Chapter 16 #2
“I started with muffins,” I explain, “but then just got really excited about all different kinds of pastries and desserts, and then it snowballed into me making stuff every day. And when Hank suggested I be in charge of the desserts for the big dinner tonight, I thought cake would be a good choice.” I’m rambling, and I realize that, but just like when I’d described my cakes to Cruz earlier, I can feel the happiness bubbling up inside of me like champagne.
I explain the cake types, how I researched them, how I made them, pointing to each one in order.
But halfway through my explanation, I realize that Mom’s expression hasn’t changed.
That she’s still gazing down at them in …
confusion. I trail off and pause for a minute. “Mom?” I ask quietly.
She shakes her head, chuckling softly. “I’m sorry. They look lovely, sweetie,” she says with a smile that I’ve come to know as a placating one. “I’m just not sure I understand what … the purpose is of all this.”
“Purpose?” I echo.
“Yeah, I mean—why?”
“Well … like, I said before—Hank needed help and—”
“No, I understand that,” Mom interrupts. “I mean, how does this serve your purpose in being here?” She gently takes my arm, pushing us farther from the table, away from prying ears. “Recovering from what happened, thinking about your job, your future.”
“I …” I stammer.
“Have you thought about it? How you’re going to recoup your role when you get back? Avoid further mishaps?” she presses.
Mishaps. She says the word like what happened wasn’t a breakdown, wasn’t fully out of my control. Like it was a spilled cup of coffee or an unfinished contract.
“I think I’ve been just focusing on feeling better, doing what feels right …”
“What’s right is getting yourself back together so you can get back to work,” Mom presses.
“Did you think about our last conversation?” I throw back at her.
She crinkles her eyebrows. “What about it?”
“That maybe what you want for me and what I want for myself aren’t the same thing?”
Mom rolls her eyes. “Oh, Addison, what your father and I want for you is the best. There’s no talking your way out of—”
“Why can’t you just listen to me!” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down and avoid a scene, but knowing that we’re heading in that direction regardless. “Be happy for me when I’m happy? I just did a big thing I’m really proud of, and you don’t care!”
“Addie, you’ve helped our firm sell multi-million-dollar houses.
That, I’m proud of. So you baked a few cakes today?
I’m sorry, sweetheart, but that isn’t the same,” Mom huffs, and her words hit me like a brick to the chest. The way she lays it out, so logical and forthright, it just makes sense.
Of course a couple of cakes are nothing compared to the millions of dollars I’ve helped them generate.
“But I was happy,” I whisper, afraid that if I speak any louder, I might cry.
Mom takes a deep breath, exasperation lining her features—as if I’m the villain for making her feel guilty.
Hot tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I swallow hard, determined not to cry here. “I need to go,” I say quietly, brushing past Mom and toward the door.
“Addison!” she calls after me. “Where are you going?”
But I don’t turn around. I can’t. Not without giving everyone in the mess hall a perfect view of my tear-streaked cheeks.
I push the door open and step out into the summer night. Despite the warmth, I wrap my arms around my torso, feeling the need to keep myself together, keep myself from falling apart. I’m halfway to my cabin when I hear the sound of crunching gravel behind me.
“Addison!” Cruz’s voice. “Addison!” he calls again when I don’t stop.
His hand catches my arm, stopping me and turning me toward him. It’s only then that I realize how hard I’m breathing—it’s always how it starts. The hyperventilating. It sneaks up on me. Like a monster in the dark.
The panic is never far behind.
“Oh no,” I whimper, the realization sinking in. Because once I detect it for what it is, there’s no stopping it. I clench my fists at my sides, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Addison,” Cruz says again, his voice slower. “Look at me.”
But I simply squeeze my eyes tighter, gritting my teeth.
“Addison,” he pleads. “Baby.” His hands move to cup my face, his thumb caressing my cheek. “Look at me, Princess,” he instructs. “Breathe.”
My eyes flutter open, finding his.
“That’s it,” he tells me. “Breathe. In. Out,” he repeats over and over again, and I force myself to breathe in time with his words, my gaze glued to his, his eyes dark in the moonlight. And slowly, my fists unclench, my heartbeat slows, and my breath returns to normal.
Cruz pulls me against his chest, rubbing my back softly. “I’m sorry about what your mom said,” he says softly.
“You heard it?” I ask numbly, still in shock that he’d somehow managed to pull me out of a panic attack before it even began. I don’t think anyone has ever done that before.
“I think everyone heard it,” he whispers.
Embarrassment washes over me, but I try not to dwell on it. “Is she right?” I ask, my voice breaking ever so slightly.
Cruz lets go of me, stepping back far enough to look me in the eye. “No,” he says emphatically. “Your opinions about your life matter more than hers.”
I swallow. “But maybe she is,” I protest. “I mean, who am I to throw away the opportunities they’ve given me? Am I being stupid? Careless?”
Cruz’s eyebrows draw together in a frown, and he opens his mouth, but I keep talking.
“I mean, that was the whole point of me coming here. What if I go back with nothing to show for it? I go back to Seattle, and I’m still the scared, little girl who had a meltdown three months ago?”
There’s a short pause, and then Cruz asks, “So you’re going back to Seattle?”
“I have to, don’t I?”
Cruz doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at me in the dim moonlight, his expression unreadable. Then he sucks in a deep breath of air, looking away for a moment before fixing his gaze back on me. “I know this might be horrible timing, but I’ve got to ask … what exactly are we doing here?”
I pause. “Doing?” I echo.
“Yes, us. What are we doing? Just fucking, having fun, or is it more?”
I flinch. “We’re not just … fucking,” I say quietly, the implication practically burning me.
“Then what?” he asks pointedly.
I blink, his question dissipating in the air around us. “What—we …” I stutter. True, we’d never discussed it. Put any labels on it. And I’d been purposefully ignoring the fact that I was only here for the summer. That this would eventually have to end.
But somehow, with Cruz asking me point blank what we are, the idea of leaving him behind suddenly feels … like my chest is tight, my heart falling into my stomach, like a panic attack all over again.
“If you go home to Seattle, where does that leave us?” he asks.
“I … don’t know,” I answer truthfully.
Cruz heaves a heavy sigh, looking away and then back at me again. “Well, I don’t think that’s very fair, is it, Princess?”
Suddenly feeling attacked again, I retort, “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know!” he snaps. “I just … I just want to know if I’m pining over something I can’t have.”
I rub my hands over my eyes, feeling a swell of frustration welling up inside of me. “I feel like I’m being pulled in a thousand different directions here, Cruz, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“What do you want to do?” he grits out. “Do you want to work for your parents or not? Do you want me or not? It’s that simple.”
I’m shaking my head. “But it’s not.”
“But it is!” He throws his hands up in the air.
His voice echoes off the cabins nearby, settling into the silence around us.
He takes a deep breath, shaking his head.
“You know what, Addison, I just want you to be happy. And you seemed so, so happy today. Before your mom showed up, before you started thinking about Seattle and going home. But … but if that’s really what you want, I want that for you.
I …” He shrugs helplessly. “Just … whatever you decide … let me know, I guess?” He gives me one, last, long look before turning on his heel and leaving me alone on the dirt road.