by Tara Sivec
I turned around to face him and caught him shoveling two cookies into his mouth.
"Hey! Hands off the merchandise," I scolded as I smacked his hand when he reached for another one.
"But you put them right in front of me!"
He crossed his arms in front of his chest and pouted. His mouth turned down in a frown. It was impossible not to laugh at how dramatic he was acting.
I moved the tray out of his reach. "I put them in front of you to cool, not so you could inhale them."
"Just think of me as quality control. You wouldn't want to feed your customers bad cookies, would you? Obviously someone needs to make sure all of the cookies are delicious. It's okay, you don't have to pay me. The obvious joy on your face is thanks enough."
He's left a napkin behind every single day when I'm not looking, and I still pretend like they annoy me so Meg will get off my case. It's hard to be irritated, though, when yesterday's napkin said he loved my dimples when I smile.
I've started tacking each and every napkin to the bulletin board in my room, but I'll never tell anyone that. I'll never admit that each night after I type my note to my mom before I go to sleep, I stare at all of the napkins and the messages written on them. I read through each and every one of them before I crawl into bed, and for some strange reason, it's helped keep the bad dreams away. Ever since I received the first napkin from Zander, I've stopped having the same recurring dream that my mother is still alive and wants nothing to do with me. I no longer wake up each night with tears on my cheeks and a scream in my throat as I try to shake off the remnants of the dream where I'm chasing after her, calling her name, but she won't turn around or acknowledge me. I've spent plenty of time on the internet researching what this dream could mean, and all of the answers leave me with a feeling of dread. All of the emotions I've kept buried for so long are manifesting themselves into the one thing I'm most afraid of: that my mother is ashamed of my behavior and that's why she doesn't acknowledge me in my dreams.
I ignore Meg's incessant chatter behind me about a rude customer that was in the store the day before. I look at the clock and wonder if Zander will be on time today or running late again like yesterday. I don't even know what he does for a living. Or how old he is. Or his last name. Jesus, this is crazy and I probably DO need to change my meds. We've been talking for weeks and haven't spoken about anything of importance.
The bell above the door dings, and I can't keep the smile off of my face even with Meg standing right by my side and staring at me with her mouth wide open because I'm practically bouncing up and down with happiness when I see him. Zander returns my smile and walks up to the counter.
"So, my mom's birthday is coming up and I really want to bake her a cake," he says in greeting as I pour his usual cup of coffee, and he takes a seat at the one and only barstool on the other side of the counter that Meg brought out last week from the storage room just for him.
"Um, yay?" I reply in confusion, not really sure why he's telling me this.
"Here's the thing. I can make a mean piece of cinnamon and sugar toast and my microwave chicken nuggets are TO DIE FOR, but other than that, I'm kind of clueless in the kitchen," he says with a sheepish smile.
He looks down at his coffee and busies himself stirring in his sugar. I can see a faint blush on his cheeks, and it suddenly occurs to me that he's embarrassed. I don't know why, but it's the cutest thing I've ever seen. He always seems so confident and sure of himself, and it's a little intimidating. But right now he's on my turf, and he's asking for my help with something I'm pretty damn good at.
"Do you want me to bake something for her?"
He looks up at me, and I can't help starring as he tugs his bottom lip into his mouth.
"That would be cheating. And she would totally know I cheated, and I'd never hear the end of it. She still likes to tell everyone the story about when I was in kindergarten and tried to bribe my bus driver with chocolate chip cookies if she would do my homework for me for a week. Store bought chocolate chip cookies, mind you. Imagine what she would do with the knowledge that I had a professional baker make her a cake and tried to pass it off as my own?" he asks me in horror.
He rests his hands flat on the counter and leans across it so he's closer to me. I hold my breath as he stares deeply into my eyes.
"Teach me how to bake. Help me, Addison. You're my only hope," he whispers seriously.
I swallow thickly and feel my heart speed up in my chest as he looks at me imploringly. I don't even know what he just said to me; all I can think about is listening to his soothing voice, even if he's just reciting the alphabet or reading the phone book.
Meg suddenly laughs loudly, and I jump in surprise, not even realizing she's still standing there next to me, watching this whole exchange. I take a step away from the counter and mentally shake myself out of the trance Zander has put me in with his pretty face and his pretty voice.
Stupid pretty boy.
"Oh my God, you totally just quoted Star Wars! You, my friend, go straight to the top of the awesome list," Meg tells him with a big smile as she moves next to me and wraps her left arm around my shoulder and clamps her right hand tightly over my mouth. "Addison would love to teach you how to bake. The shop closes at six-thirty tonight, so be here by six-forty-five. Just knock on the back door."
I struggle against Meg's arm and try to talk around her hand against my mouth, but she's not having any of it. She tightens her hold and brings the heel of her boot down on top of my toe. I let out a squeak of pain from behind her hand and shoot her a dirty look with my eyes.
Zander looks back and forth between us and laughs.
"Well, that's very nice of Addison to offer her services. Meg, could you tell her that I greatly appreciate it and I will be here at six-forty-five on the dot?"
