Chapter 8
ANDERSON
I honestly think I’m just setting myself up for failure at this point.
I tell myself I’m going to turn around at the next light and head back home.
Coming up to the light, it turns from red to green just before I’m about to slow down.
And I speed right through it.
For the fourth time.
I run a hand through my hair, still damp from the shower I took after I woke up.
I slept all day today after getting home from my shift around eight o’clock this morning, my brain finally turning off long enough for me to get some decent rest, my body exhausted after such a busy shift at the station.
I tried to convince myself to wait to tell Ava how I feel about her.
That there was a better way to reach out to her and ask to chat—especially since I don’t know the specifics of her taking care of her sister—instead of showing up at her apartment out of the blue.
But I can’t wait any longer.
I need to know how she’s doing; that she’s okay.
And I need her to know how I feel about her.
And Jack put this stupid idea of telling her into my head, and I can’t get it out.
Her apartment complex comes into view, and I pull into the parking lot. Cutting my engine, the silence becomes deafening, allowing me to come to terms with what the fuck I’m about to do.
I let my head fall back against the headrest, closing my eyes as I inhale.
The second she opens that door, I’m going to tell her that this one-night stand turned friends-with-benefits situation isn’t enough for me.
I want more, and I’ll get down on my knees and beg her for a chance if that’s what she wants.
I pocket my keys and head to the front door of her apartment complex. I’m about to open the first set of doors when my phone starts vibrating in my pocket.
And when I see who’s calling, my stomach flips.
I consider letting the call go to voicemail, not wanting to worry about this right now. I’m already all torn up and twisted about Ava, and the last thing I need is something complicating this.
I’m about to pocket my phone when the uninvited yet familiar grip of guilt wraps around me, whispering into my ear that he needs me.
My jaw tightens, along with the grip on my phone.
I don’t have someone to call to fix everything I fucked up or pick up the pieces of whatever I destroyed—but I’m exactly that person for my family, specifically my youngest brother.
I might be a mess right now, but he’s a goddamn trainwreck.
I draw in a breath, the winter air burning my throat, but I welcome the pain. It steadies me enough to realize that I know I’m going to answer the call no matter how much I don’t want to.
I’m going to help Auggie with whatever he needs.
I’m going to put him first.
It’s my job.
“Hey, Auggie.”
“Have you called Mom’s doctor?” His voice is rushed, not even bothering with a greeting.
“No, why?” I ask—maybe I should be confused as to why he is asking me rather than my mom, but it makes sense.
I’m the glue that holds my family together.
I’m the one who keeps tabs on my brothers, my mom, and the things that pertain to them—including filling our mom’s prescription for her arthritis pain management.
“She needs more pills.”
“So, call the doctor,” I answer, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
Ever since I moved, my youngest brother has had to take on some of the responsibilities that I took care of when I lived closer to my mom. Since Auggie lives with her right now, it’s his job to help around the house and get her to and from her doctor appointments.
And make sure her prescriptions are ready when she runs out of pain meds.
“I don’t have the number,” he replies, and I wipe my palm across my face. “She told me she needs the prescription filled this week.”
My knee-jerk reaction is to hang up and call the doctor.
It’s a Sunday evening, so the office is closed, but I can leave a message for them to call me back first thing tomorrow.
I’m off until Tuesday morning, so I could make the two-hour drive north to pick up the prescription and drop it off at my mom’s.
No.
I need to hold firm on this boundary. Spending my day off doing something that my brother could easily do will just put me right back where I started.
I tell myself, Auggie is twenty-one and perfectly capable of being a fully-functioning adult—despite the college drop-out, totaled car, and his ex-girlfriend kicking him out of the apartment they shared because he wouldn’t pay his half of rent.
“I’ll send it to you.” It’s a good compromise—I’m still helping but within my capacity. My therapist would be proud. I make a mental note to share the moment with her when we meet for our weekly session on Thursday.
Securing the boundary is like a weight I didn’t even know was there lifting from my shoulders.
Since moving to Milwaukee, I've realized how important it is to get some distance from my family. Being so close to them, I was the person that my mom called when she needed to know her password to her email. I was the one Alex called when he didn’t know where to take his car to get an oil change, or when Archie needed ideas for his partner’s birthday present, or when Auggie needed saving from whatever problem he made for himself—again.
