Max takes a sip of his coffee and gets a little foam on his nose. “I feel like you’re only doing this because there are more answers about quinoa than about your identity. But if you want to.”
Without a second thought, I lean over the table and wipe the foam off his face. I lick it off my fingers while Max watches, his eyes lingering on my mouth. Does he think…? I dismiss the thought and announce, “I was right. Totally not a germophobe.”
“I wonder if you’re normally this scattered. Did the doctor say anything about the recovery process?”
“Not really,” I lie.
Expect to be confused and easily exhausted. Avoid any stress. Get plenty of rest and stick to a routine.Dr. Patel didn’t mention that I would be energetic and highly curious about the food system…
“So, quinoa…” I scan my memory. “Obviously it’s the most nutritious food on earth, and soon to be the most nutritious food in the galaxy. NASA is starting a quinoa farm in outer space. Have you heard?”
Max looks at me suspiciously. “Where exactly?”
“Like I remember. On a space station, maybe. Or Mars.”
“I guess they had to think of something to do when Congress cut the space program,” he says drily.
“The United Nations also said it might save Earth.”
“I could talk about quinoa all day,” he says flatly. “Buuuuut…I feel like you should go back to JP’s and rest. A nap might even increase your chances of recovering your memory. How can you expect your brain to recall anything if you’re stressing it out with all kinds of new information?”
Like facts about quinoa? I wonder if anyone has been derailed by quinoa before. As soon as I ask the question, I realize the answer is yes. Obviously. “You’re right, Max. Enough about quinoa. It’s so 2013 anyway. I need to focus on me. But first I have a question for you.”
He waits attentively. For just a second I wonder what Max is avoiding in his own life. There must be something else he’s supposed to be doing right now, but here he is, patiently listening to me prattle on about quinoa.
“Do you know anything about JP?” I flip back to an Insta post of us. My hair is styled. It’s a cute selfie featuring my hair when it looked good, chic blond waves with an undercut. Hipster from one side, Grace Kelly from the other. JP stands next to the Grace Kelly side of my head, and I wonder if he avoids my bald side all the time. He seems more like a Grace Kelly kind of guy.
“Not much. I met him through one of the people in my lab. She was supposed to house-sit for him last time but hadto cancel at the last minute. She didn’t want to let JP down because she sits for him all the time and needs the money. I filled in because—”
“I get it.” Max is a super good guy and stepped in to help some chick in his lab. He might be the nicest person I’ve ever met, besides Brenda.
“Plus he pays well and his coffee is definitely better than mine.”
“Yeah, sweet side hustle. Have you ever met him?”
“We crossed paths once. He showed off his Scotch collection. After he found out I’m a neuroscientist, he told me everything he knows about the brain.” Looking amused, Max says, “I can’t say much, except that he’s loaded and he doesn’t know as much about cognition as he thinks he does.”
I move the food in my bowl around. The avocado is already turning brown. “My quinoa bowl is missing something.”
“Chicken,” he says. After a dramatic pause, he adds, “Maybe you should focus on saving yourself instead of chickens, Mia.”
I look up from the browning avocado and into his eyes. Does he genuinely think I’m in danger? And why? Because I lost my entire life? Because an unknown person conked me on the head? Or because I’m not following proper head injury aftercare? Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. I can’t take care of myself if I don’t even know who I am or what there is to be scared of.
8Am I a Real Housewife?
9Is JP compensating for something with his chocolate bars?
10Do I need a PhD to understand your T-shirts, Max?!
11All that and he still doesn’t understand why his ex is mad at him.
12Note to self: google parietal cortex.
13Am I a dog person?
CHAPTER
FOUR