He winks and smiles at me before bringing the cup of coffee up to his mouth and taking a sip. I forget about struggling and I sag against Meg as we both watch him get off of the stool, turn, and walk out of the shop.
"That guy has a great ass," Meg says softly with a sigh, her hand still over my mouth having forgotten to remove it because she's too busy staring at all that pretty. I just nod my head silently in agreement to her ass statement. We both stand there in a daze, staring at the door he just walked through until the timer goes off on one of the ovens and the reality of what Meg just did hits me like a two-by-four to the face. I bang my hip into hers and elbow her in the side until she drops her arms from around me with an irritated shout of pain.
"Hey, what was that for?" she complains as she rubs her side.
"Are you kidding me? ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?" I whisper yell at her so the customers won't hear my outburst. "Why would you do that? Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!"
Meg rolls her eyes at me as I start pacing back and forth behind the counter, wondering how quickly I can get a passport and leave the country.
"Seriously, chill out. He's just a guy. A very cute guy who obviously likes you. All morning you've been walking around here in a creeptastic cloud of happiness and it's because of HIM."
She walks over and stands directly in front of me so I have to stop my manic pacing and stare at her.
"You and I both know that life sucks. At any minute something crappy could happen, and the two of us just sit around just waiting for the crappy and expecting it. When something good happens, we have to reach out and grab it, otherwise our lives will turn into one giant run-on sentence of daily sucks. I'm tired of the sucks, Addy. Come on, be tired of the sucks with me."
She wags her eyebrows at me, and I let out a sigh.
"Come on, all your friends are doing it," she says with a laugh as she reaches out and shoves my shoulder.
I chuckle at her exuberance as she skips around me and heads back into the kitchen to remove the cupcakes—that are probably burnt now—from the oven.
She's right. I know she's right. Life is a daily crapshoot and you never know what's going to happen next. I used to
love the thrill of never knowing what life would bring and the excitement of waking up to a brand new day and all of the possibilities. Now I spend each day full of dread that something bad will happen. I wake up each morning wondering what will go wrong next. I don't enjoy the little things anymore because I know something bigger will come along that will swallow up those little things and make them disappear like they were never there. What's the point in enjoying those little things when they'll be gone soon?
I don't know if Zander is a little thing or a big thing: a possibility or a liability. I've made sure to keep the guessing game out of life by shutting off my emotions and just doing what I need to do to make it through each day. I'm suddenly very aware of how empty my life has been lately. The idea of spending an evening alone with him where he might ask me questions I won't know how to answer scares the hell out of me. But at the same time, I feel a bubble of nerves and butterflies in my stomach that have nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the thrill of the unknown and where it might lead. Maybe there's hope for me yet.
"Would you say that you go through each day expecting that the people around you are going to let you down?" Dr. Thompson asks me before she takes a sip of her Panera coffee.
I shrug as I pick a hangnail. "Sure. It's easier that way and it just makes sense."
I glance up when she doesn't say anything and am glad I don't see a look of pity on her face. The only reason I continue coming to Dr. Thompson each week is because she never pities me. She's concerned for me about the things I've been through, but she never feels sorry for me. I can't stand anyone feeling sorry for me, like I'm this sad, pathetic little girl that people need to coddle.
"Tell me how that makes sense, Addison? I want to understand what goes on in that pretty head of yours when you think about these things. And stop picking at your nails," she scolds as she sets her cup down on the table next to her chair.
I immediately pull my hands apart and smack them down on either side of me on the couch with a guilty look on my face, just like I used to do when my mom would reprimand me for the exact same thing. I huff irritably and cross my arms in front of me.
"Look, if I go into things expecting people to suck, when they finally DO suck, it's not that bad. They acted just like I thought they would, I'm not surprised, and I can just move on. If I walked around every day with my head in the clouds, thinking everyone in my life will never let me down and will never hurt me, it won't be long before they show their true colors and disappoint me. It's easier to just accept the fact that I'm the only one looking out for me."
I finish with my explanation and wait for her to tell me how wrong I am—about life, about the people around me, about my opinions. Just like every week, though, she never does what I expect her to do.
"I would have done the exact same thing if I were you. It's tough being so young and having the people close to you let you down so many times when you need them most. Just try and do me a favor. Keep an open mind. Sometimes, people will surprise you."
I feel like I'm going to throw up from nerves. I've looked at the clock a hundred times since I put the "closed" sign on the front door. Before I can change my mind and run out of the building, there's a knock on the back door. Looking quickly around the kitchen to make sure it's not too much of a disaster, I take a few deep breaths and walk to the door and turn the deadbolt.
"I brought you flowers," Zander says with a smile as I open the door. I laugh and feel instantly at ease when he pulls two bags of flour out from behind his back and hands them to me.
"Wow, how very romantic of you," I tell him.
I cringe and want to take the word back immediately. Why did I say romantic? This isn't a date. Nothing about this is romantic. He didn't ask me out; he asked if I could help him. Big difference. I'm teaching him how to bake. The end. He doesn't even acknowledge my word choice or notice the turmoil going on in my brain over one simple word. He just hands over the bags of flour and walks through the door and farther into the kitchen.
