Watch Over Me

by Tara Sivec

  "I think my mom's gone. I…I think she's dead."

  Casey gasped and I watched in a daze as the tears started to fall from her eyes. I couldn't cry. I couldn't believe it was real. It wasn't real.

  "It's not real. It's not real. It's not real," I whispered over and over to myself.

  My cell phone rang again, and I immediately answered it. I hoped with everything in me that this was just some cruel joke that someone decided to play on me.

  "Addison, it's Aunt Katie," my aunt said softly. I could hear the tears and sadness in her voice but I ignored it.

  "What's going on? Did you talk to Dad? This isn't happening, right?"

  My aunt let out a small sob and I squeezed my eyes closed.

  "You need to come home, sweetie."

  I handed the phone over to Casey without even answering her. I heard Casey talking softly with my aunt, but I ignored it. The song was still playing on the radio and all I heard were the words that Casey just said were so depressing only moments ago.

  Everyone I love goes away, in the end.

  I leaned forward and rested my head on the steering wheel and screamed as loud and as long as I could. I screamed until I had no voice left. I screamed until I couldn't hear anything but the sound of my screams echoing through my head.

  "Addison, hey, it's okay. Shhhh, you're okay. I'm right here, Addison."

  Zander's soothing voice by my ear brings me back from the past, but there's something about those words. Something about the way he says them that gives me goose bumps. He's said those exact words to me before. I know he has. But that's not possible. I can remember every single conversation we've ever had, every word he's ever spoken to me. What is happening to me? What is wrong with me?

  "I think I'm going crazy," I whisper to him when I finally find my voice. My throat hurts, and I'm immediately embarrassed. I know that feeling. I must have been screaming.

  "It's okay, we're all a little bit crazy," he reassures me softly before pulling me closer and placing a kiss on top of my head.

  I suddenly notice that we're sitting on the floor of the kitchen in a puddle of cake batter. It's all over my jeans, and since Zander is right next to me, it's now all over his as well as his shoes. I'm mortified that this happened. It's been so long since I had an episode like this and now, ever since meeting Zander, it's happened twice.

  "I'm sorry. Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot," I ramble in shame, tears prickling my eyes as I pull out of his arms and attempt to get up off of the floor so I can run and hide in a closet somewhere and never have to face him again.

  Unfortunately, my feet slide right through the slippery batter that coats the floor and I flop back down on my butt, causing batter to splatter on the front of Zander's T-shirt.

  I stare at his shirt in horror and watch as he slowly looks down at the front of him. Reaching over, I try to wipe the mess off of his shirt but forget all about the fact that my hands smacked down in batter when I fell. Instead of helping him, I just get him messier by smearing more goo onto him.

  "Oh no," I whisper in dismay. I can feel my chin start to quiver, and I know if I don't leave right now, I'm going to start crying. I will NOT cry in front of him.

  This night just went from bad to the worst night in history. He's going to get up and run out of here so fast that all I'll see is a cloud of dust in his wake. It would be easier for me if I never had to see him again and relive this horrifying nightmare of having a break down in front of him and then spilling cake batter all over his clothes, but just that thought alone depresses me.

  "You are in such big trouble now," Zander finally says quietly as he looks up at me. I bite my lip, waiting for him to tell me what a freak I am, but instead his mouth curls in a menacing grin. Before I can apologize to him again, a handful of batter is mashed against the side of my face from Zander's hand.

  I gasp in shock as the cold liquid drips down the side of my face and drops down the front of my V-neck T-shirt.

  Zander chuckles at the look of complete shock on my face, and without thinking about my actions, I quickly scoop up some of the batter by my hip and mirror his actions, smacking the mixture on one of his cheeks with a maniacal laugh. This situation is just too crazy for me to even comprehend right now.

  We sit there quietly staring at one another with wide eyes until suddenly we both burst out laughing, each of us scrambling to wipe up more spilled batter from the floor and throw it at one another. I start screaming and laughing when a pile of it lands on top of my head, and Zander lets out a yelp when I reach over and smear a handful through his hair.

  "Oh my gosh, UNCLE! UNCLE! I have cake batter in my eye!" Zander complains with a laugh as he holds up his messy hands in front of him in a sign of surrender.

  "Shut it! I have cake batter in my ear," I reply with a giggle.

  He wipes one of his hands off on his jeans and reaches over, using the heel of his hand to get some of the mess off of my cheek. His hand is warm and soft as it sweeps against my skin, and I instantly feel cherished as he touches me. I've been craving attention like this from someone for so long that even the simple act of cleaning off my face fills me with unexpected appreciation for him and the care he takes with me. When he finishes getting most of it off, he doesn't move his hand away from me; instead he cups the side of my face and brushes his thumb back and forth over my cheekbone.

  I swallow thickly and hold my breath as he stares into my eyes then slowly moves his gaze down to my lips. I quickly wet them with my tongue, and I hear him make a low groaning sound in his throat.

  "I really want to kiss you right now," he whispers, still staring at my lips.

