I'm With Anxious

by Suzanne Brown

  “But aren’t we supposed to meet Father at the hospital?”

  She waves her hand. “Nah. He’ll be so focused on Kim that he won’t even know we’re not there. We’ll just sneak in sometime tomorrow and tell him we’ve been there the whole time.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “I think he’ll know if we aren’t there.”

  She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He won’t get mad. He can’t.” She makes a face. “It’s not good for his image. Remember?”

  His image. He can’t get mad at us for missing our brother’s birth because it’s bad for his image? That’s just wrong. We should be there. That’s what family does. They are there for each other. In good times. And in bad times. And if we aren’t there, then he should be mad.

  Or disappointed. Like Berg was when I wasn’t there for him. He had every right to be angry at me. And it was good that he told me how he felt.

  No. Stop. I’m not thinking about that. I’m here. With this family. This family that is always happy. Or at least they try to be.

  Are they really happy? Pinkie seems sad about not spending time with her Father. I wonder if she ever told him that? Or maybe she did and he didn’t care. Maybe he can only care about his image. I mean, he and Pinkie both stood there and allowed grabby drunk to kiss me and never did anything. And they never even asked if I was okay! What does that say about them? That they care more about projecting their happy image than each other?

  Or maybe they just forgot how much they care about each other?

  Pinkie is singing in my ear. “Happy Birthday to Ling! Happy Birthday to Ling! I know what the night will br-ing. Let’s dance now, come on, Ling!”

  Yes. Dancing. It’s time to stop all this thinking, and just enjoy my party, and be happy.

  I follow her back into the crowd. We shake and shimmy and laugh. I try to let the music take over. I try to be happy. But instead I feel a little sad. And alone. I’m dancing with hundreds of people at my own party and I don’t feel like I know anyone.

  Especially myself.

  I know happy and sad can co-exist, but I’m here in happy-land and I want to be happy, not sad. I try to bury all the negative thoughts whirling around in my brain, but they’re bombarding me so fast that one sneaks past.

  I’m sad. And I know why.

  This is not how I imagined my sixteenth birthday party. It’s clearly over the top cool, but I feel so alone. I’m not surrounded by my loving family who cares about me more than some happy image? Who love me no matter what I do, or who I am.

  Are the people here really my friends, or are they just here for a free party? Do they like me because of who I am, or do they like me because I’m rich?

  Stop it. Stop worrying. Just. Be. Happy.

  I know! I need a little distraction-action. Like a cute boy! I glance around. There are definitely lots of options in this crowd. I can choose tall or short, well-dressed or hip, cute or cuter. But are any of them sweet boys? Like Dillon always was. Or even like George of the cute dimples in Paris?

  Stop! Inhale. Exhale. Deep inhale. Deep exhale.

  I spot Pinkie a few feet away, dancing with three, cute guys. One has a thick head of black hair, a thin mustache, and huge, brown eyes. One has shaggy, perfectly-dyed white hair, and almond eyes. And the third looks a little like a younger version of Pinkie’s Father.

  I dance my way closer, convincing myself that one of them is bound to be a sweetheart and a good kisser, and will fill my heart with happy. I tap Pinkie on the shoulder to get her attention.

  She whirls around and jerks me to her side in a hug. “It’s the birthday girl!” she shrieks. “Everybody, this is my sister, Ling. This is her party! Isn’t it the best?”

  No one answers her. Or says hello to me. Or even looks my way.

  I try to engage them. “I’m happy you could all come!” I sing, all happy, and perky, and birthday-girl like. “Is everyone having fun?”

  No one answers.

  Mustache is swaying to the music with his eyes closed. Shaggy is head-banging. And mini-Father is staring into the middle-distance looking for who knows what.

  I try again, louder and even more happy this time. “Is everyone having fun?”

  Crickets.

  I look at Pinkie. “Can they hear me?”

  She shrugs.

  “Are they deaf?”

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  “Are they on drugs?”

  She frowns. “No!”

  I nod. “Got it. So, they’re just being rude.”

  She looks at me sheepishly, and shrugs.

