So, naturally, she called my mother into the wings as backup.
Mom found me, curled in on myself like a wilted flower in my taffeta costume, and pulled me to my feet.
“Zoe, baby, what’s wrong?”
I told her I was scared.
“Scared of what?”
Everything, was my answer.
At five, I didn’t have words for my fears. In truth, I was scared to fail.
Scared to embarrass myself.
Scared to put myself out there.
But my mother said something to me, in that moment, that cut straight through the fear and wrapped itself around my heart.
“Honey. We’re all scared. That’s life. But the thing about having a family is, you don’t have to be scared alone. You’ve got me and your dad right out there in the front row, cheering you on. We can all hold hands and be scared together.”
She pressed a kiss to my forehead and looked into my eyes.
“If you live your life afraid of all the bad things that might happen, you’ll miss out on all the good ones that definitely will.”
I danced that night.
I nailed every step.
And when the music fell silent, I looked down into the front row and saw my parents there, beaming up at me with tears in their eyes, and knew, no matter what, I’d never be alone so long as I had them.
Thirty minutes later, they were dead.
I never recovered from that loss. For a long time, I carried my mother’s words around with me like a curse.
The thing about having a family is, you don’t have to be scared alone.
I didn’t have a family. I’d never have a family again.
Which meant I was cursed to always be alone.
Until, slowly, so slowly I almost didn’t notice it… I stared to build a new one.
We don’t share any blood. We don’t even have all that much in common. And yet… they’re my family.
Luca.
Colton.
Phoebe.
Nate.
Chrissy.
Shelby.
Chase.
Gemma.
Parker.
So many faces. So many memories. So much love.
Lying there, dying on a dirty floor at the hands of a psycho, I realize my mother’s words were never meant to be a curse. She wouldn’t have wanted me to live my life alone. She didn’t want me to spend my days just surviving, plugging along, going through the motions for lack of anything else to do.
My parents wanted me to live.
To dance.
To grab life by both hands and take it for a ride.
I never really understood how to do that, until I met Parker. I was so afraid to get close to anyone again, I didn’t realize how dead I was inside.
Until he made me laugh, I didn’t realize I’d nearly forgotten how.
Until he pushed my limits, I didn’t realize how guarded I’d become.
Until he showed me love, I didn’t realize how desperately I needed it.
Until he taught me to fly, I didn’t realize how deep beneath the earth I’d buried my hopes and dreams.
And it really fucking sucks that I’m going to die without ever thanking him for that. Without telling him that he’s my family. Without admitting how much I need him.
How much I love him.
I try to hold onto that thought as I drift into the darkness.
I always thought needing anyone else meant I was weak. In reality, it’s the opposite. Asking for help doesn’t make you spineless; it makes you strong. Leaning on people isn’t cowardly; it’s courageous.
It’s a shame it took dying for me to figure that out.
* * *
When the darkness starts to clear, I hear a familiar voice reciting a familiar story, his words occasionally catching on particular quotes as if it’s a struggle to get them out without being overcome by emotion.
“Never say goodbye,” he whispers, his voice shaky as he reads from the book in his lap. “Because goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting.”
My eyes sliver open and I see Parker’s bronze head bowed over a thin green book, one hand gripping the pages and the other resting on my leg.
“Are you reading me Peter Pan?” I whisper, my voice cracking pathetically.
The book falls to the floor as he jumps to his feet, eyes flying to mine. There are deep shadows beneath them, as though he hasn’t slept in ages, and I read worry and fear clearly in their hazel depths.
“Zoe,” he breathes, his arms sliding around me as he hauls me to his chest. His mouth hits my hair as he whispers my name like a mantra. “Zoe, Zoe, Zoe.”
“Honey, I’m okay.” I reach a hand up to twine with his. “What happened?”
He pulls back to look down into my face, his big hands cupping my cheeks as he presses a flurry of kisses on my forehead, my nose, my lips.
“How do you feel?” he asks, totally ignoring my question. “What hurts? Should I call the doctor in?”
“Parker, I’m fine. Sore as hell, but fine.” I narrow my eyes at him. “What the hell happened to me?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember being lost in the dark with Birkin. I remember him catching me. I think he threw me against a wall and I felt something break.”
“Two ribs.” Parker grimaces.