  My heart beats frantically in my chest. I should tell him no. I should tell him he doesn't want to get messed up with me because it won't end well. I should tell him he's too good to get involved with me. There are so many things I should do, but right now I can't do anything but slowly nod my head in response to his words.

  "Okay," I reply softly.

  He slowly moves his face toward mine, and I close my eyes, the anticipation of feeling his lips on mine too much to take with my eyes open. I can feel his breath on my face and the first tentative touch of his lips. A shiver runs up my spine. His lips are soft and warm as he presses them against mine, and I let out a sigh against his mouth when he wraps his other arm around my waist and slides me across the floor closer to him. All the bad thoughts fly from my mind, and nothing consumes me right now except Zander: Zander's touch, Zander's lips, Zander's hands… He surrounds me and makes all of the bad things disappear. He deepens the kiss with a groan and tightens his hold around my waist. My arms tangle around his neck, and I kiss him back with everything in me. Every feeling, every thought, every emotion—I pour it all into this kiss.

  "Addison! What the hell is going on?"

  The angry sound of my dad's voice cuts through the haze of pleasure that envelops me, as Zander and I quickly break apart.

  I stare at my father in shock as he stands in the doorway of the kitchen, looking down at Zander and me in irritation. He wasn't supposed to be out of rehab for another two weeks, and I feel a wave of fury wash over me when I realize that he most likely skipped out on it again.

  Zander's words from earlier in the evening suddenly pop into my mind at that moment. When he said, "This is not going to end well," I wonder if he had any idea just how true that statement would turn out to be.

  "Maybe he really is turning over a new leaf this time, Addison."

  I roll my eyes at Dr. Thompson and cross my arms over my chest.

  "You don't think people can change?" she asks softly, seeing the irritation on my face.

  "Who knows? It's not like I've had much experience lately with people changing for the better. No one does what they say they will, and no one lives up to their promises."

  I pick at some imaginary pieces of lint on my shirt while Dr. Thompson writes on her notepad. One of these days I should just get up and grab that thing from her to s
ee if she's actually writing down things about me or playing tic-tac-toe with herself.

  "That's true. Not everyone in your life will always do what you expect of them. Sometimes they'll let you down, and sometimes, even though they tell you that they love you, they do things that prove otherwise. You just have to decide whether or not you have enough room left in your heart for them. Enough space to let them in and show them what you need from them. As much as we want them to, our loved ones can't read our minds. If they don't know what we want from them or what we need from them, they are never going to be able to give it to us."

  I already know what I want from my father. I want him to man up and make himself accountable for his actions. I want him to be able to go back in time and erase all of the bad decisions he's made and take away the hurtful things he's said to me that caused me to turn into the person I am today.

  I know that's not possible though. And frankly, I don't know if I have the strength to move things around in my life to make that extra space for him that I filled with responsibilities since he hit rock bottom.

  Zander quickly gets up from the floor and reaches down to grab me under my arm and help me to my feet. My dad stands by the door looking back and forth between us. His head suddenly jerks to Zander's face, and he stares at him for a moment in confusion, squinting his eyes and studying his face for so long that Zander finally looks away uncomfortably.

  "Do I know you from somewhere?" my dad asks, breaking the awkward silence in the room.

  Zander laughs uneasily and doesn't make eye contact with him while he busies himself trying to brush off some of the cake batter from his hands off onto his pants.

  "Eh, people say that all the time. I guess I have a common face." He turns away from my dad to face me and speaks softly so he can't hear us. "I'm gonna get going. I'll call you later."

  I look at him questioningly, trying to remember if I ever gave him my number.

  "Meg slipped me your cell phone number the last time I was here. Didn't want to make myself seem even more stalkerish by calling you without your knowledge," he says quietly with a sweet smile before he turns and quickly walks past my father with his head down.

  "Sir," he mumbles to my dad in good-bye as he rushes by him and out the back door.

  I wait until the door clicks shut behind Zander before I finally face my father. I'm angry that he's here, I'm angry that my time with Zander was cut short, especially when I just quite possibly received one of the best kisses of my life, and I'm angry that he made Zander feel uncomfortable. I'm angry and confused and I'm full of cake batter. I don't want him to be here. My life is good without him here. I'm used to him being gone and I'm used to my routine. Having him back is just going to mess everything up.

  "What are you doing here?"

  I don't even bother to hide the contempt in my voice. I'm done trying to keep what I think of him a secret. It obviously hasn't helped him in the past, so maybe if he knows how much I don't want him or need him here, it will finally get through to him.

  "I got out of rehab early. My counselor said I made great progress and she's confident that I have all of the tools I need to be healthy, so here I am," he tells me with a smile.

  Like it's that simple. Like some stranger who hasn't lived with him and hasn't dealt with his addiction day in and day out can really make an accurate assessment of him after only a few weeks. Each time he's been in rehab they've given him a new counselor. And each time, those idiots think they've cured him. I'm sure this time isn't any different.

  "I've got it this time, Addison, I really do."

  I sigh and turn away from him, walking over to the sink to wash my hands. I can't look at him right now. Even though I've learned in the last year not to trust or believe anything that comes out of his mouth, he still knows how to make me wonder. He still knows what to say to make that little voice in the back of my head say, "Maybe he's right. Maybe this time he really does have it."