I close the back door and turn to set the bags on the wood block island in the middle of the kitchen, ignoring his stare as he watches me move about. I know if I look at him right now I'm going to feel like an idiot. Walking over to my iPod dock on the side counter, I turn on Pandora, switching it from the angry chick rock station to just plain rock. Something tells me Zander wouldn't appreciate listening to a bunch of women screaming about hating life and how all men suck.
"Bringing you flour is the least I could do. You're saving my ass by doing this."
He comes over and stands next to me as I begin setting out mixing bowls, measuring cups, and all the ingredients we'll need to make a cake.
"Where's the box of cake mix?" he asks in confusion as he picks up a canister of baking powder and looks it over.
"Cake mix? You can't say something like that here. That's blasphemy. Why did you bring me flour if you thought we were using a cake mix?" I ask him with a laugh as he continues to stand there staring at me in fear while I organize the ingredients on the counter.
"You work in a bakery and I figured you could always use flour for other things. I was trying to be cute and think outside the box. But not outside the cake mix box. Is it too late to buy my mom some jewelry or a gift certificate to a spa?" he asks in a panic.
"Oh hush. You'll be fine. We're making the cake from scratch because that's the best way to do it."
I separate all of the items on the counter so we each have one of the same.
"Did you forget about the part where I can't cook? This is not going to end well," he says nervously as I hand him two eggs and point to his mixing bowl.
"Did you forget the part where I run a bakery? This is going to end awesome. Less talking, more paying attention," I tell him as I indicate with my hands that he should follow what I'm doing as I crack the eggs and measure the sugar, flour, butter, baking powder, vanilla, and milk. I hand him a wooden spoon and we both silently stir our mixtures. I thought I would feel more uncomfortable alone with Zander than I actually do. Aside from my stupid "romantic" slip, being here with him makes me feel anything but nervous. Standing next to him, listening to the music playing softly, our arms brushing up against each other every so often as we mix and stir, I feel at ease. He has a calming effect on me that seems familiar. I hadn't really noticed it before, but every time he speaks, something tickles the back of my mind. Like a memory trying to surface through the fog, but I just can't make it appear. I ignore the nagging sensation and just let myself be in the moment for once, not worrying about anything else around me. We talk about nonsensical things like our favorite celebrities, favorite movies, best book we ever read, and the places we'd like to travel to someday. In between our talking, I give him instructions and tips on baking. It feels so natural being here with him like this, talking easily and trying my hand at flirting.
Unfortunately, the universe has a funny way of knowing when I'm starting to let my guard down. As soon as I open my mouth to ask Zander about his job, my iPod starts playing a haunting melody—one I'm all too familiar with.
"This is a great song. Have you heard the version by Johnny Cash?" Zander asks.
I'm too busy being sucked into a memory to answer him. A memory that causes me to drop my bowl of batter and clutch both of my hands to my chest to stop the ache in my heart, to stop the remembrance of a day that I've tried to never think of again. It's impossible to use my switch now and turn everything off. With Zander here, my switch is broken.
I turned the volume up as high as it would go in my Honda Civic as I drove my best friend Casey and I to school after spending the previous night at her house. It was the last day before Christmas break which was why my mom agreed to let me spend the night on a school night.
"Oh my gosh, I hate this song. It's so depressing," Casey yelled over the music.
"You're insane! This is Hurt by Nine Inch Nails and it's awesome!" I argued with her before I began to sing along.
Halfway into th
e chorus, during a quieter part of the song, I heard my cell phone ring in the center console. I stopped at a stop sign and grabbed it, noticing that I had three missed calls from my dad.
"Hey, Dad, what's up?" I answered as I quickly turned down the volume on the radio.
"SHE'S GONE! OH MY GOD, SHE'S GONE!" my dad yelled into the phone.
I'd never heard my dad like that before, and my stomach immediately dropped when I heard the sobs in his voice as he continued to cry and yell.
"Dad, what are you talking about? What's going on?"
Casey leaned toward me and gave me a questioning look, but I just shook my head at her. I had no idea what was happening and I was scared to death.
"Your mom, oh God, I think your mom's gone. Oh my God. Oh God help me," my dad cried.
"WHAT? Dad, what are you talking about?"
My hands shook and I felt Casey reach over and wrap her arm around my shoulder.
"I can't wake her up, Addison. I think she's gone. Oh, Jesus. Oh my God."
My breath whooshed out of me, and I clenched my jaw as hard as I could so I wouldn't break down on the phone with him. He was hysterical and I couldn't process what he was saying to me.
"I'm coming home. I'm coming home right now. Okay, Dad? I'll be home as soon as I can," I reassured him.
He continued to cry and mumble incoherently about her being gone before I heard the dial tone in my ear. I pulled the phone away and stare at it.
This couldn't be happening. It wasn't real. I just saw her last night and she was fine. She was healthy and perfect and we talked about baking Christmas cookies. She just got a clean bill of health from her oncologist last week. We just celebrated the second anniversary of her being in remission. This wasn't real, it wasn't real, it wasn't real.
"Addison, what happened?"
Casey's voice made me jump. I forgot she was in the car with me. I slowly turned and faced her, not wanting to say the words out loud, not wanting to believe that this was happening.