  My heart drops. This humongous, million-dollar party is for me and my friends… who apparently aren’t my friends after all. It’s all a show. It’s all part of the happy, happy image of this family.

  And it’s all a fake.

  Just like me.

  CHAPTER 34

  This is not who I want to be

  I’m a fake.

  Lottie was a fake. I dyed my hair. I wore blue contacts. I hid my feelings. I tried to be an image. And it was all fake.

  I suddenly realize I don’t want to be here anymore with this fake life of happiness and all these fake people. This is my one and only sixteenth birthday party. I may be wandering the world with Miss Soul here, but time is still passing me by. I will never have another sixteenth birthday party, and I should be loving, and living, every second of it.

  Not faking my way through it.

  I could be hanging around with Malika who wanted to spend time with me, or laughing with Rinzen who rescued me and seemed to really like me, or even listening to that crazy, old monk who made me think. I bet Dillon would have even wished me a happy birthday and meant it, even after what I did.

  But I must stop thinking about all of them. I would like to go back and fix everything, but I have chosen to move on. And since the loser-boy-trio is too worried about looking good for whoever may be watching them, I need to find someone else to help me celebrate and be happy.

  Like my new brother!

  Yes! What could be happier than a sweet, pudgy baby all pink cheeked and baby powder fresh?

  “I’m going to the hospital,” I announce to Pinkie.

  She stops dancing, and raises her eyebrows. “You’re leaving your party?”

  I nod. “Yep.”

  Her mouth gapes open. “But why?”

  My answer surprises even me. “Because life is too short to pretend to be someone I’m not with people I don’t like.” I nod my head. Yeah. I like that.

  She tilts her head, but doesn’t say anything.

  I inhale a deep breath and exhale something that tastes very stale; and suddenly, I feel better than I have in a long time.

  I grin. “Would you like to come with me?”

  She looks at the boys who haven’t even acknowledged that we stopped dancing, and then back at me. She starts to shake her head, and then very slowly, like she can’t believe what she’s doing, she nods. “I guess I do,” she murmurs.

  I laugh at her shock. I know exactly how she feels. Sometimes you don’t understand exactly why you want to do something, but you just know it feels right.

  Like getting the heck out of this lame-o party.

  I link my arm in hers. “Okay, then. Let’s blow this popsicle stand!”

  I’m the birthday girl, the very reason for this party; yet, as I push through the crowd, I’m completely ignored and unseen. As if I’m invisible. As if I’m a nobody.

  As if I’m a nobody…

  A nobody.

  I stop. The music thumps on. Bubbles float and pop around us. Bodies bump us from all sides. Everything and everyone is oblivious… to the nobody.

  “What’s wrong?” Pinkie whispers.

  I’m about to confide in her when suddenly, deep in my soul, I know that it’s not true. I’m not a nobody. I’m not.

  I’m somebody.

  I’m me.

  I’m Lottie from Colorado.

  Who loves cheesy puffs. Who cares dee
ply for her family. Who works hard to be happy. Who feels emotions way too strong. And who worries a lot. That’s me.

  And I’ve always been me. Even when I was Aicha in Morocco, and Pema in Bangkok, and even Swan in Paris. No matter where I was, and what I was doing, and who people thought I was, I have always been me.

  Lottie.

  I grin. And I have one more thing I want to do before leaving the only sixteenth birthday party I’ll ever have. I want to eat my cake.

  I tug on Pinkie’s arm. “Come on.”

  “I thought we were leaving,” she says as I lead her back into the crowd and up the steps of the stage. “What are we doing?” she squeals.

  I stop right in front of my monstrous, blue cake and grin. “We’re having my cake and eating it too!” I extend my finger towards the cake.

  “Ling, you wouldn’t?”

  “I would,” I chuckle, feeling happy way down into my soul. I run my finger along the top of the cake and scrape off a hunk of icing.

  “Ling!” Pinkie exclaims, her eyebrows as high as I’ve ever seen them. “You can’t do that! What will people think?”

  I shrug. “I really don’t care,” I mumble as I lick the icing off my finger. I close my eyes. “Mmmm, buttercream. My favorite.”