  I'm disappointed in myself for even allowing that voice to have a say anymore. She's been wrong so much that I think it's high time she takes a hike.

  "I'm going to be here for you. I'm going to take over the responsibilities here at the shop and everything is going to go back to normal," he tells me earnestly.

  Normal? Like he even knows what that is. We haven't been normal since my mom died, and I find it hard to believe we ever will be again.

  I dry my hands on a towel and then take it over to start cleaning up the floor. My dad rushes over to my side and takes the towel from my hands.

  "Here, I've got this. You go ahead and finish getting cleaned up. I'll take care of things here."

  I snatch the towel back out of his hand and squat down to the floor and begin wiping up the mess. "No, I've got it. Just like always."

  I hear my dad sigh in defeat as he stands above me and watches. I walk back and forth between the mess and the sink, rinsing out the towel each time, until all of the cake batter is finally gone.

  "Addison, please. Just let me help you. Give me a chance," he pleads, bringing some of the dirty bowls and measuring cups over to me at the sink.

  I whirl around to face him and cross my arms over my chest. My hands are shaking with fury, and if I don't keep them glued to my body, I'll probably do something incredibly stupid like throw the second bowl of cake batter at him.

  "I've given you plenty of chances. Plenty. And each time you've thrown my trust and my faith in you back in my face like it didn't even matter," I tell him angrily.

  "I know, believe me, I know. I'm well aware of the fact that I have a lot to prove to you. And I'll do it, Addison. I swear I will prove to you that you can trust me."

  The voice in my head is finally silent. She must have finally gotten sick of the bullshit too.

  "I'm going home," I tell him without responding to his empty promises. I turn away from him and walk toward the door, leaving the dirty dishes piled in the sink. Normally, I never leave a mess in the kitchen before I leave at night because I don't want to have to deal with it the next morning. Right now I just want to get out of here and away from my father. The dishes will have to wait.

  "Why don't you just ride home with me? We can come back tomorrow morning and you can get your car then," he tells me, trying one last time for us to spend some quality time together.

  It occurs to me then that my father has no idea I moved out of my childhood home. He has no idea that I couldn't take one more day in that house because I saw my mother everywhere, and yet she was nowhere to be found. He made certain of that the day after she died. We had come home from making all of the funeral arrangements, and while family and friends stopped by to bring food and other useless items they thought would cure our broken hearts, my father began packing every single item of my mother's away. Clothes, shoes, jewelry, pictures, knickknacks…anything and everything that she ever touched was packed away into totes and immediately taken to Goodwill. Every trace of my mother was given away to strangers, and by the end of that day it was like she never even existed.

  After my father went into rehab this last time, I couldn't take being in that house anymore. I couldn't take walking in the door and feeling like I just didn't belong there. Without my mom, I didn't belong anywhere.

  "I don't live at the house anymore. I have an apartment over by the mall," I told him as I grabbed my purse from the counter and dug my keys out of the bottom.

  "What? What do you mean you don't live at home anymore?" my dad asks in confusion.

  I finally find my keys, turn the knob, and open the door.

  "I mean, I don't live at home anymore," I tell him with spite. I should just walk out and end it on that note, but I can't. I've always been the type of person who needs to make sure my point is hammered home, always making sure I have the last word. At least one thing has remained constant with my personality. I turn around and face him one last time before I go. "You erased every trace of her from that house. Why the hell would I want to continue living there?"
r />   I don't even need to say her name; he visibly winces like he's in pain when I mention her.

  "I'll lock everything up," he tells me, turning away and walking over to the wall where the light switch is. He shuts off all of the lights except for the security light over the back door where I'm still standing. "I want you to take the day off tomorrow. I'll take care of things here."

  Just like every other time I've brought her up, he completely changes the subject. He doesn't want to talk about her; he doesn't want to acknowledge her. And he wonders why I am the way I am. He wonders why I'm such a different person, why I'm so closed off now, and why I shut down.

  I take my cues from him. I've learned how to close myself off so I don't have to deal with the pain.

  "No, I'm working tomorrow. You have no idea what needs to be done."

  He raises his eyebrow at me and attempts to be humorous. "Sweetie, I own the shop, and I worked here for enough years to know how things are supposed to go. I'm pretty sure your old man can handle it while you go have fun and be a teenager."

  He smiles at me, but I don't return his joviality. He doesn't have any clue that I don't remember how to be a teenager or have fun. It's like he doesn't even remember all of the responsibilities he stuck me with in the last year.

  "I'm going to be around a whole lot more, Addison. I'm going to prove to you that I can do this," he promises me softly as I turn away from him and walk through the door.

  "I'll believe it when I see it," I mumble loud enough for him to hear before the door slams shut behind me.

  After I peel the sticky clothes off of me and take a long, hot shower, I sit down at my computer and power it up, logging in to Facebook and going right to her page to type my usual nighttime private message to her.

  Dear Mom:

  I wish you were here. You're the only one who understands. The only one I can talk to about anything. I miss you, every single day, every single second.