Page 73 of Even if You Fall

“Right,” he said, seeming to just remember why we were in here in the first place. “You need to drink this. Both of them, if you can,” he added, then nodded to the glass he was handing me. “But youhaveto drink all of this.”

I didn’t say anything as I forced myself to take a sip of the electrolyte-infused water. And then another.

But when Adam started standing, I grasped his hand to keep him there.

“I need to let you rest,” he told me as he used our joined hands to brush his knuckles across my cheek. “I’ll check on you soon.”

“When I was young,” I began, the words a weak whisper at best, “six, maybe seven, my little sister was diagnosed with Leukemia.”

Adam changed in an instant.

His body stilled and eyelids slowly shut before opening to reveal amber eyes filled with so much regret that even seemed to weigh his body down. As if one sentence was enough for him to know he’d had me pegged all wrong from the start.

“Chloe, don’t . . . you don’t owe me this,” he said softly, repentantly.

“But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do what you’re asking,” I told him. “And I want you to know why.”

Gripping my hand tighter in his, he sank back to the bed so he was sitting beside me, silently waiting for me to continue.

“It was long and brutal,” I continued after a moment’s hesitation. “There were actually a couple times where we thought she was going to make it. And I should preface this by saying that my parents are great; they really are. But, obviously, they were fully focused on her, as they should’ve been,” I said with a subtle nod.

“And even at that young age, I understood my sister needed happiness because my parents were a wreck. I...I learned when something happened to me, my parents didn’t have the mental or emotional strength to deal with it,” I continued, my throat tightening at the shame I knew I shouldn’t feel over all this. “They needed joy to come from somewhere, so I became that joy.”

“Your mask,” he said in understanding, and my shoulders sagged.

“Yeah. And it’s fine,” I hurried to add, and knew from Adam’s slow, heavy inhale that he disagreed, but I continued before he could say anything. “I was always happy to be what they and my sister needed, but it never changed, so it just became...me.”

“It’s been . . . what?” Adam asked. “Twenty years?”

“Since she passed?” At his nod, I gave a weak shrug. “Almost. But my parents...they didn’t grieve or cope in a healthy way. They had locks put on the outside of my sister’s bedroom door as soon as she died that have never been touched. Her birthday and the anniversary of her death have always gone by without acknowledgment. A place is set for her at the table every night, even though she can’t be talked about. If anyone does mention my sister, even still, my parents fall into a startling spiral of griefbefore suddenly popping back up and going on with their lives like,What grief? What daughter?”

A sound that was more unease than humor left me, even though I was desperately trying to explain away the skeletons of my family’s closet like they were no big deal. Like this wasn’t the first time I’d ever told someone about my parents’ harmful way ofhealing.

“They make her favorite foods every Thursday like clockwork,” I went on, “but again, we don’t bring upwhosefavorites they are. And if anything in our lives doesn’t go exactly perfect, you’d think they malfunctioned.”

“Malfunctioned,” Adam echoed, his brow furrowed in a silent question.

“They’re like happy robots now,” I told him. “Too great. Too normal. Picturesque.” I gave a soft laugh that was equally distressed and embarrassed as I wondered if thatwas how Adam saw me too. “When my dad didn’t get a promotion he was up for, he wrecked his car...into a tree.”

I quickly glanced away when Adam’s eyes widened, hurrying to explain, “He claimed he fell asleep, but I never believed that because when I didn’t make Valedictorian—which, I was nowhere near a candidate for and hadn’t even known they’d been counting on—both my parents went into a depression. Didn’t talk to me or anyone. My dad disappeared for a week before suddenly reappearing like nothing had ever happened. Then when I left teaching, no matter how hard I tried making it seem like it was what I wanted and for the best, my mom lost it. Started throwing the pots she was cooking in. Broke plates. Cried for days. And whenever any of ournon-perfectevents sneak back into our conversations, I have to redirect before everything falls apart again.”

“Chloe,” Adam began, my name conveying his shock. “Chloe, that isn’t...that isn’t okay. It never should’ve been put on youto keep your parents from falling apart. They need professional help?—”

He cut off so abruptly that I risked looking at him. But even though his stare seemed faraway, his emotions were practically pouring from him. Unease, worry, and...was that fear?

But he wouldn’t upset me with his thoughts. The only worry here was what he thought of my parents and me.

“It’s fine,” I assured him. “You’re not saying anything I don’t already think.”

Adam quickly blinked as if bringing himself back into the conversation, but his unease only seemed to grow as he cleared his throat. His stare shifted to the floor when he said, “I get how this becameyou. I getwhy. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

I shrugged, and even though he wasn’t looking at me, he must’ve sensed the movement because he added, “This isn’t something you brush off, Chloe.”

“But it is,” I told him.

“Your parents need help,” he repeated, those worried eyes finding mine.

“Trust me, I’m aware.” My head slanted ever so slightly as I backtracked, “I didn’t become aware of that until I was in high school, but I am. However, they can’t imagine why they would need therapy.”

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