  Pinkie looks like she wants to run and hide.

  And I’m tired of hiding. Who I am. What I want. What I feel. I don’t want to hide anymore.

  I gesture to the crowd. “I don’t care what people think right now. Besides, we’re worrying what they’re thinking about us, and they’re too busy worrying what we think about them. So, if you think about, everyone is worrying for no reason because no one is seeing anything!” I dip my finger back into the icing. “And I’m not apologizing for who I am anymore. This is me. I’m the birthday girl who wants to eat her icing right off the cake.” I waggle my eyebrows. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me?”

  Pinkie stares at me, her eyes wide. I have no idea what she’s thinking. I don’t know if she’s about to call the suits to drag me away or call her Father and tell him I’ve gone cuckoo, but she doesn’t do either of those things. She stares at the crowd until her face blossoms into a huge grin. A grin like I’ve never seen on her before, because this one is full of real happiness. She winks at me, jams her fingers deep into the cake, and scoops out a huge chunk.

  “Everyone knows buttercream is best with cake,” she laughs, and shoves the whole thing into her mouth, smearing icing all over the sides of her smile.

  Laughter bubbles up and spills out of me like a waterfall. I laugh so hard that I feel all the tension and worry deep in my belly unravel. This is what a birthday should be. Silly, and fun, and happy!

  And none of it fake.

  Pinky points to one of the beefy suits walking up the stairs. “Uh oh. Now we’re in trouble,” she giggles.

  The Suit is bald and wearing a deep frown. He’s probably coming to stop us, so I scoop out a chunk of cake and offer it to him. “Want to join us? It’s delicious!”

  The Suit shakes his head, eyes wide. “No, thank you, Miss Ling.”

  Pinkie laughs and licks the icing stuck to the corners of her mouth. “Don’t worry, Alberto. She is the birthday girl. If she says it’s okay to eat the cake, Father won’t care.”

  Alberto arches one thick, black eyebrow, wrinkling his forehead like a Shar Pei puppy. He looks over at the cake with a gleam in his eye, just like a Shar Pei who really, really loves cake.

  “Go on,” I whisper. “Dig in.”

  I can tell he really wants to dip his finger in it like a ten-year-old boy, but he doesn’t crack. Alberto is all business.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he apologizes. “But your father called and said to hurry to the hospital. Mrs. Kim is delivering soon.”

  “Really?” I cry, wiping my finger on the tablecloth. “Oh, Pinkie. We need to go!” I turn to Alberto. “What’s the fastest way to get there?”

  Pinkie claps her hands with glee. “Don’t worry! I know!”

  As she pulls me down the stairs, I glance back just in time to see Alberto swipe a finger along the icing and sneak a bite. A look of delight softens his strong jaw as he eats it, and that makes me heart soar. Everyone has layers. Sometimes you just have to choose to shed some of them to find the sweet one.

  I follow Pinkie across the dance floor. She stops at a door leading outside. “You have to close your eyes.”

  “I do?”

  She jumps up and down. “Please just do it. Father wanted it to be a surprise for your birthday.”

  “A surprise for my birthday?” I grin.

  She nods. “And it’s beyond good. Trust me.”

  She trusted me to eat cake with her fingers, so I close my eyes. She links her arm through mine and leads me outside. After being in the arctic chill of the air conditioning, the warm, humid air outside feels like a hug.

  “A little farther,” she says, guiding me. “One more step. One more. Okay. Stop.” She giggles. “You can open them now.”

  I open my eyes to find a powder-blue, Ferrari Spider sitting at the curb, sporting a huge blue bow on the hood.

  My mouth gapes open. “That’s… my surprise?” I stutter.

  She laughs. “Yes! Happy Sweet Sixteen Birthday!”

  Oh… my… god.

  Oh my god!

  OH MY GOD!

  I close my eyes and open them again. Yep. It’s still there.

  “It’s your Happy Birthday car!” Pinkie sings. She giggles. “Are you surprised?”

