“Hello,” Alice said, noticing her there.
Kate walked into the room and they both looked down at Zoe, sleeping peacefully. Kate had an overpowering urge to stroke her hair back off her face, but she held back. For now, her mother could do that.
“So,” Kate started at the same time as Alice grabbed her hand.
“Zoe loops Cheerios on a straw and then sucks them off,” she said. “It’s weird, but she likes it.”
Kate stared at her, confused.
“She’s a little OCD. She never watches TV without doing something else to occupy her hands. A puzzle. Folding laundry. Stuff like that.”
“Alice—”
“She’s surprisingly cuddly. You wouldn’t think that, would you? She loves things that are cozy—cushions and throw rugs and blankets. As you can see, she still likes to sleep with me. When she was younger, it was for her—because she was scared or just wanted a cuddle. Lately, it’s been for me.”
Alice’s chin quivered, but she kept it together, always stronger than she looked. “She loves her cat, Kenny. I don’t care for him much—he leaves fur all over my couch—but she loves him.”
Alice’s eyes filled with tears and suddenly Kate understood. She was handing Zoe over.
“Alice, you don’t have to—”
“Please, let me. I don’t have time to tell you everything, but at least I can tell you this.”
A ball of emotion lodged itself in Kate’s throat, so enormous it was nearly unbearable. No mother should have to say good-bye to her child like this. Not when their time together was already too short. Finally she nodded. “All right.”
“Knock, knock.”
They both glanced at the door, where Dr. Brookes stood.
“I’ve sent a discharge summary to the hospice,” he said to Alice.
Alice lips were taut, controlling the emotion. “Great. Thank you.”
Dr. Brookes came to her side and took her hand. “I wish you all the best.”
“Thank you,” she repeated. She looked so small, Kate noticed, in that bed. So vulnerable. For the first time, she reminded Kate of … Zoe.
“Kate, will you tell Sonja to inform the hospice that Alice is coming,” Dr. Brookes said. He got as far as the doorway before Kate found her voice.
“No.”
He paused, turned. “I’m sorry?”
“Alice isn’t going to the hospice. She’s coming home with me.” She looked at Alice. “I have the room. I can care for you myself. And you’ll have Zoe right there, in the very same room if you like.”
The emotion in Alice’s face nearly brought Kate to her knees. “Really?”
Kate managed to nod. “Hold on to your memories for now. We have time. I plan on hearing every last one.”
Dr. Brookes nodded and excused himself from the room. Zoe continued to sleep. And for several minutes, Kate and Alice stayed right where they were, looking down at the sleeping girl who would bind them together forever.
79
TWO WEEKS LATER …
“This,” Zoe said into the microphone. The room was quiet, ready. “This is the scariest thing I’ve ever done. Most people would say skydiving, and I’m terrified of skydiving too, but probably not for the same reasons as you. Heights don’t scare me at all. I’d be terrified about how I’d look with a parachute strapped to my back.”
There was a slight hum of laughter, and Zoe realized that, until now, they’d all been holding their breath, just like she had. She’d decided to do her presentation with her back to the audience. She was still terrified, but it was bearable.
“And not just that. I’d be worried that someone might have to talk to me on the way up, you know, give me instructions. Then, when we jumped, I’d be terrified that I’d fall the wrong way—not because it would kill me, but because I might be embarrassed in front of my instructor.”
The laughter was louder now. It was, she supposed, kind of funny.
“It is pretty funny,” she said. “Even though it’s not a joke, how bad I feel sometimes.”
The laughter died down, which was good. It was textbook, in fact. Start with an anecdote, make them laugh, then get serious.
“The reason I’m messed up is, I have social anxiety disorder.” She paused for a few beats to let that sink in. “What does that mean? Honestly, I don’t know. There are enough of us with it that the condition has a name, but all of us experience it differently. I have panic attacks, not everyone does. My panic attacks are not trigger-based, or at least, I don’t know what the trigger is. Anything can start them, but usually it’s a fear of being judged.”
The silence behind her was terrifying. It also meant that, hopefully, she was making her point.
“The last time I tried to talk in front of you all, I peed my pants. I have no guarantee that this won’t happen again today. I never have any idea what is coming. Whether it will be a good day or a bad day. That’s why this is the scariest thing I’ve ever done.
“I didn’t sleep last night,” she said. “People say that a lot, when what they really mean is that they didn’t sleep much. Their sleep was interrupted. They tossed and turned. But I literally didn’t sleep. I spent the night in battle, batting negative thoughts away as fast as they could come at me. I did a pretty good job of it, clearly, because I’m here. But I’m tired. And doing something scary when you’re tired, I’ll tell you, really sucks.”
Zoe’s mouth was devoid of moisture. There was a bottle of water on the table in front of her and she picked it up, tried to unscrew the lid. But her hands were useless, weak and sweaty. She took the hem of her T-shirt, tried to open the lid with it, but it was no good.
“This, for example, is particularly mortifying,” she said, and there was another burst of laughter. Harry appeared on the stage beside her and opened it with annoying ease. She took a sip. “I’m going to be honest. I’m not doing this because I’m trying to face my fear, or even because I want others to know that they are not alone. I wish my reasons were so noble. I’m doing this because my English grade depends on it. More importantly, I’m doing it because I want my mom to know that I can.”