and racing into the house.
He's back before I can even wonder what he's doing and whether or not I freaked him out by blurting that information about my dad to him. He walks across the yard carrying a small, blue plastic case with a Lego sticker on the side of it.
Flopping down on the grass next to me, he takes the lid off of the box, tips it over, and dumps Lego pieces all over the ground. He starts rummaging through the pile, collecting a few pieces and snapping them together.
"Um, what are we doing?" I ask in confusion as he hands me the small tower of yellow, red, and blue Legos that he quickly put together.
"Luke let me borrow these. We're building a Lego house," he tells me nonchalantly, like it's the most natural thing in the world for two young adults to be doing out in the front yard after they both just spilled their guts to each other.
"A house? We don't have directions. How are we going to build a house?" I ask as I look in the box for one of those Lego booklets with step-by-step instructions and don't find one. Figuring Zander thinks building Legos in the front yard is normal, I decide I might as well just go with it.
"One of the best things about Legos is that you don't need instructions. Sometimes, they don't even come with instructions, and you just have to work your way through the mess to figure out how everything should work."
I flip the tower of Legos around and around in my hand as Zander digs through the pile on the grass and quickly snaps together a square of Legos that resemble the walls of a house. He reaches for a large blue one and tries to make it fit in a corner, but it doesn't work.
"And if something doesn't fit, if one of your pieces just isn't working, you can put it aside and find another one. There are so many pieces to work with that you don't have to try and force one in where it doesn't belong. You may not need that piece right now, and it may not be helping you right at this moment, but that doesn't mean it isn't important and won't fit somewhere else down the line when you need it more."
He finds a yellow piece that works in the corner, and before long he's built a tiny little house complete with a swinging door and a roof.
"We've got a lot of Legos left over," I tell him, dipping my hand into the pile and letting them fall back to the ground a few pieces at a time.
"You don't have to try and pick up all of the pieces at once, sometimes you only need to use a few of them at a time. If you try and pick them all up and use them all at the same time, it's overwhelming and frustrating when you start to drop them or you just can't make them work."
Trying to press another piece on top of the roof for a makeshift chimney, he pushes too hard and a few of the pieces of the wall break off and fall to the ground.
"Oh crap. You just broke our house," I tell him with a laugh as I reach over and grab the pieces that fell off.
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.
Chapter Ten
"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 surrounding 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."
It's a statement, not a question. She knows why I'm here and what I did to stop the pain so there's no reason to be obtuse.
"It's very hard when you don't have people to rely on. People you can call when you're feeling sad or lonely."
Her words make my eyes sting, and a lump forms in my throat that is impossible to swallow. Most people probably wouldn't understand the bond my mother and I shared. Daughters typically hate their mothers through most of their teenage years and sometimes into early adulthood, but I never did. Maybe it was because I was her only child, or maybe it was because it was so difficult for her to get pregnant with me. Whatever the reason, we had a relationship that many envied. Our bond was forged through years of it just being the two of us. My father had always worked the night shift. By the time I woke up in the morning, he was already asleep after working twelve hours. My mother and I did everything together. She took me everywhere, did everything with me, and there wasn't anything we couldn't talk about.
Everyone has at least one individual in their life that they know will always be there for them no matter what. They will be your rock, your shoulder to cry on, someone to laugh with and confide in, and someone who will call you on your bullshit and tell it to you straight. My mother was absolutely that person for me. And my person is gone and never coming back.
"I want you to do me a favor before next week, Addison. I want you to confide in someone. Whether it's Meg or Zander, it doesn't matter. I want you to reach out to one of them and tell them what you're feeling. Talk to them. Give them a chance to earn your trust and support you. This can correspond with Step Five: Admit to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. And remember, we're tailoring this to meet your needs. So, admit to another person the exact nature of what you're struggling with."
After standing in the middle of the front yard for several minutes, I move over to the shade of a huge oak tree. I sit down at the base of it, crossing my legs in front of me, and begin picking individual blades of grass and tearing them down the middle. I have a nice pile going in my lap when a shadow falls over me. I don't pause in my methodical hand mowing of the grass as he sits down next to me and leans his back against the trunk of the tree.
"Soooooo, what's new?" Zander asks in a singsong voice, breaking the silence after a few minutes.
I can't help but laugh at the casual way he asks that question. I just ran out of his parent's home in a snit without saying a word to anyone. If they didn't know it before, they sure as hell know now that I'm a freak with issues.
"Oh, nothing much. Just tending to your parents' lawn. It's gotten a little overgrown," I reply as I finally look up and meet his eyes.
The thing I like most about Zander is that I never see any judgment in them—just understanding and kindness.
"I've been meaning to talk to them about that. Lawn mowers are so last year. What they really need is someone to hand pick their yard."
I stare at him quietly for several long minutes. He reaches over and gently brushes my bangs out of my eyes, his fingers trailing down the side of my cheek before cupping my chin and holding it in place. He places a soft kiss on the tip of my nose, and I blink back tears when he pulls away and lets his hand drop to mine, stopping my manic grass pulling. He tugs my hand over to his own lap and flips it over so my palm is up.