Because somewhere along the way—between after-school pick-ups, organizing the graduation parties, and dropping everything I was doing to be there for them—being needed turned into being exhausted.
“Then what am I supposed to do with it? Should I have Alex call?” he asks, and my jaw tics.
My twin brothers, Alex and Archie, both live with their respective partners, and they’re both less than twenty minutes from our mom’s house—their closeness made me feel more comfortable moving further away, but apparently that means nothing. I’m still the person who is supposed to do everything.
I blow out a breath, watching it dissipate in the air before answering, “No.”
“Archie?”
“What? No.” I can’t stand still. My feet take me from one end of the sidewalk to the other, my annoyance and anger building from this conversation hot enough in my veins to keep me warm. “Auggie, you’re an adult. You can call that damn doctor’s office.”
He groans. “Why should I have to?” he argues in the same voice he used when he was seventeen, and I said no to buying him alcohol on my twenty-first birthday.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Considering you are the one living at mom’s right now—rent-free with a fridge full of groceries she buys and her car she lets you drive, I might add—the least you can do is fill her fucking prescription when she asks you to.”
“But I don’t know how,” he complains, and I can’t help but feel responsible for having a part in raising such an incapable human being.
“You dial the number and say, ‘Hi. I’m calling for a refill on my mother’s prescription. Her name is Amelia Montgomery.’ It’s not fucking rocket science.”
He groans again, even louder this time. I’m one second away from throwing my hands up and just dealing with the phone call myself, but then he says, “Fine,” stretching out the word like he did when he was going through puberty and made everything an argument. “Do I call tonight?”
I sigh, instantly regretting my frustration at him. “You can,” I answer. “Just leave a message, and they’ll probably call you back tomorrow.”
“What if they tell me no?” he asks. “Like, since I’m not her or you or Alex or Archie? I thought only you guys could talk to her doctors.”
I’m caught off-guard by his questions. He sounds like he’s trying too hard to be nonchalant. I can’t put my finger on it—it just sounds off. But before I can ask what’s up, someone is leaving the apartment complex, bringing me back to the moment.
“She signed the form to let you communicate with her providers before I moved,” I tell Auggie as I jog back to the front doors, giving a nod to the person holding it open.
“Look, Aug, I've got to go. I’ll text you the number. If they give you any issues, you can have them call me—no, I mean Mom. Okay? Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I faintly hear as I pull my phone from my ear and catch the second set of doors closing, bypassing the need to buzz up to Ava’s apartment.
I never once regretted stepping up when my dad died—I did it to help my mom. She had just lost her husband and was left with an eight-year-old, two six-year-olds, and a four-year-old, having never had to work a day in her life and relying on my dad.
But after seventeen years, the weight of my family’s problems settled onto my shoulders to the point that I didn’t even have the energy to take care of my own.
I love my mom and my brothers, but carrying the role of protector, problem-solver, confidant, and everything in between has left me feeling lost and resentful—two things I never wanted to feel about my family.
I put off my own life to make sure Alex, Archie, and Auggie were settled in theirs, making sure my mom didn’t have to worry about any of us.
And that wasn’t fair to me.
Not wanting my focus to be pulled away any more from where I am and why I’m here tonight, I look around for the sign for the staircase.
I’ve never even been to Ava and Emerson’s apartment. Ava always comes to mine.
I had to get this address from Jack, and I hope my surprise visit comes across as more of a grand gesture, rather than something a creepy stalker would do.
Setting the thoughts of my family aside for now, I make my way toward the stairs, quickly sending the text with the doctor’s phone number off to Auggie.
Taking them two at a time, it isn’t until I’m standing at her apartment door, my hand in a fist, up and ready to knock, that I realize I have no idea what I’m going to say to her.
Auggie’s phone call got me so sidetracked, and now I’m here with no clue on how I should go about this.
Lowering my arm, I begin to pace. If one of her neighbors comes out right now, they’ll probably call the police, but what the fuck was I thinking? Coming over here without any plan of what the hell I’m going to say.