  Surprised? I’m way beyond surprised. I just got a Ferrari for my sixteenth-birthday! I’m in shock. But this is a good shock. Not at all like when I saw Dillon kissing that boy. Or got shot in Kabul. Although my body is reacting the same. My heart is racing. I feel like crying. And I can’t even speak. I guess joy and pain can co-exist because they feel the same sometimes.

  My first car is a… Ferrari!

  A FERRARI!

  “Father ordered it for you almost a year ago,” Pinkie explains. “He wanted you to have one to match mine, but said it had to be blue since that’s your favorite color and he wanted it to be special just like you. He even flew out there three times to make sure it was the right color.”

  Interesting. Maybe he does care about Ling. He just shows it in his own way.

  “Since you have an international driver’s license you could drive it now instead of waiting until you’re eighteen, but…” she pauses and grimaces. “It’s a stick. Father planned to teach you tonight, but then Kim went into labor, and…” she gives me a distressed look. “I’m so sorry, but will you hate me if I drive us there in your new car?”

  My first thought is absolutely, because it’s MY car. But then I think about the word hate. It’s an awfully strong word.

  I know I hated being killed in Kabul. And I hated being that Thai man’s slave. And I hated knowing Fah was dying. Hate seems like a good word for those moments.

  But I’ve also hated myself for so long because of my Oh my GAD, and now the word hate doesn’t seem to fit anymore. I shouldn’t hate myself for how I react. It’s me. The emotional Lottie. And when I have a bad experience, I need to vent. I need to purge all that anger and sadness inside of me, and not bury it.

  I do terribly regret calling Dillon names and really hurting him, both emotionally and physically. But I’m happy that I cried and got mad. I needed to allow myself those awful emotions so I could feel them, get over them, and then move on.

  And moving on means no longer worrying about what others think of me, or my emotions, like I’m doing tonight. Moving on means just going out there, being myself, and living.

  Yo, Soul. Is this what you’ve been trying to tell me all this time?

  “Ling?” Pinkie interrupts my epiphany with a frown. “Please don’t hate me if I drive.”

  I want to fake happiness and pretend like it’s no big deal, but I decide to be myself and just be honest.

  “I’m disappointed you get to drive my car
first,” I sigh, and her face falls. “But,” I quickly add, “there’s no way I’ll hate you! It’s not every day you get to see your baby brother enter this life, and we don’t want to miss it.” I smile and tears spring into my eyes. For the first time in a long time, instead of putting all my energy into stopping them, I remain in the moment and let them fall.

  Pinkie reaches out and pulls me close. “I don’t know what happened,” she murmurs. “But I really like the new you.” She squeezes me tighter. “And I like who I am when I’m with you.”

  She smells of vanilla icing, and that makes me remember the chunk of cake she grabbed and shoved into her mouth, and suddenly happiness overcomes my tears. All on its own. For real. No burying required.

  I think I like who I am now, too.

  I wipe my cheeks and pull back. “Okay, enough gushy sister stuff. We have a brother to see!”

  Pinkie scurries around to the driver’s side, and I open the passenger door. I pause and inhale the glorious scent of brand new leather.

  Pinkie leans over the stick shift. “Come on, Ling! This thing’s fast, but not that fast.”

  My leather pants barely whisper as I slide onto the soft, leather seat. It feels like sitting on a cloud. In a Ferrari.

  IN MY FERRARI!

  “Buckle up!” Pinkie squeals, and peels away from the curb.

  I click in my seatbelt and glance at the three towers of the Marina Bay Sands as we leave. The towers must be sturdy and strong to hold up the ship that looks precariously balanced on top of them. If I were the ship, my three towers would be Mama, Daddy, and Berg. They are always there for me, loving me unconditionally, and holding me up.

  “Look!” Pinkie cries as we race past the bay. “The laser light show has started!”

  Beams of red, yellow, and green dance across the bay, weaving patterns of joy in their celebration of nothing other than the fact that today is another wonderful day. The image of a pale blue flower is illuminated on the metal petal walls of the ArtScience Museum next door, but it takes me until we’ve already passed the double helix bridge before I realize what I just saw.