I miss you.
Can’t say I miss Frenchie so I respond with a
The three dots appear and reappear a few times, indicating that he is typing and erasing and can’t figure out what to say. Finally he writes, Is everything okay? U still mad?
Now I really want to know who this guy is and what should I be mad about. Attempted murder?
Sorry, but who is this? I lost my phone and all my contacts.
I’m sorry love! Relieved there’s a reason u haven’t called, tho.
Glad that solves his problem, but still…WHO is this?
Only the love of your life.
I’m thinking,Then where the hell are you?!but I write,And who might that be?, which I hope comes off as flirty.
Frenchie responds with a selfie, a mocking expression on his extremely handsome, made-to-play-a-doctor-on-television face. And my previous detective work pays off instantly. Frenchie is JP, not to mention—breaking news—“the love of my life!” Funny that I haven’t left any of my stuff at his house, but I’ll save that question for later.
Where are you?I ask.
Switzerland. U know that…r u ok?
Stupid me, just waking up. Feelin groggy. When r u coming back?
Sunday. I miss you.
Emotionless, I scroll back through our convo. JP misses me. Maybe he even loves me? At the very least, I belong to someone. I belong here in this beautiful bird’s nest of a bed—not in the lost and found at the local ER, getting shooed onto the street without so much as a follow-up visit. I’m young,gorgeous, and shacked up in the lap of luxury with a handsome rich dude. I need to keep it that way.
Except, who is he? What are we like together? Am I sweet (doesn’t seem likely, but maybe)? Will he like me now that I’m damaged? (Even one day into my new experience of the world and I’m wondering what a man will think of me.) I shove that thought into the closet where I presume the rest of my middle-school insecurities are trapped and put on my big-girl panties. (Lacy, low-rise hipsters, thank you pre-amnesia self.)
Before I get any deeper into this convo, I consult my assistant. “Siri, who is JP Howard?”
JP Howard. Short for Jacques-Pierre. (Ooh la la!). Date of birth is 1983, which makes him…(I open my calendar app)…2020–1983=37. A thirty-seven-year-old rich guy with a French name. So far, so good.
Better yet, there’s a Wikipedia entry about him.
I stop eating the chocolate bar that is, at this very moment, on the way to my mouth. Jacques-Pierre, my boyfriend, is the creator of Jacques-o-late.Once you go Jacques-o-late…runs through my mind.
This is better than waking up as Meghan Markle.
Jacques-o-late, according to its website, comes in five flavors: dark, light, medium, caramel, and white. They all have nuts. Size: king only.9
And he’s saving the rainforest, at least according to thewebsite. Jacques-o-late only buys fair-trade Jacques-o-late beans from Honduras, Ecuador, the Dominican Republic, and Trinidad and Tobago. The company always pays three times the going market value, and twenty percent of profits go to buying back rainforest. A boxed inset on the website contains an interview with a dignified old man. The website calls him a Jacques-o-late farmer. In his words: “Jacques-o-late has saved my way of life.”
What’s more, JP was almost a capital-B Bachelor. According to the internet, JP is the one who got away from ABC executives, who desperately wanted him forThe Bachelor.Since then, the show has tried to recruit him nearly every season and he’s said no.
Wide-eyed, I look up from my phone.The Bachelorchose me? I woke up to a fairy tale. Cindy is going to eat this up. I’m going to have to drop by the ICU and report that I’m practically married to an almost-Bachelor who makes Jacques-o-late. Maybe JP and I can throw a lavish party for the nurses when he returns.
I click on a link to a podcast calledDreamboats: A Podcast for Lovers of Sexy Yachts, Etc!The link is purple instead of red because I’ve clicked on it before. It looks like JP was a guest on an episode called “Yachtastic Men!” Not much subtext happening here. I hit play and after a little intro music and “brought to you by” statement, the host starts in.
“OMG people. I’m sitting here with someone I’ve always wanted to meet. I’m such a fan! JP, I’ve been following you forever, even before Jacques-o-late.”
“Why, thank you. It’s good to be here, Jessica.”
“So tell me about your boat…”
“Well, it’s a 60-foot—”
