“Until I woke up a few weeks ago, wondering why he wasn’t at the hospital and where my wedding ring was.” I gave a wry smile.
“Hey, I have something for you.” Jenny got up and reached into her purse. She handed me a gold-toned plastic bag. I looked inside, pulled out a black-and-gray-striped tie and a receipt. I stared at the tie, not understanding, before looking back at her.
“You bought this when we were out shopping the day of your accident.” I glanced back at the tie, fingered the silky fabric. “I know you don’t remember, but you bought it...for your anniversary.”
I turned the tie over and read the label, but it carried no meaning. “A tie?” My memory chugged as it tried to slide the right pieces in the right slots. “I bought a tie?”
Jenny laughed. “I told you it was lame. I mean, a tie for an anniversary gift? But you said he would get it. It was an inside joke and you were very pleased with yourself.”
“I bought this for my anniversary. With...” I nearly said “Daniel,” before reminding myself that, no, there was no anniversary with Daniel.
“It was for Matt,” she said, confirming the truth once again. “For your three-year anniversary.”
8
I had the notebook with my memory list on the table, a slew of highlighters fanned out on the coffee table. The pink highlighter (the color I’d chosen to signify fabricated memories) was uncapped, the nonmarker end in my mouth as I scanned the list.
“Did we watchForks and Knives?” I asked Matt, who was sitting on one of the living room chairs, catching up on work. It was Saturday morning, and almost three weeks since I’d come home from the hospital. My parents were back sleeping at their own place, my mother finally convinced I wasn’t on the verge of a breakdown and could cook for myself. And while things with Matt weren’t as awkward now, they were far from back on track. Most days it felt like we were merely roommates.
It didn’t help that I would twirl my wedding ring that wasn’t there, particularly when I was nervous or anxious—a gesture Matt caught more than once, looking wounded when he did. I had also made his coffee wrong twice since that first day, but he claimed he didn’t mind the sugar so much.
Sometimes I imagined I was living parallel lives, the knock on my head making it possible to see both timelines simultaneously. Or perhaps it was an elaborate setup, coordinated for reasons too fantastical to believe. I had mentioned as much to Dr. Kay at my appointment the day before, trying to lighten the mood. She had smiled when I’d said, “Maybe I’m a CIA operative who had memories implanted during a mission gone wrong?” before replying, “Well, that would make things easier to accept, wouldn’t it? So how are things going at home this week, Lucy?”
Damn, she was skilled at not allowing me to dodge my complicated feelings, to avoid talking about the things that kept me up at night and preoccupied during the day. I would much rather have discussed the theory, however implausible, that I was a rogue special agent versus accepting all this happened because a store didn’t throw salt on the ice outside their front door, and I had made a poor footwear choice—heeled booties versus sensible winter boots. All of which led to me slipping—so dramatically both my feet left the ground before I landed, hard, on the back of my head and knocked myself out.
“ForksOverKnives?”Matt asked, eyes still on his laptop as he finished typing. He was back from his dentist appointment—the one I’d noticed on the calendar that first morning I was home—and his mouth was frozen from having a cavity filled, so he sounded like he had a lisp. “The documentary? On Netflix?”
“Yes,” I replied, nibbling on the end of the highlighter. “Did we watch it?”
He nodded. “We did.”
I drew a thick pink line overForks and Kniveson my list with the highlighter, crossing out theand, writingoverin its place with pen. “Did I mention wanting to become a vegetarian after that?”
Matt smiled, but his frozen mouth only half rose with the movement on the left side, making him look like he was smirking. “You did.”
“So what happened? How did I go from that place to two servings of pot roast at Christmas dinner?” It was so bizarre, not remembering such basic details of my life. Relying on someone else to fill in the blanks, trusting him to give me the truth. Because of course he could have told me anything and I’d have to believe him, which was unsettling at best and terrifying at worst. But as my anxiety intensified I reminded myself to take a deep breath and to remember Matt loved me. He didn’t want to hurt me and certainly wouldn’t lie to me.
“You declared yourself on a ‘meat break’ and then two days later you told me you missed bacon too much.”
“I missed bacon? That was all it took?” I shook my head. “Wow, I’m glad to hear I stand by my convictions.”
Matt laughed and then winced as he put his hand to his cheek. “You love bacon, Lucy.”
Ididlove bacon. Even as I thought it, I knew it was true, despite the memory of my turn to vegetarianism still feeling real. I could as easily be convinced my diet was meat free.
“Definitelynota vegetarian,” I murmured, highlighting the wordvegetarianin pink. The whole vegetarian thing wasn’t new information, but I put it on the list for the satisfaction of crossing it off, even though seeing yet another pink line made me uneasy. “But at least I know I didn’t make the whole thing up. I mean, I did try not to eat meat and we did watch the documentary.”
Matt nodded, still amused. “Do you want to watch it again?”
“Definitely not,” I said. Matt smiled and then went back to his laptop. He squinted at the screen in concentration. “Hey, where are your glasses?” Matt always wore glasses to work, but it had only just occurred to me I hadn’t seen him wear them since I’d been home.
“Contacts,” he replied. “I hate them, but they’re better than always losing my glasses.”
“Oh,” I said, wondering when he had made the switch. Missing the way he looked in his glasses—handsomely bookish.
He closed his laptop, gestured to the notepad. “So what else is on today’s list?”
I had divided up the main list in chunks of five or so memories, which had been an exhausting task. My brain bruise had fully healed, but my mind was still “lethargic,” according to my doctors, and would be for a while. They had suggested not pushing things too much, offered gentle warnings that my “softer” memories could potentially lose some of their defined edges if I did.