"I'm twenty-two years old and I make a living taking pictures of people's insides," he begins speaking as he lightly traces the lines on my palm with his fingertips. "I have an eight-year-old brother who has no filter and a fifteen-year-old brother who has no morals. I'm obviously the best big brother in the world, and they both look up to me immensely."
I chuckle a little as he verbally pats himself on the back and continues on.
"I've lived a pretty good life, and sometimes that makes people think everything has been easy for me. I'm not saying I have a dark, hidden past or anything, but my life hasn't always been roses," he explains with a shrug. "I struggle every day to be honest and to not hurt the people I care about. It's a fine line between doing what's right and doing what you think is best. My mother likes to call me a know-it-all, and sometimes it gets me in trouble. My dad cheated on my mom a few years ago, and it's been a bumpy road. They worked everything out and things between them are better than they've ever been, but I'm still struggling with hating him for what he did. It's exhausting to hate and love someone equally."
My heart stutters as he laces his fingers through mine and pulls my hand up to his mouth, placing a kiss on the top of it.
"I know we haven't known each other long, but I hope you realize by now that I'm not a stalker," he says with an easy smile. "I like you. I care about you. And I want you to trust me."
How can I not trust him? He opened up his whole world to me by letting me meet his family and telling me personal things about himself. He did all of this without me asking. It's like he instinctively knew I needed something from him so I could feel comfortable enough to do the same.
"My father and I have had a rough time of it lately. He fell apart one day, and he's been in and out of rehab so many times I've lost count," I ramble. I speak so fast that all of my words run together, and I don't really know if anything I'm saying makes sense, but Zander sits there quietly and listens—just listens. I realize suddenly that it's something I've needed for a long time, someone to just listen. It's different with a therapist. They're paid to listen to you. When it's someone who is in your life for the sole reason of just wanting to be near you, it means so much more.
"You sort of met my father the other night. He got out of rehab early, and it scares me to death. I don't want to go through this again with him. I've gotten so used to picking up his pieces, and I'm just exhausted. I don't want to do it anymore. I don't know how to do it anymore when I feel like I can't even pick up my own pieces."
I finally stop talking and take a deep breath, looking away from Zander and over at his house where one big happy family is gathered. I hope he knows just how lucky he really is.
"Wait here for just one second, okay?" he asks, getting up off of the grass quickly. "I have something I want to show you."
I nod my head in reply, and he's about to leave but stops suddenly. He turns back around, squats down, and kisses me. His lips press gently against mine, and then they're gone all too quickly. When he kisses me, I forget about my problems and the world around me disappears. I want to feel his lips on me again so I can close my eyes and just forget.
"Two seconds," he tells me again with a smile before jumping up and racing into the house.
He's back before I can even wonder what he's doing and whether or not I freaked him out by blurting that information about my dad to him. He walks across the yard carrying a small, blue plastic case with a Lego sticker on the side of it.
Flopping down on the grass next to me, he takes the lid off of the box, tips it over, and dumps Lego pieces all over the ground. He starts rummaging through the pile, collecting a few pieces and snapping them together.
"Um, what are we doing?" I ask in confusion as he hands me the small tower of yellow, red, and blue Legos that he quickly put together.
"Luke let me borrow these. We're building a Lego house," he tells me nonchalantly, like it's the most natural thing in the world for two young adults to be doing out in the front yard after they both just spilled their guts to each other.
"A house? We don't have directions. How are we going to build a house?" I ask as I look in the box for one of those Lego booklets with step-by-step instructions and don't find one. Figuring Zander thinks building Legos in the front yard is normal, I decide I might as well just go with it.
"One of the best things about Legos is that you don't need instructions. Sometimes, they don't even come with instructions, and you just have to work your way through the mess to figure out how everything should work."
I flip the tower of Legos around and around in my hand as Zander digs through the pile on the grass and quickly snaps together a square of Legos that resemble the walls of a house. He reaches for a large blue one and tries to make it fit in a corner, but it doesn't work.
"And if something doesn't fit, if one of your pieces just isn't working, you can put it aside and find another one. There are so many pieces to work with that you don't have to try and force one in where it doesn't belong. You may not need that piece right now, and it may not be helping you right at this moment, but that doesn't mean it isn't important and won't fit somewhere else down the line when you need it more."
He finds a yellow piece that works in the corner, and before long he's built a tiny little house complete with a swinging door and a roof.
"We've got a lot of Legos left over," I tell him, dipping my hand into the pile and letting them fall back to the ground a few pieces at a time.
"You don't have to try and pick up all of the pieces at once, sometimes you only need to use a few of them at a time. If you try and pick them all up and use them all at the same time, it's overwhelming and frustrating when you start to drop them or you just can't make them work."
Trying to press another piece on top of the roof for a makeshift chimney, he pushes too hard and a few of the pieces of the wall break off and fall to the ground.
"Oh crap. You just broke our house," I tell him with a laugh as I reach over and grab the pieces that fell off.
